05.30.08
Emily Dickinson – God Gave A Loaf
Wednesday the doctors got the MRI report back on my brother’s stroke and said there was no hope…he’d never recover and as soon as he was strong enough he’d be moved to a nursing home. Yesterday God gave us a small miracle. My brother is on many prayer lists and those prayers have been answered. He began to respond and now the doctors have changed their opinion. As soon as he is stronger he will be sent to a rehab center. A small step–but a step towards hope when at first there was none. In celebration here is another Emily Dickinson favorite of mine and appropriate for how I feel at the moment.
God gave a loaf to every bird,
But just a crumb to me;
I dare not eat it, though I starve,–
My poignant luxury
To own it, touch it, prove the feat
That made the pellet mine,–
Too happy in my sparrow chance
For ampler coveting.
It might be famine all around,
I could not miss an ear,
Such plenty smiles upon my board,
My garner shows so fair.
I wonder how the rich may feel,–
An Indiaman–an Earl?
I deem that I with but a crumb
Am sovereign of them all.
Elizabeth
05.26.08
My Brother – Massive Stroke
My brother had a massive stroke and is unresponsive. The doctors say they won’t be able to tell us anything until the MRI results come back, but the next forty-eight hours are the critical. I will be absent from my blog for a while. For those who have been reading, Thank you…I’ll be back as soon as possible. I have lost one brother already, so any prayers for my brother and our family are greatly appreciated. Elizabeth
05.22.08
Be an “I” Instead of a “Me”
We are tacitly taught that we exist and just are. We have been taught that all people are true to their own genes, environment and nature. We are conditioned to be objects. We are taught to be “Me,” instead of “I.” When you think of yourself as “Me,” you are limited. The “Me” is always limited. When you believe how others (parents, teachers, peers, colleagues, and others) describe you, you become that. You might want to be an artist, but others might tell you that you have no talent, training, or temperament to be an artist. The “Me” will say, “Who do you think you are?” “You are just an ordinary person. There is nothing special about you.”
There is a Japanese masterpiece film IKIRU about the life on an old man that captures the essence of what it means to be a “Me.” Ikiru is a civil servant who has labored in the bureaucracy for thirty years. He determines his self worth by how others see him. He thinks of himself as an object and spends his life preventing things from happening. He is a widower who never remarried, as his relatives told him he was too old and unattractive to remarry. He is the father of an ungrateful son who despises him because he is not rich. He does not strive to better his career as he has been told by his supervisor that he lacks the education and intelligence to be anything more than a clerk. In his mind, he pictures himself as a worthless failure. He walks bent over with a shuffling walk with defeated eyes.
When he is told that he has terminable cancer, he looks back over the wasteland of his life, and decides to do something of note. For the first time in his life he became the “I,” the subject of his life. Against all obstacles, he decided to build a park for poor children in a dirty slum of Tokyo. He had no fear and felt no self-defeating limitations, he ignored his son when his son said he was the laughing stock of the neighborhood, he ignored his neighbors who pitied him and begged him to stop. His supervisor was embarrassed and pretended not to know him. Because he knew he was going to die, he no longer cared what other people thought. For the first time in his life he became free and alive. He worked and worked, seemingly without stopping. He was no longer afraid of anyone, or anything. He no longer had anything to lose, and so in this short time gained everything. Finally, he died, in the snow, swinging on a child’s swing in the park, which he made, singing.
Ikiru became the subject of his life. He became joyous instead of miserable; he inspired instead of being indifferent, and he laughed at himself and the world instead of feeling humiliated and defeated. Ikiru “seized the day.”
MICHAEL MICHALKO
Michael Michalko is one of the most highly-acclaimed creativity experts in the world and author of the best-seller Thinkertoys (A Handbook of Business Creativity), ThinkPak (A Brainstorming Card Deck), and Cracking Creativity (The Secrets of Creative Genius).
Michael has provided speeches, workshops, and seminars on fostering creative thinking for clients who range from Fortune 500 corporations, such as DuPont, Kellogg’s, General Electric, Kodak, Microsoft, Exxon, General Motors, Ford, USA, AT&T, Wal-Mart, Gillette, and Hallmark to associations and governmental agencies. In addition to his work in the U.S., Michael speaks and provides workshops in countries around the world.
