tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-328536822024-03-13T06:16:24.802-07:00The Pegasus JournalsMy imaginary friend from childhood, Mr. Pegasus, continues to inspire me to dream, to write, and not to give up. Just as his ancient Greek counterpart, he continues to send me my muses. It's up to me to ride the winged horse.Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03218385133811054388noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32853682.post-36341816837381140892009-05-27T16:46:00.000-07:002009-05-27T16:59:39.655-07:00Ramblings on Reading and WritingI just tried to read some recommended flash fiction and got frustrated with clumsy sentence structure in the first paragraph. Instead of finishing the online short fiction piece, I jumped down to the comments, most of which raved about how "lovely" the piece was.<br /><br />Is it just me? Am I a reading snob? Or just impatient? My unwritten rule is <em>if I have to reread two sentences within a paragraph in order to glean the meaning, I needn't traverse further.</em><br /><br />But I'm mournful about what I may have missed. Others found the piece to be delightful. Maybe they were just being nice? I'll never know, because ... well because I have an unwritten rule that I just put into writing.<br /><br />Dear Writers: ENGAGE ME in the first paragraph... please!<br /><br />This is easy for me to say because I have officially sworn off writing. I already blogged about it (<a href="http://jackiedoss.wordpress.com/2009/05/27/i-have-sworn-off-writing/">http://jackiedoss.wordpress.com/2009/05/27/i-have-sworn-off-writing/</a>), so it must be true. I do not have to live up to my own standards. Ahh, the taste of freedom! At this moment, it tastes like warm yeast rolls right out of the oven, with a dab of butter.Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03218385133811054388noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32853682.post-48442771828399395382009-05-07T06:44:00.000-07:002009-05-07T08:04:15.575-07:00Am I a Writer, or a Wannabe?I'm a writer wannabe. I have spent a lot more time <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">wannabe'ing</span> than writing.<br /><br />I have never been paid for my writing, unless you count the monetary prize I won on behalf of a lady who bid $50 for my writing services at a silent auction. After receiving acclaim and $500, she took me to dinner.<br /><br />The story above is a glimpse into the self-esteem issues of most writer wannabes. We know deep down that we're good at it. We've received <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">accolades</span> from the time we were young. We shine in the universities with our insight and well-turned phrases. We teach and encourage others to write. We don't finish manuscripts.<br /><br />I had planned a lengthy essay about how important it is for us wannabes to use the "say it and claim it" mentality to motivate ourselves, because if we keep saying we're wannabes, well... you know. I could wax eloquently for several more paragraphs, but the demons in my head are giving me an untold number of reasons to stop.Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03218385133811054388noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32853682.post-6216144244809797352009-04-19T11:50:00.000-07:002009-04-19T13:25:22.548-07:00Blog EnvyI have a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Facebook</span> acquaintance who shall remain nameless (because I am about to say something unflattering and I don't like hurting people's feelings. He/She probably doesn't even know about this blog, but the world gets smaller every day) ... Anyway, this person writes things like "finished my moves on my word games" on his/her F<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">acebook</span> status. His/Her (okay, from now on I'm saying "hers" because I'm already sick of this) status updates never consist of anything more profound than "picked Marcia up from the doctor and just got home."<br /><br />I admit that this person is older than I am and probably not very tech-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">savvy</span>. Perhaps she doesn't understand the benefits of a social networking site. Or perhaps she simply has no deep or even semi-deep thoughts. Don't believe me? Here's a real-live sample:<br /><br /><em>Apr 13 1:03 am: Made my moves in word games and heading for bed.</em><br /><em>April 16 10:13 am: Haven't been on the computer lately, so trying to catch up with emails.</em><br /><em>April 16 10:33 am: Just getting on computer - will catch up on emails then word game moves.