Today is December 1st. Christmas is slightly more than 3 weeks off. I hope you're not like me, totally unprepared at this late date! Because I am totally unprepared...which means shopping has not begun, Christmas Day menu is not thought out, decorations have not been brought down from the attic, etc...I decided to do something different for my blog. At least for this week, since it's practically over and this is the first I've had time to think about blogging.
I'm going to give you a brief scenario, and ask you to give me a story synopsis in no less than three and no more than six sentences. Each sentence can be as long as you want, as long as it is grammatically correct, but there can be no more than six all together. Are you up for this?
She stood at the edge of the grass covered path, looking off into the distance. She was shrouded in mist, which played delicately among the trees like a fragile shawl beginning to slip away from one's shoulders. That mist, however, didn't cover the gun which hung from her left hand.
Who is she? Where is she going? What conflict does she face? Is the gun to aid in her conflict, to help her overcome an obstacle, or...is it for her?
I hope you'll take a few minutes and play along with me!
Until next time,
That's a wrap.
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Saturday, December 1, 2012
Friday, November 23, 2012
Do We Stop Giving Thanks?
Thanksgiving is over, and I'm all for a day of rest. I imagine for most people, Thanksgiving Day was a rather ordinary day...ordinary only in that you gather family and close friends together and have the usual turkey, dressing, and cranberry sauce dinner, or whatever your personal traditional dinner is. You revel in the love you feel from every one around the dinner table. You treasure the time spent, when quite possibly "family" means pulling in relatives from all over the country and you know that doesn't happen often. It is, perhaps, the one day of the year that those you care about the most are all in one place at the same time, and you are right in the big middle.
For us, this Thanksgiving was very different. It is the first holiday since my son was diagnosed with a very rare form of dementia, and it was a day devoted to a multitude of feelings. Frustrations were high, with a little bit of anger underneath, love, disappointment, fear, surprise, tears, and not a little grief...all mixed up in such a way it was difficult to even sort them out. It was not our usual day, in any respect, and underlying everything was the thought in everyone's mind that this may well be the last Thanksgiving we have with my son.
We finished dinner, and continued our conversation without my son's interjections. I looked around the table and saw tears in my 21 year old grandson's eyes as he looked at his father. I knew what his thoughts were, and I knew they were the same in the minds of my husband, my wonderful daughter-in-law , and in the good friends who were present.
I started thinking about Thanksgiving, and what it was all about. I thought about the word itself...Thanks Giving...and how we should be giving thanks to our Lord for all of our blessings. And then I looked at my son, and I wondered: Do I stop 'giving thanks' when I feel right now like there is so little to be thankful for? Where are my blessings now?
Right there, sitting at the table. That's where my blessings were, except for my daughter and her family, who couldn't be with us. I could look at my son, and not see him as he is, but as he was...a wonderful boy who grew into a handsome, intelligent, responsible man, husband, and father. He was my blessing every day of his life, and will be until there is no more life. My husband, my daughter-in-law, my grandson, friends...all are blessings in a personal world turned upside down by life's quirks.
Do we stop giving thanks? For a while this summer, it would not have done to ask me that question, for I was too hurt and too angry at God to give a responsible answer. Now, I know the answer is No, we don't. We each have our own blessings to be thankful for, even if the world has given us a rotten shake. After all, we can always look around and see someone whose "shake" has been even more "rotten" than ours.
This Thanksgiving was very different, very hard. Nevertheless, most of my blessings were right there at the table with me. Even so, today I felt the need to put my feelings here, for those to read who wished to do so. I may not be "purged" so to speak, but now I can go on to the other blessings around me, and get back to writing.
Thank you for listening.
Until next time,
That's a wrap.
For us, this Thanksgiving was very different. It is the first holiday since my son was diagnosed with a very rare form of dementia, and it was a day devoted to a multitude of feelings. Frustrations were high, with a little bit of anger underneath, love, disappointment, fear, surprise, tears, and not a little grief...all mixed up in such a way it was difficult to even sort them out. It was not our usual day, in any respect, and underlying everything was the thought in everyone's mind that this may well be the last Thanksgiving we have with my son.