As an officer in the U.S. Army, he organized a team of NATO intelligence specialists and international academics in Frankfurt, Germany to research, collect, and categorize all known inventive-thinking methods. His team applied these methods to various NATO military, political, and economic problems and produced a variety of breakthrough ideas and creative solutions to new and old problems. After leaving government service, he was contracted by the CIA to facilitate think tanks and using his creative-thinking techniques.
Some of Michael’s creative-thinking techniques that were refined by his government and corporate practice were published in his best-seller Thinkertoys (A Handbook of Business Creativity), which the Wall Street Journal reported “will change the way you think.” Women In Business lauded it as “one of the most important business titles of the decade,” Success magazine described it as a “fun-to-read book which helps you to create and act on ideas,” USA said “believe it or not, this wonderful book will have you challenging the seemingly impossible every day,” Executive Book Summaries praised it by saying, “What we need is a compendium of ways to solve problems. And that’s exactly what you get in Thinkertoys,”and Entrepreneur acclaimed it as “required reading for anyone in business.” The American Management Association called it “the most significant book on creativity published in the last twenty years,”
He is also the author of Thinkpak (A Brainstorming Card Set), which is a novel creative-thinking tool that is designed to facilitate brainstorming sessions. Michael’s latest book Cracking Creativity (The Secrets of Creative Geniuses) describes the common thinking strategies creative geniuses have used in the sciences, art, and industry throughout history and shows how we can apply them to become more creative in our business and personal lives.
Michael Michalko
Imagineer
165 Percy Road
Churchville, New York 14428
Email: mmichal1@rochester.rr.com
Thank you for being with us today, Michael.
Elizabeth Melton Parsons
05.18.08
Dealing With Rejection-Everything You Never Wanted To Know
As writers, we’ve all gotten them, those dreaded rejection letters. I had a feedback form on my website a while back where readers could send comments or ask questions. Unfortunately because of spam, I had to remove it. I hated that because it was very popular with visitors and one of the questions I received repeatedly was, “How do I deal with rejection?” We’ve all heard the rumors of famous authors who papered their offices with rejection slips before being ‘discovered’. Whether there’s any truth to the rumors or not, one thing is certain, everyone has gotten rejection letters–even the most famous of writers.
I’ve certainly had my share from both major publishers and small press. Not enough to paper even a small room, but then out of all the books I’ve written, I’ve only submitted two and in the process of submitting one now. Black Rock: A Time For Love was rejected twice before being accepted. Captive Fear was accepted by the first publisher, but there was a problem with the contract, so I received by rights back and decided to publish the book myself on Lulu. To date, I’ve received three rejections for my current manuscript and the full is presently being reviewed by a larger publisher.
I’ve had poems and articles published in newspapers, magazines, and textbooks, but only received two rejections on that front. The reason for that is simply because I don’t submit. The contracts were offered out of the blue. I went through a three month period where I was submitting a few articles to mags, but these were freebies. (I wouldn’t have been paid) I found it interesting that my submissions were being rejected by magazines who weren’t going to pay me, when I’d been published and paid by others I hadn’t even submitted to. I don’t have time to waste on such nonsense, so I stopped submitting to them.
Rejection is one thing all writers have in common. It doesn’t matter if you’re rejected thousands of times or only once. It hurts. You sweat and slave over your work, only to have someone basically tell you it’s not good enough. I’ve read hundreds of articles on rejection by both the writers being rejected and the editors or agents sending the rejections. Some were highly amusing, some educational, and some just downright sad. The saddest of all are those written by writers who seem to become totally dejected by rejection letters or those who become outraged by them.
Here’s everything you never wanted to know about dealing with rejection letters.
Number One: If it’s a nicely worded form letter, don’t sweat it and DO NOT TAKE IT PERSONALLY–they either didn’t like your query or they had so many wonderful submissions that day, they had no choice but to eliminate some and you got caught in the fray. Forget it and immediately query someone else. If you’re serious about writing, you’ll have to grow a thick skin. Sorry, but it’s true.