</em><br /><em>April 17 1:12 am: Finally finished my emails (except <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">gmail</span>)</em><br /><em>April 17 1:47 am: Never did get to the word games, but I did update my blog at [<span style="color:#33ffff;">actual blog link was here</span>] Going to bed......<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">zzzzzzzzz</span></em><br /><em>April 17 8:55 am: going to attempt to solve newspaper sudoku using ancient sudoku software.</em><br /><em>April 17 9:37 pm: Finished the Sudoku in 30 <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">mins</span> 33 secs with some major distractions on <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">Skype</span></em><br /><em>April 17 11:43 pm: Updated my blog at [<span style="color:#33ffff;">actual blog link here</span>]</em><br /><em>April 18 1:03 am: Finished my moves on my word games.</em><br /><br />I know. I know. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"><strong><em>Riveting</em></strong></span>. And it's all I can do to keep from commenting on her status updates with that very word. But I don't know her well enough to risk her not understanding my wit. She seems to be very literal, does she not?<br /><br />If you're the ever-hopeful type as I am, you may be thinking, "Hey, check out the blog she posted. Surely there's something of interest there. Maybe she just doesn't know how to whittle her deeply philosophical, long-winded prose down to a few characters."<br /><br />Wrong. Yet another live sample below. Some names have been changed to protect the innocent:<br /><br /><em>I met with Valerie at Webster Insurance to discuss proposed policy for the radio station. I met Leo at the bank with hopes of setting up automatic debit for donors, but only managed to make an appointment for next week. I walked Shari's dogs around the block because I can't release them in the back yard with Joe's guard dog back there. Leah & I went for supper at <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">Arby's</span> then shopped at Mark's Work <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error">Wearhouse</span> and I stopped at Ralph's for a socket plug-in while Leah went to Value Den. We came home early and have been relaxing since. I have been watching golf and NHL Playoffs on TV.</em><br /><br />Okay, I'm just not going to say anything else about this person. It's not only mean, but it's downright <strong><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">unnecessary</span></strong> to denigrate her. Some truths are self-evident.<br /><br />But I'm inclined to think there's a reason God put this person in my life, albeit just my <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error">cyber</span> life. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">I have spent a lot of time lately reading some excellent blogs written by very good writers, who just a decade ago would have remained nameless. I'm thankful for the ever-expanding cyber universe where I can pick a topic - any topic - and educate or entertain myself with abandon because thinkers and writers can type on their laptop a half a world away—and immediately engage me. </span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"></span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected">On the other hand, I am often so awestruck by other writers that I flog my fragile ego with self-depracating thoughts and sit frozen in front of the screen counting the cursor blinks because I apparently have nothing significant to write. </span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected">That's when I go to my nameless Facebook friend's blog and smile. I can muster up my courage to write about things that are much more salient than going to Arby's , and I can use complex sentences and sometimes even impressive vocabulary to do it. And then I can go play a word game. </span>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03218385133811054388noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32853682.post-59855185802280613632009-03-30T15:11:00.000-07:002009-03-30T15:16:43.148-07:00To Write...or to Edit?I recently subscribed to a page called "Writing for Dollars" on Facebook. The first update I recevied from them was titled "Sneak Peak for you-all." Obviously they are not "Editing for Dollars," which brings me to my point: Just write! Edit later. Do edit, of course, but keep in mind that if you pick a grape before its time, (that's the possessive "its," by the way. I can understand if someone might think I meant "before it is time," and therefore believe that I should have put an apostrophe, but I digress because I'm editing while writing)... um... what was I going to say??? Oh yes, if you pick a grape before the appropriate time, the end result may - no WILL - be piss-poor wine.