We finished dinner, and continued our conversation without my son's interjections. I looked around the table and saw tears in my 21 year old grandson's eyes as he looked at his father. I knew what his thoughts were, and I knew they were the same in the minds of my husband, my wonderful daughter-in-law , and in the good friends who were present.
I started thinking about Thanksgiving, and what it was all about. I thought about the word itself...Thanks Giving...and how we should be giving thanks to our Lord for all of our blessings. And then I looked at my son, and I wondered: Do I stop 'giving thanks' when I feel right now like there is so little to be thankful for? Where are my blessings now?
Right there, sitting at the table. That's where my blessings were, except for my daughter and her family, who couldn't be with us. I could look at my son, and not see him as he is, but as he was...a wonderful boy who grew into a handsome, intelligent, responsible man, husband, and father. He was my blessing every day of his life, and will be until there is no more life. My husband, my daughter-in-law, my grandson, friends...all are blessings in a personal world turned upside down by life's quirks.
Do we stop giving thanks? For a while this summer, it would not have done to ask me that question, for I was too hurt and too angry at God to give a responsible answer. Now, I know the answer is No, we don't. We each have our own blessings to be thankful for, even if the world has given us a rotten shake. After all, we can always look around and see someone whose "shake" has been even more "rotten" than ours.
This Thanksgiving was very different, very hard. Nevertheless, most of my blessings were right there at the table with me. Even so, today I felt the need to put my feelings here, for those to read who wished to do so. I may not be "purged" so to speak, but now I can go on to the other blessings around me, and get back to writing.
Thank you for listening.
Until next time,
That's a wrap.
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Photographs In My MInd
You've reached a point in your novel where you are stuck. Usually it's right around the 8th or 9th chapter, which is right about in the middle of the story. You like the first part of the story, and you've already figured out the ending, but now you have to get from the beginning to the end, and you're stuck.
What do you do when this happens? And don't fib, you know it happens to all of us! Do you get up and take the dog for a walk? Clean the kitchen? Do some much-needed laundry? Or perhaps you just sit and stare into space...or maybe, at your screen saver.
I'm at that point...9th chapter, right on schedule, now how the heck to I get to the ending I have all planned out? I sat without hitting a key for so long today that my screen saver came on, and I found myself staring at some really lovely pictures.
Now those photographs are carefully saved in the back of my mind, and everywhere I look, there they are...
...a beautiful field, heavily covered with delicate, fern-like grasses, deep green in color. Tracks cut through the field, narrow, the dark-brown-almost black color of rich dirt, curving and finally disappearing in the distance...
...two tall trees, standing so close together their long slender branches and pointed leaves mingle with one another. You can't see the bottoms of these trees, for a thick fog rises from the ground and distorts everything it touches...
...a long pier rises from out of nowhere, and stretches far out into the sapphire-blue ocean, ending is a small gazebo...
Photographs in my mind. What stories they can conjure up! Who was driving through that green field, and where were they going? The tracks were too narrow for a modern car, so it must have been in the early 1920's when automobiles were just coming into their own. A young couple, seeking some privacy so they could spoon awhile? A moonshiner sneaking out to his shack to see how many bottles he had stashed away that he could sell that night?
The thick fog rises from the ground to cover the bottoms of the trees, but what else does it cover? What secrets lie hidden beneath that seemingly benign element of weather? Will a runaway teen or an abused wife or a fleeing convict seek cover within that fog?
The long pier that seems to go on forever has its own secrets, as well. Who walked that endless length of wooden planks, only to stand beneath the gazebo and gaze out upon the water? Someone facing her own mortality, as an incurable disease wracks her body? A young teen who has been bullied to the point of considering self-destruction? A writer who seeks the peace and solitude offered by the quiet waters below?
Photographs in my mind. Or in yours? What do you see?
Until next time,
That's a wrap.
What do you do when this happens? And don't fib, you know it happens to all of us! Do you get up and take the dog for a walk? Clean the kitchen? Do some much-needed laundry? Or perhaps you just sit and stare into space...or maybe, at your screen saver.
I'm at that point...9th chapter, right on schedule, now how the heck to I get to the ending I have all planned out? I sat without hitting a key for so long today that my screen saver came on, and I found myself staring at some really lovely pictures.