Number Two: Suppose you get a letter that slams not only your manuscript, but you, as a writer and offers no helpful clues on where you went wrong. First of all, be honest with yourself. Is this manuscript truly ready for submissions? Have you had an unbiased and honest critique? If not, get one or two or more. If you get good feedback, situate yourself where you won’t set fire to anything important, light a match and laugh gleefully while you watch the sucker burn. Answering a query with rudeness is unprofessional and probably not an editor you want to deal with. Forget them and query another publisher or agent.
Number Three: You get a rejection letter that gives you some pointers on making your manuscript/story better. Rarely will an editor take the time to offer advice. I don’t care if the editor is rude or nice when doing this…immediately go down on your knees and thank God or whatever entity you believe in for that editor. Then send a grateful thank you off to them. After that, put their advice to good use and go to work on making your manuscript better. Then submit to someone else.
Number Four: If you’re serious about being published, continue to educate yourself, improve your craft, and get used to rejections. It’s all part of being a writer. Even if you’ve been published by a large commercial publisher, there’s always room for improvement and being published once, twice or a dozen times offers no guarantees of never receiving another rejection. It sucks, but it’s a fact.
Number Five: If you’re serious about your dream of being a published author, never give up. Keep submitting.
Elizabeth Melton Parsons
05.14.08
Double Trouble: Cat Down The Chimney
I awoke with a start and squinted my droopy eyes at the lighted clock face. Five minutes till midnight, what had awakened me out of a sound sleep? Then it began again. There was a prowler in the house. And not a quiet prowler. It sounded as if they were snatching everything out of my kitchen cupboards and smashing them to the floor. What prowler in their right mind is going to make that kind of noise to alert everyone to his presence? Obviously a dangerous one who doesn’t care if he’s caught and plans to kill you anyway or a very stupid one.
My husband at the time (ex-husband now) gets his gun, unlocks the ammo box, loads the gun and goes after the guy. I sit on the bed waiting. It had grown quiet and I wonder if I should go help or just crawl back into bed and go back to sleep–figuring hubby could handle the situation without any assistance from me. Okay, so going back to sleep was a dumb idea. Before I can decide to offer assistance, he comes back, unloads the gun, locks up the ammo and puts the weapon away. “So what happened?” I asked.
“You can handle this guy,” he answered. Curiosity aroused, I made my way into the kitchen. Nothing was out of place. I continued to the living room. The glass fireplace doors looked as if a giant gorilla had grabbed them and ripped them apart. What in the world? Then I heard the hissing.
Trouble, a very large, healthy, male cat sat on the wide ledge of my bay window. Trouble, a feral cat that roamed at will through the neighborhood and was ‘not friendly’ even at the best of times. This was not one of those times. He sat there with his back arched and ears laid flat, hissing, snarling and clawing at the air in my direction. I love animals and have a way with them, but I still couldn’t understand why my ex believed me to be a lion tamer, because I definitely was not. And I most definitely didn’t want to take on Trouble, who was worse than any lion.
I sucked in a deep breath and inched my way over to the other end of the window, his evil, glowing eyes following my every move. If I could just get that side of the window open, he’d have enough sense to find his way out. I managed to unlock the window and bent to push it up. Trouble snarled, made a leap and landed on my back with claws sank deep into my sensitive flesh. Remember the scene in “The Money Pit” where Shelley Long runs about with the raccoon attached to her. That was me–squealing and running about the living room trying to dislodge this maniacal cat from my back.
Hubby comes running into the room and doubles over in a fit of laughter. Here I am being mauled by a ferocious feline and he’s laughing. I manage somehow to throw the creature off and he runs into the corner, preparing no doubt, for another attack. Now I always had a fondness for Trouble and like the rest of my neighbors kept him well fed, but at this point, I was angry and not in the mood to be nice. I marched to the window, pushed it open and circled around him. Trouble must have known he’d gone too far. He took one look at the scowl on my face, hissed once and made a dive for the open window.