<br /><br />This was a response to: "Is writing making me dumber? Or, more dumb? Or dumberer? - Writing a Novel is a Piece of Cake... Right?! - The Speculative Fiction Writers Tookit" - <a href="http://www.sfwriterstoolkit.com/cake/2009/3/27/is-writing-making-me-dumber-or-more-dumb-or-dumberer.html#comments#ixzz0BHGalNOS">http://www.sfwriterstoolkit.com/cake/2009/3/27/is-writing-making-me-dumber-or-more-dumb-or-dumberer.html#comments#ixzz0BHGalNOS</a>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03218385133811054388noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32853682.post-35754379684491496912009-03-30T13:23:00.000-07:002009-03-30T13:53:49.971-07:00I interrupt this blog for a picture of my imaginary friend<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__5RY3AaDKQY/SdEvh96p69I/AAAAAAAAACQ/tMGOWZG1LTg/s1600-h/P3280262.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319084895504034770" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__5RY3AaDKQY/SdEvh96p69I/AAAAAAAAACQ/tMGOWZG1LTg/s320/P3280262.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__5RY3AaDKQY/SdEvHcLlGNI/AAAAAAAAACI/pax2H5TNn08/s1600-h/P3280261.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319084439771617490" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__5RY3AaDKQY/SdEvHcLlGNI/AAAAAAAAACI/pax2H5TNn08/s320/P3280261.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>If you were to scroll all the way back to the initial entry of this blog, you would understand why I was so excited to encounter Pegasus AND the Fountain of the Muses at Brookgreen Gardens. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__5RY3AaDKQY/SdEudwmZIyI/AAAAAAAAACA/F4-OObk09FM/s1600-h/P3280252.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319083723698283298" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__5RY3AaDKQY/SdEudwmZIyI/AAAAAAAAACA/F4-OObk09FM/s320/P3280252.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__5RY3AaDKQY/SdEudjis0mI/AAAAAAAAAB4/HylZgCpgzEE/s1600-h/P3280251.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319083720193135202" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__5RY3AaDKQY/SdEudjis0mI/AAAAAAAAAB4/HylZgCpgzEE/s320/P3280251.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__5RY3AaDKQY/SdEudYJvvTI/AAAAAAAAABw/kFXVVnzDVb8/s1600-h/P3280250.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319083717135678770" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__5RY3AaDKQY/SdEudYJvvTI/AAAAAAAAABw/kFXVVnzDVb8/s320/P3280250.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__5RY3AaDKQY/SdEudBScAxI/AAAAAAAAABo/8nHyQ9hAsV8/s1600-h/P3280249.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319083710998119186" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__5RY3AaDKQY/SdEudBScAxI/AAAAAAAAABo/8nHyQ9hAsV8/s320/P3280249.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__5RY3AaDKQY/SdEuc5bblmI/AAAAAAAAABg/3nK5qRuyY9Q/s1600-h/P3280248.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319083708888356450" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__5RY3AaDKQY/SdEuc5bblmI/AAAAAAAAABg/3nK5qRuyY9Q/s320/P3280248.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div></div></div></div>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03218385133811054388noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32853682.post-2395018459971670282009-03-20T19:47:00.000-07:002009-03-20T20:01:15.391-07:00Today's Writing Mission - Accomplished<div><div>Earlier today I proclaimed to the world (okay, the three people who might read this blog from time to time) that I would "work" on my stage play for Script Frenzy by reading my NaNo novel from 2007 to get more clarification on how to proceed.<br /><br />The first monkey with a wrench: I couldn't find it! Holy cow!!!! I looked in every folder on my hard drive that resembled a place where I might have saved it. Panic. Panic. Panic. (Do you hear the buzzer going in the background? It sounds like a Dharma Initiative Alarm. Sorry, I don't know how to spell that sound).<br /><br />But here's something to remember about Word: When you first open a document up and look at the page count or word count... it won't finish counting for a while. So don't assume that when it says "page 1 of 1" there really is just one page. In fact, there could be 100 pages.<br /><br />So, I found the document --- all 50,004 words of it. Whew! And I read the additional previously written chapters that I added to the beginning of it so that I could reach 50,000 words. That's when I realized I wasn't stuck with the sucky opening I created last year. Yee ha! I have a plan. That's all that matters right now. I have a plan.