Now those photographs are carefully saved in the back of my mind, and everywhere I look, there they are...
...a beautiful field, heavily covered with delicate, fern-like grasses, deep green in color. Tracks cut through the field, narrow, the dark-brown-almost black color of rich dirt, curving and finally disappearing in the distance...
...two tall trees, standing so close together their long slender branches and pointed leaves mingle with one another. You can't see the bottoms of these trees, for a thick fog rises from the ground and distorts everything it touches...
...a long pier rises from out of nowhere, and stretches far out into the sapphire-blue ocean, ending is a small gazebo...
Photographs in my mind. What stories they can conjure up! Who was driving through that green field, and where were they going? The tracks were too narrow for a modern car, so it must have been in the early 1920's when automobiles were just coming into their own. A young couple, seeking some privacy so they could spoon awhile? A moonshiner sneaking out to his shack to see how many bottles he had stashed away that he could sell that night?
The thick fog rises from the ground to cover the bottoms of the trees, but what else does it cover? What secrets lie hidden beneath that seemingly benign element of weather? Will a runaway teen or an abused wife or a fleeing convict seek cover within that fog?
The long pier that seems to go on forever has its own secrets, as well. Who walked that endless length of wooden planks, only to stand beneath the gazebo and gaze out upon the water? Someone facing her own mortality, as an incurable disease wracks her body? A young teen who has been bullied to the point of considering self-destruction? A writer who seeks the peace and solitude offered by the quiet waters below?
Photographs in my mind. Or in yours? What do you see?
Until next time,
That's a wrap.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
The Deer Who Loved a Dog
Gretchen was a Dachshund, not a Mini Dachshund, but smaller than normal for a registered Doxie. She loved the outdoors, particularly where she and her people had just moved to. A wide expanse of green lawn, held in by a short white picket fence, was all hers to roam, roll in, chase balls, and even to sit and gaze at the great forest beyond.
For the first few days, while the household was in the usual turmoil of moving in and getting settled, Gretchen would take her favorite toys outside and lie just inside the fence. The forest held many strange and wonderful smells for her to sniff, and perhaps, even to daydream a bit about where...or who...or what...those smells came from. Her tiny black nose would crinkle up and go a mile-a-minute, trying to track down and isolate each whiff that came to her.
Then one day, something more than a smell came up to the fence. Gretchen stood up and backed slowly away. She didn't bark. The something was large, very foreign to the little dog. She wasn't afraid, just wary. Her female person came out of the house, walked up to her, and said, "It's okay, Gretchen. It's just a deer, a doe, and she won't hurt you."
Her person picked Gretchen up and stood watching the doe watching Gretchen. The doe's nose twitched, she stretched her neck out over the fence and seemed to sniff the air. Satisfied that there was no danger on the other side of the fence, she turned and slowly moved away.
The next morning, Gretchen went out to lay in the sun on the deck. She had hardly laid down when something caused her hair to bristle. She growled low in her throat as she walked down the steps and over to the fence. She sat down, and stared at what was in front of her: 6 deer, 5 does and 1 buck. The buck reached over the fence as far as he could. Gretchen stood her ground. He st--re--t--ch--ed
over the fence a little bit further. Gretchen moved a couple of inches forward. The buck reached towards her with his long tongue, barely missing her twitching little nose. Gretchen moved again, and this time, the buck's tongue reached her nose. He swished his tongue around and around while Gretchen stood stock still. Then, the buck drew back across the fence and moved away. Each of the does came forward, stretched their necks across the fence and touched Gretchen's nose. When the last doe had touched her, the small herd moved back into the forest.
For the next several years, the same does and buck came every morning and evening to the fence, as Gretchen's people kept fresh hay for them to feed upon. Each year, one or more of the does brought their new born fawns to feed, and when they were old enough, they too reached over the fence to touch the little brown dog's cold, wet nose. Summer, winter, rain, shine, or snow, Gretchen went outside to spend time with the deer.
Then one day, Gretchen's life came to an end. She died peacefully in her persons' arms as they cried over her. They decided to bury her next to the place in the fence where the deer had come to visit, day and evening, year after year. They made a grave for her, and planted a small tree in the center. Then, they stood back and watched as the deer came to visit again. Only this time, there was no little dog to greet them.