The next morning, hubby climbed on the roof and put a screen over the chimney. Unfortunately this didn’t prevent my having another encounter with Trouble. A few days later, as I was hiking the wooded hills in back of our home, I found Trouble caught in a trapper’s steel trap. The trap had no teeth and I could see the cat wasn’t injured. I sighed, knowing I couldn’t go off and leave the poor thing trapped and unable to free itself. I was also smart enough to realize I was in for one hellacious fight. After thinking for a moment or two about the best way to go about freeing him, I whipped off my jacket, threw it over him and frantically tried to open the trap before he could work his way from under the coat.
I wasn’t fast enough. Those traps are not called traps for nothing. They hold firmly and are not easy to open. If Trouble had cooperated, this little operation could have been over with in a matter of seconds. Instead it took me a good five minutes to open the trap while Trouble squealed, snarled, hissed, bit and clawed at me. When he was finally free, he bounced away totally unscathed and without a second thought to his bloody, battle scarred rescuer. Ungrateful wretch. The next day I scoured every inch of those woods, gathering up the remaining traps, hoping that when the trapper discovered his traps had been stolen, he’d not put out anymore.
Elizabeth Melton Parsons
05.13.08
Welcome Poet Linette Marie Allen
“Writing poetry is like breathing. It comes naturally to me, and I’m ever grateful for this gift. It’s incredible because I’ve been writing for over two decades now. I wrote my first poem in kindergarten!
Over the years, I’ve met people from all over the world, and remarkably, there is a simple common denominator: human emotions. Whether I’m having coffee with a friend in London or Stockholm, the bravado of emotions are the same: hurt feelings, the pain of rejection, the grief of a loved one, the anger of social injustice, the excitement of politics, and the frustration of religion. I get this.
Through my poetry, I want to give voice to these precious emotions; I want to be a “voice crying out in the wilderness,” connecting deeply to people’s hearts, bringing an ever-lasting message of hope, faith and love. That’s what I’m all about. So let my poems speak to you in a fresh, provocative way. Enjoy the blog!”
¾Linette Marie Allen
The Pen Virtuosa
She
Never mind
The corpse you see
Strapped to my back;
She’s been with me
Since I was about Four.
Though she stinks
Something awful,
She’s really quite lovely…
Cherokee cheekbones,
Ripe apple lines,
Cinnabar skin,
Warm cocoa irises
And a watercolor smile
That took her places
Around the world!
She’s had tea with kings
In England, Italy, China
Liberia, Turkey, Serbia
And even Mars.
Birds still sing
Her praises!
“Ti voligio bene!”
“Nup nola!”
說文解字/说文解字
The geishas have nothing
Over her.
She’s played pianos, flutes
And horns of various sizes
¾And oh, not to mention
Her skills in art;
She could make a man
Stand still
for hours.
Though she doesn’t look it now,
She was quite an
impressionist
in her day.
“Intelligence senza
Arrogance”¾ah!
This made her canvas
So Matisse!
So Rothko!
So O’Keefe!
Let me stop on that note;
She always hated
Rambling¾even still,
I really miss her,
My pitiful little bird.
She spoke a million languages
Yet never said a…
Word.
Linette Marie Allen, Copyright 2008
Thank you for visiting today, Linette, and sharing one of your phenomenal poems. Please visit Linette’s blog for more of this talented poet’s work.
Elizabeth
05.12.08
A Handful Of Thoughts On A Monday Morning ~ M. Jean Pike
http://www.freewebs.com/mjeanpike/
http://authorsden.com/jeanpike
Thank you, Jean. Visit Jean at her website or on Authors Den to find out more about her and her work. Read my previous posts for Jean’s book covers and blurbs.
Tomorrow: Poet Linette Marie Allen will be joining us.
Elizabeth Melton Parsons
Heatherfield – Paranormal Romance
Where her heart is, there will she be also …
Deep in a box of used books, counselor Tory Sasser comes across a novel without an ending: Heatherfield. As she reads the story of scarred war veteran, Jake Benjamin, her tears fall on the pages—and she could swear new words appear where once there was nothing.