<br /><br />It's not a complete plan, of course. That would have required much more work than I was willing to do today. What I have could actually be called a springboard. And that's all I need to entice me to jump head-first into the deep and empty pool called "ScriptFrenzy."<br /><br />April 1 is just around the corner, and I'm fool enough.<br /></div><div></div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__5RY3AaDKQY/ScRYYC4aYmI/AAAAAAAAABQ/ddCV7KlRhGM/s1600-h/scriptfrenzy.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315470630317613666" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 153px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__5RY3AaDKQY/ScRYYC4aYmI/AAAAAAAAABQ/ddCV7KlRhGM/s200/scriptfrenzy.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div></div></div>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03218385133811054388noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32853682.post-91567814806712153302009-03-20T10:24:00.001-07:002009-03-20T10:43:29.313-07:00Today's Writing Task<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315325785478585890" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 101px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__5RY3AaDKQY/ScPUo9zs3iI/AAAAAAAAABA/wqNSUmHXvNI/s200/nanowrimo_large.png" border="0" /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__5RY3AaDKQY/ScPUQfr-LFI/AAAAAAAAAA4/SwoADnsIBAw/s1600-h/scriptfrenzy.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315325365076241490" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 153px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__5RY3AaDKQY/ScPUQfr-LFI/AAAAAAAAAA4/SwoADnsIBAw/s200/scriptfrenzy.jpg" border="0" /></a> Since I seem to be SO keen on reading instead of writing these days, I have decided to prepare for Script Frenzy (which begins April 1, and, yes I'm a FOOL for doing it!) by re-reading my 2007 NaNo Novel that I plan to turn into a script. Maybe these brain circuits will start working again when I get back in touch with the wacky characters I invented.<br /><br /><div><div>Wish me luck! I'll update tomorrow. Yeah<em>, right.... I promised I'd do Nixy's last Writing Adventure, too.</em> If I don't tell someone I'm going to do something, I'm much more likely not to do it, because apparently it's not important for me to keep promises to myself. </div><div></div></div>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03218385133811054388noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32853682.post-32838150503767525652009-03-12T21:43:00.000-07:002009-03-12T21:54:17.814-07:00“WAG #3: A New Friend” . . . but not yet<span style="color:#ffff00;">This week's exercise from Nixy Valentine (</span><a href="http://www.nixyvalentine.com/"><span style="color:#ffff00;">http://www.nixyvalentine.com/</span></a><span style="color:#ffff00;">): Sit somewhere that you can watch strangers passing by. Choose someone that you don’t know, but you can imagine being friends with. Describe them in concrete terms, particularly whatever it is about them you find appealing (or unappealing!) Feel free to also write what you imagine that makes you warm to them, but don’t forget to describe reality as well!</span><br /><br />I had every intention of observing people around me when I went to girls' night out tonight. But I plumb forgot! And I don't get out much, so there's no telling when I'll have another opportunity. :)<br /><br />What started out as possibly a half a dozen or so of us meeting for dinner, drinks, & music turned out to be three of us, which was great... more chance to get to know one another better (because we don't actually know each other very well). The interesting thing is that all night, I thought there were only two of us. That's because there were, indeed, only two people at my table. Myself and Donna. But where was Shannon? Where was the woman we knew we couldn't possibly miss because she has very lovely BRIGHT RED HAIR that should easily have been spotted from across the restaurant.<br /><br />Somehow we managed to be in the same restaurant for three and a half hours - arrive at nearly the same time and leave at nearly the same time - and completely miss one another. Thankfully, Shannon brought a friend, so she wasn't alone. AND she was smart - she sat by the quesadilla bar. Normal women would have grazed in that area. Not us! We sat down and didn't budge. After all, there was a young man bringing us drinks and food. Why should we move?<br /><br />So... By now you've figurd out that this isn't actually my WAG exercise. I promise I'll get to it... sometime. The irony of it is that I was supposed to be observant. If I had been, perhaps we would have been able to enjoy Shannon's company tonight.Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03218385133811054388noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32853682.post-67319470286464822152009-03-09T06:34:00.000-07:002009-03-09T06:46:23.797-07:00Writing Adventure #2<span style="color:#ffff00;">Adventure Guide from <a href="http://www.nixyvalentine.com/index.php/writers-group/">http://www.nixyvalentine.com/index.php/writers-group/</a>: Go outside, and sit for a minute. (This can be in your yard or garden, on a city street, in a park, in a shopping centre, where ever you choose!) Soak in everything you see, hear, smell, etc, for a moment, and then describe something that you did not notice at first. This can be anything! Just make it something that you overlooked when you first arrived. Keep your descriptions as concrete as possible!<br /></span><br />- - - - - - - -<br />I open the sliding glass door to my back yard and feel the crisp coolness of morning. A refreshing breeze touches my skin. I wait a couple of seconds, expecting a humid undertone to the breeze, but it doesn’t come. Ahhhhh! We don’t get many mornings like this in Texas.<br /><br />The sky is overcast with varying colors of blue, gray, and white, but the wind is chasing the darkest clouds north at a fast clip.<br /><br />The distinct “weeeeeEEEP!” of a grackle in a neighbor’s tree. I look up to see if the whole flock is near, but there’s only a mockingbird in my budding oak tree. Squeak! It’s a blue squeaky football-shaped toy in the mouth of my prancing, teasing, half-boxer, half-tasmanian devil dog. She bows and wags her short tail, saying “let’s play” to her boxer brother, who is busy investigating the fallen tree limb in the middle of the yard.<br /><br />Swoosh. Squeak. The bus stop behind my fenced yard. Vrom. A passing truck. I bend to pet my sweet lynx-point kitty as I hear the mockingbird taunting him. Click click click click cheeeee! The breeze is still refreshing. Birds of all types are chirping and singing their varied songs.<br /><br />While most of my small yard is mulch (because no St. Augustine or Bermuda grows where big dogs play), the area I call the “poop garden” is sprouting clumps of green buffalo grass. It’s time to start mowing again.<br /><br />As I head back toward the back door, I glance up to my oak tree again. The lone mockingbird has been replaced by a flock of grackles. Over a dozen black birds perch in my tree. On the telephone pole outside my fence sits the ring-leader on his throne, stretching his body and raising his head to send another “weeeeeeeeEEEEEP!” There will be hundreds of them soon. Time to go in.Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03218385133811054388noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32853682.post-17112258612898916812009-03-06T12:49:00.000-08:002009-03-06T13:18:08.745-08:00My name is Jackie, and I'm a TwittererI admit I have a problem. It all started with NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), where I hooked up with a few other writers like myself - you know - One-day novelists ("One day, I'll write a novel"). Some of us started following one another on Twitter. One thing led to another and now I've joined the Writing Adventure Group.<br /><br />So I blog my writing adventure, and then I read other people's blogs about the same writing adventure. Then I click into some of the blogs they have listed on <em>their</em> blogs and end up reading more and more interesting, funny, creative, inspiring blogs.<br /><br />Then I start <em>following </em>all of those blogs, AND I start following all of those blog writers' twitters. Then I start following literary agents' twitters and then following literary agents' blogs. I knew i had a problem when I went to Facebook and wrote a status message that was unrecognizable to anyone who doesn't follow the same Twitters I follow. (It takes someone reading #queryfail to recognize someone writing about #queryfail.)<br /><br />I don't know where it's going to end. It's like opening a box of cookies and saying "I'll just eat two." The next thing you know, you've spent an entire day doing nothing but reading... not....writing.<br /><br />So I'm posting a cry for help on my blog. This way, I'll find out if anyone else has the same problem I have, or if I'm all alone in this cruel, cruel world. Is there a Bloggers or Twitterers Anonymous? A little bit of blog reading can be a good thing. Everything in moderation, as they say. But it's gone too far and I don't know how to stop.<br /><br />I now <span style="color:#ffff33;"><em><strong>think</strong></em> </span>in Twitters... <em><span style="color:#ff0000;"><strong>as if</strong></span></em> I'm doing or thinking anything relevant enough for the world to want to know about in 140 characters or less??Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03218385133811054388noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32853682.post-49884893162967548492009-03-02T13:10:00.000-08:002009-03-02T13:18:43.307-08:00WAG: The Sky's the Limit<span style="color:#ffcc00;"><strong>Today's WAG Adventure:</strong> The Sky's the Limit. "Describe the sky exactly as you see it. Use concrete words, no flowery language or metaphor. The idea is to let the physical speak for itself and to train us to be able to create the idea of “peaceful”, “beautiful”, “amazing” without using those kinds of empty words that tell the reader how to feel. Keep it real. No aliens or imaginings or memories. This is an observational exercise!"</span><br /><br />The sky today is overcast with white and gray clouds. If I didn’t know they were clouds, I might think the sky itself was white fusing into darker hues at a distance. But there are hints of blue here and there as I pan to the North, reminding me of the sky’s native color. The white dissipates to blue, as if an artist had taken a soft sponge and dabbed a blue canvas with white cotton. I squint to take it all in because, while it isn’t bright, there is a glare. The sun cannot be ignored, even on overcast days.<br /><br /><span style="color:#ffcc00;">Okay, so it's hard for me to write without using at least one simile! So perhaps I failed my assignment. Oh wait! It's not an assignment. It's an adventure.</span>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03218385133811054388noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32853682.post-58398649508641763392009-03-02T07:26:00.000-08:002009-03-02T11:52:46.148-08:00Writing Adventure GroupI've been neglecting this blog ever since I started the wordpress blogsite. But now I have joined the Writing Adventure Group, so I'll be using this blog for my exercises .... er... adventures. The first one is called "The Sky is the Limit." (<a href="http://www.nixyvalentine.com/index.php/2009/02/writing-adventure-group/">http://www.nixyvalentine.com/index.php/2009/02/writing-adventure-group/</a>) When I get my courage up... um, I mean, when I get focused, I'll add another post in answer to "The Sky is the Limit." Really I will.<br /><br />Why, you may ask, am I bothering to post about the fact that I'm going to post something? Well that's a good question.<br /><br />*The previous statement, and the question preceding it are an example of procrastination ... otherwise known as a delaying technique. You've heard other examples of these before. They spew from your teenager's mouth in the form of "huh?" after you ask him a question that you know he heard and understood perfectly well. He uses it to buy himself time to think of a believable answer.<br /><br />And that's enough about that. Coming up next: "The Sky is the Limit." Huh?Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03218385133811054388noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32853682.post-28767390173557610312007-09-25T21:36:00.000-07:002007-09-25T21:37:37.469-07:00new websiteI have a new website. Visit me!<br /><a href="http://www.jackiedoss.wordpress.com/">www.jackiedoss.wordpress.com</a>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03218385133811054388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32853682.post-8604556754030681692007-05-09T18:34:00.000-07:002007-05-09T18:43:29.849-07:00A confessionIt's not that I haven't been writing... it's that I don't want to post my serious stuff on a public blog. So sorry. Do you still love me?<br /><br />Hello? Oh, that's right. There's no one reading this anyway. :) Har.<br /><br />What I mean by "serious" is the stuff that I take seriously... the stuff I may want to publish someday. I'd hate to send it to a publisher and find out that a stranger beat me to it. Yes, beat me to a publisher with some "serious stuff." I'm amazingly articulate. I should be a writer.<br /><br />It burst my rose-colored bubble (awwww. It was so <em>pretty</em>) when it dawned on me that I shouldn't post my stories here. If I die before I get them published, I will wish I had posted them, because someone might stumble upon them and decide that they're good, or better yet, actually glean something valuable from them and... hmmm... change the world. What do you think, pink bubble? Hello? <br /><br />Well anyway, they're not "done" enough... so I won't post them. You can't make me! :)Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03218385133811054388noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32853682.post-1161471760309893282006-10-21T15:55:00.000-07:002006-10-21T16:02:40.323-07:00There's No Such Thing As Writer's BlockThere's no such thing as writer's block.<br />Wait patiently for a poem to drop.