The next morning, Gretchen's persons were standing on the deck when the deer came for their breakfast and their morning visit with Gretchen. Once again, she wasn't there. The buck walked over to the grave and sniffed around it. He leaned hard against the small picket fence. Again and again he pushed at the fence. One of the does came over to help him. They pushed. They pushed again. The fence gave way, and the two deer walked over it to reach the grave. They walked around and around the grave, while Gretchen's people watched in amazement. Then the rest of the small herd came over and walked around it. A moment more, and all of the deer laid down, surrounding the grave. They paid no attention to the humans watching them, stunned by what they were seeing.
After more than 1/2 hour, the deer finally rose, finished eating, and faded back into the forest. Evening came, and once again, the deer went to the grave, walked around it, and laid down in a circle.
For the next few months, day, evening, through hot sun, cold rain, and deep snow, the herd of deer went through the same routine, never missing a day. Then, sadly, Gretchen's people moved away, content only in knowing that their beloved companion was kept safe by the deer who loved her.
**********************************************************************
This is a true story, told to me only today by two of our best friends who came to visit and bring a new toy to our injured Corgi. I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope you felt the same awe ( and got the same goose bumps) as I did upon hearing it...the love of "wild" animals for one so small, not one of their own.
For the first few days, while the household was in the usual turmoil of moving in and getting settled, Gretchen would take her favorite toys outside and lie just inside the fence. The forest held many strange and wonderful smells for her to sniff, and perhaps, even to daydream a bit about where...or who...or what...those smells came from. Her tiny black nose would crinkle up and go a mile-a-minute, trying to track down and isolate each whiff that came to her.
Then one day, something more than a smell came up to the fence. Gretchen stood up and backed slowly away. She didn't bark. The something was large, very foreign to the little dog. She wasn't afraid, just wary. Her female person came out of the house, walked up to her, and said, "It's okay, Gretchen. It's just a deer, a doe, and she won't hurt you."
Her person picked Gretchen up and stood watching the doe watching Gretchen. The doe's nose twitched, she stretched her neck out over the fence and seemed to sniff the air. Satisfied that there was no danger on the other side of the fence, she turned and slowly moved away.
The next morning, Gretchen went out to lay in the sun on the deck. She had hardly laid down when something caused her hair to bristle. She growled low in her throat as she walked down the steps and over to the fence. She sat down, and stared at what was in front of her: 6 deer, 5 does and 1 buck. The buck reached over the fence as far as he could. Gretchen stood her ground. He st--re--t--ch--ed
over the fence a little bit further. Gretchen moved a couple of inches forward. The buck reached towards her with his long tongue, barely missing her twitching little nose. Gretchen moved again, and this time, the buck's tongue reached her nose. He swished his tongue around and around while Gretchen stood stock still. Then, the buck drew back across the fence and moved away. Each of the does came forward, stretched their necks across the fence and touched Gretchen's nose. When the last doe had touched her, the small herd moved back into the forest.
For the next several years, the same does and buck came every morning and evening to the fence, as Gretchen's people kept fresh hay for them to feed upon. Each year, one or more of the does brought their new born fawns to feed, and when they were old enough, they too reached over the fence to touch the little brown dog's cold, wet nose. Summer, winter, rain, shine, or snow, Gretchen went outside to spend time with the deer.
Then one day, Gretchen's life came to an end. She died peacefully in her persons' arms as they cried over her. They decided to bury her next to the place in the fence where the deer had come to visit, day and evening, year after year. They made a grave for her, and planted a small tree in the center. Then, they stood back and watched as the deer came to visit again. Only this time, there was no little dog to greet them.
The next morning, Gretchen's persons were standing on the deck when the deer came for their breakfast and their morning visit with Gretchen. Once again, she wasn't there. The buck walked over to the grave and sniffed around it. He leaned hard against the small picket fence. Again and again he pushed at the fence. One of the does came over to help him. They pushed. They pushed again. The fence gave way, and the two deer walked over it to reach the grave. They walked around and around the grave, while Gretchen's people watched in amazement. Then the rest of the small herd came over and walked around it. A moment more, and all of the deer laid down, surrounding the grave. They paid no attention to the humans watching them, stunned by what they were seeing.