But the fictional town of Heatherfield isn’t all it seems, nor is its creator, Destiny Paige. When Tory’s car runs off the road into the mist, she’s transported back to the 1940s—into the novel, trapped by the spirits that govern the place through Destiny. Even more, Tory is caught by the honest warmth and complicated tenderness that is Jake Benjamin. Realizing she’s falling in love with Jake, Tory is desperate to find her way back home to reality. Yet what is more real than true love? No, Heatherfield isn’t all it seems … not at all.
M. Jean Pike has created another must read with her newest paranormal romance, Heatherfield. Her love and extensive knowledge of the 1940’s come to the forefront in this story. The reader feels as though they have been transported back to that lovely era right along with Tory. As with all of Ms. Pike’s books, the writing is both lyrical and literary without losing it’s down to earth and easy style. The author has a true talent for putting words on paper that draw the reader into the story and keeps them there from first page till last. I’ve often said that when I read, I become lost in the story–imagine truly becoming the hero or heroine of a book, your life dictated by the writer wielding the pen. With Heatherfiled’s suspenseful sub plot and beautifully romantic love story, it’s a true treasure that you will want to read again and again.
ISBN: 9780979325281
Available in e-book and paperback. Amazon, Black Lyon Publishing, Your local bookstore.
05.11.08
Mom – Lady With A Wild Side?
Dad was an avid gardener and roses were his specialty. Every spring he’d order new exotic specimens, put them in the ground and tend them like new-born babies. So it’s pretty clear where I got my love of gardening and my love of roses. Mom was a totally different creature when it came to gardening. She loved pink roses, but to my knowledge, never grew a single rose plant.
Mom’s old fashion perennials, sweet peas, wild flowers, weeds and grasses all grew together in wild abandon–like an over grown meadow in full bloom. This penchant for wild gardens showed me a side of Mom not easily discernable. A long buried yearning to be as free as the wild things she grew–a longing to throw off the restrictions of society and just be herself.
I was a pretty wild tomboy growing up and often wondered how Mom managed to put up with me. A lady who never left the house without changing her dress and putting on lipstick–who tried desperately to teach me to be a lady. A woman who never smoked, drank or uttered a curse word and yet, the two of us were close–having a special bond. Although she tried valiantly to teach me proper behavior, I believe she took great pleasure in the fact that I was more like her free flowing wild garden than Dad’s well tended specimens.
When you pull into my drive and step up to the side door leading into my kitchen, there’s a Bleeding Heart bush growing along the foundation, just as there always was at Mom’s. In that same bed you will find hostas, wild daisies I dug up from along a country lane, strawberries, and numerous other plants, both wild and cultivated varieties–all growing in a disorganized, yet somehow, beautiful mess. If Mom were still here, she’d look at that flower garden and say, “That’s my girl.”
Happy Mother’s day to all the mother’s out there and may your gardens and your lives bloom with beautiful abundance.
Elizabeth Melton Parsons
Waiting For The Rain
Willow Mackenzie desperately needs a miracle.
Darby Sullivan has one to offer.
But sharing it may cost him his life.
Abandoned by her husband after receiving a fatal medical diagnosis, twenty-eight-year-old Willow Mackenzie is determined to realize her unfulfilled dreams. On a jaunt to a lonely quarry called Baker’s Gully in the hope of photographing an eagle, she discovers an abandoned cottage and its reclusive owner, Darby Sullivan. Captivated by the rose-covered dwelling, and intrigued by its stern, sexy owner, Willow knows instinctively that she is meant to spend the rest of her life in Baker’s Gully. A man of secrets, Darby is content with his hermit-like existence, but troubled by the deadly illness he senses within her, he agrees to rent Willow the cottage, knowing it is the one place on earth that can heal her. But saving Willow’s life may cost Darby his own.
Seldom will a book touch your emotions the way M. Jean Pike’s “Waiting For The Rain”. Willow is a likeable, courageous heroine–a woman you’d want for your best friend and Darby…what can I say about Darby? “SIGH” I fell in love. Here’s a man who has known hardship and heartache. A strong, sensitive and loving man with a secret. A secret so devastating, he fears it will destroy any chance of a future with Willow. Their love story will leave you breathless.