<br />There's no such thing as writer's block.<br />Just wait and scribble and breathe.<br />Dot your i's and cross your t's.<br />Stop thinking that it must have this or that<br /> to rank significant,<br /> worthy of a scholarly recipient.<br />A fly will buzz, a fan will drone.<br />Tell the muse there's somebody home.<br /><br />No,<br />Make her think you're drifting,<br />vacant.<br />Sometimes she drops in unexpectedly.<br />Never on cue.<br /><br />There's no such thing as writer's block.<br />Don't let the ink get dry.<br />Write, write, write, write.<br />March the rhythm by.<br />Can a muse refuse a cadence?<br />Will she just pass by?<br /><br />Write, write, write, write.<br />Your mind's a metronome.<br />Read it again, then one more time.<br />Listen to the fan drone.<br /><br />Tap, tap, tap, tap.<br />Don't worry, it will come…<br />after a load of clothes, perhaps,<br />after the coffee's done.<br />There's no such thing as writer's block,<br />just muses that like to roam.Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03218385133811054388noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32853682.post-1160586972038865862006-10-11T09:39:00.000-07:002006-10-11T10:20:50.700-07:00The Come-to-Jesus Meeting (AKA: The Locker Room Talk)I was angry at my boss. Okay, I was SPITTIN' angry! My blood was boiling, my hands were shaking. I couldn't get it out of my mind. How could she treat her most loyal employee like this? I had been working 80 hours a week, filling in for people who took time off, doing three people's jobs (including hers)... and yet, when I ask for some time off, she says she can't spare me. If anyone deserved some time off, it was I!!!<br /><br />Luckily, it was close enough to lunch time that leaving wouldn't seem unusual. So I grabbed my workout gear, stormed out, and headed to the YMCA to work off some steam. I got on the step machine and started stepping as hard and fast as I could. I did some free weights, I walked briskly around the track. If only the racquetball courts weren't already reserved. I could inflict some HEAT on a little blue ball! Oh yes! So I got on the treadmill. Usually, working out helped me think through things and either come to my senses, or at least make myself too tired to be worked up. But not this time.<br /><br />After about 45 minutes of sweating, swearing, contemplating my righteousness and her wrongedness, going over and over in my head what I would like to say to her (and to think, we were FRIENDS!)…I flung open the door to the locker room. I stared at the lockers, breathing in that sweaty, musty odor. Now it was time to clean up and go back to work... but I wasn't ready yet. I sat down on the bench huffing, not just from the strenuous exercise but from the injustice of it all. I stared at my sneakers.<br /><br />In fast-forward speed, I said to myself "Aren't you going to pray about this?" The question came and went so fast through my brain, it was like a lightning bolt. The sky lit up, and then there was darkness. I paused. I huffed. I began to do that God-forsaken "thinking and brooding" again, as if I were drowning and needed to tread water to stay alive. Kick, kick, breathe, breathe, "how could she?!" huff, huff, huff. "Does she want to burn me out? Does she want her most valuable employee to quit? I really need some time off!" I couldn't even stop my mind long enough to pray... long enough to just say "Jesus, a little help?"<br /><br />I sat there on the bench facing the orange lockers, hung my head down, fought back tears. I took a deep breath. "Lord, I can't seem to stop my mind from racing... so you don't have much time in between thoughts, but I need your help to get past this. I'm going to try to be quiet and listen for you, but you may only have a split second." I took another breath. When I blew it out, the anger was gone. Poof!<br /><br />Now, I know that "locker room talks" from coaches are supposed to be filled with fire from the belly. I know that "Come-to-Jesus meetings" are not really meetings at all, but tongue-lashings. Both of these phrases conjure up a picture of berating, brow-beating brimstone that leaves the recipient filled with regret and pain. But for me, the locker room talk was a blessed relief, and the Come-to-Jesus Meeting was a warm embrace. I left the locker room knowing that He could truly take away my grief and anger if I would but ask.... and he could do it in a micro-second.<br /><br />I don't even recall in much detail what happened after that. I went back and stated my case to my friend/boss in a calm and loving manner, and was content with the outcome. Honestly, I don't know if she gave in and let me take some time off, or if she explained why she couldn't and I accepted it. It really doesn't even matter. What matters is the time I spent with Jesus, allowing him to put salve on my wounds and help me stand. I am convinced that God is outside of time, because the time I gave him was so small, it cannot even be measured. But even in the blink of an eye he can do great things; bless his holy name.Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03218385133811054388noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32853682.post-1160507799613677132006-10-10T12:10:00.000-07:002006-10-10T12:26:21.160-07:00When Will Horses Fly?When I was first diagnosed, I believed that I would be inspired to write a lot, because writing has always been like therapy for me. But I sure haven't written very much in the past two years! As usual, I bring out the notebooks, mull over old writings, and then put them away until the muse comes again. I KNOW that I have to invite the muse by picking up my pen (or perch my fingers on the keyboard)... but, like many things that I KNOW (how to diet, how to exercise, how to pray, how to study, how to ..... okay you get the picture), I seldom actually put my knowledge into practice.<br /><br />My friend MahrKay told me yesterday that I should write about the "Come to Jesus" meeting I had in the locker room of the YMCA. No, there was no coach yelling at me about how I'd lost the game for the rest of the team. Just me and God.<br /><br />I think I'll write about it tomorrow. :) How's that for using the ancient writer's tool: "Suspense"?Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03218385133811054388noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32853682.post-1155774980590892102006-08-16T17:32:00.000-07:002006-08-16T17:36:20.603-07:00Why a Winged Horse?<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7304/3598/1600/pegasusdesign3.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7304/3598/320/pegasusdesign3.jpg" border="0" /></a> Why do I call this blog the Pegasus journals? Well, the story goes so far back into my childhood that I, myself, do not even remember it.<br /><br />When I was a child I had an imaginary friend. I don't remember him at all, but my mother says I called him "Mr. Pegasus." I wonder sometimes if my mother didn't just stretch her imagination to make my gibberish sound like such a name. It could have actually been Mr. Pegleg or Mr. Pogo, or some name I had heard but couldn't pronounce. But since Pegasus is such a wonderfully relevant name to someone like me, I think I'll go along with what my mother says.<br /><br />Sometime during my adolescence I found out what (or who) Pegasus was. I had already found out that I love to write and wanted to become a writer. Imagine my elation when I read that in mythology, Pegasus, a winged horse who, with the slash of his hoof, created Hippocreene, an eternal spring of the muses, was a source of inspiration for poets! It was my validation, my guarantee, my sign from God that I was to be a writer. Why else would a child call her imaginary friend "Pegasus"? I certainly couldn't have thought of it on my own as a preschooler. It was destiny.<br /><br />I have often wondered how on earth I came across my imaginary friend. When I was going through my Edgar Cayce/Shirley McClain phase, I believed Mr. Pegasus must have been a guiding spirit. And, even though I am a person who believes in divine purpose for everything, my rational mind keeps trying to tell me it was just a coincidence. However, my left brain has never pulled much weight with me.<br /><br />Though my life has taken many turns, and I have changed my mind several times about my career, and indeed have changed my career field more than once, something in the back of my mind still clings to the notion that I MUST WRITE. Many times, I have felt convinced that I would never become a writer, and should give up the silly idea, but Mr. Pegasus will not let me.<br /><br />The main problem remains that while Pegasus may be an inspiration, he can't force me to get on and ride. He is not a magic formula, and I am certainly not William Butler Yeats, who had Spirit guides to do his writing for him. That's what I keep hoping for, I guess -- that someday I'll fall into a deep trance, wake up, and see pages filled with wonderful words.<br /><br />I used to tell my writing students that learning to write is like learning to ride a bicycle. You have to get on and ride, and fall, scrape your elbows and knees, and even your chin, and eventually you will be a bike rider. "If you want to be a writer, write," said Epicetus. OK, OK. I get the idea. I can't expect the horse to do it all, even if he does have wings.Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03218385133811054388noreply@blogger.com4