After more than 1/2 hour, the deer finally rose, finished eating, and faded back into the forest. Evening came, and once again, the deer went to the grave, walked around it, and laid down in a circle.
For the next few months, day, evening, through hot sun, cold rain, and deep snow, the herd of deer went through the same routine, never missing a day. Then, sadly, Gretchen's people moved away, content only in knowing that their beloved companion was kept safe by the deer who loved her.
**********************************************************************
This is a true story, told to me only today by two of our best friends who came to visit and bring a new toy to our injured Corgi. I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope you felt the same awe ( and got the same goose bumps) as I did upon hearing it...the love of "wild" animals for one so small, not one of their own.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Paderewski and Paso Robles, California
After a more than six weeks absence, I'm back. I'm going a little out of my usual blog posts to talk some about one of the most famous composers of all time, and my own little Victorian town on the Central Coast of California.
Ignacy Jan Paderewski was born and raised in Poland and became one of the most revered concert pianists of all time. In 1913, however, his worldwide legacy as a pianist ended due to a combination of what we now call tendonitis and arthritis. He was looking for something to heal or help his pain, when his doctors told him of the healing waters of sulphur springs.
In Paso Robles, California, there are many, many underground sulphur springs. Somehow, the Polish doctors had heard of this tiny Victorian town ( not quite so tiny today, just small) and told Paderewski he must go at once to La Ciudad de El Paso de Robles, in the United States.
Paderewski arrived here fron San Francisco on January 17, 1913, in his own private rail car. Citizens from all over came to greet him, as most had not only heard and loved his music, but many played his concertos and solos themselves. Doctors here began his treatments with the sulphur waters, and amazingly, his hands began to heal.
Through the years, even though he began to tour again, he made Paso Robles his home, and even began buying thousands of acres here to become a "gentleman rancher." The main contribution he made to this town was the fostering of the great Zinfandel grape varietal, for which our town has become very famous.
Paderewski decried the terrible things that were happening in Poland during those years, and did not return to Poland until 1918, when the Versailles Treaty returned Poland to an independent country. He became the First Prime Minister of the Independent Poland until 1922, when he resigned and returned to international concert touring. He died in New York in 1941 and was temporarily buried at Arlington National Cemetery. In 1992 his body was returned to Poland, where it now lies in the Royal Crypt of the Warsaw Cathedral.
From 1913 until 1941, he returned often to Paso Robles. He owned two ranches with land that covered three miles east to west and four miles north to south, most of it planted in Zinfandel grapes. He was a highly respected and beloved member of this town.
In 1991, the Paso Robles town fathers decided to have a Paderewski Festival, highlighting his life and his music. Next Thursday, November 8th, El Paso de Robles ( the Pass of the Oaks) will begin celebrating four days of the life and musical heritage of Ignacy Jan Paderewski in our 21st annual Paderewski Festival. At 12:30 on Saturday, November 10th, there will be an unveiling of a life-sized statue of Paderewski which will stand in our City Park near our historic Carnegie Library Museum.
At 4:00pm on Saturday we will host the Paderewski Youth Piano Competition Recital.
We will have several Dignitaries representing the Republic of Poland staying here for the entire festival.
From a tiny Victorian town, once nothing more than a rest stop for weary stage coach travelers along the Camino Real Trail, to a small Victorian town now world-renown for Paderewski and Zinfandel wine, El Paso de Robles has come a long way! We've only lived here 11 years, but we love this town and the great community spirit everyone here has. We are proud to live here and be a part of the "music and wine" heritage Paderewski left behind.
Until next time,
That's a wrap.
Ignacy Jan Paderewski was born and raised in Poland and became one of the most revered concert pianists of all time. In 1913, however, his worldwide legacy as a pianist ended due to a combination of what we now call tendonitis and arthritis. He was looking for something to heal or help his pain, when his doctors told him of the healing waters of sulphur springs.
In Paso Robles, California, there are many, many underground sulphur springs. Somehow, the Polish doctors had heard of this tiny Victorian town ( not quite so tiny today, just small) and told Paderewski he must go at once to La Ciudad de El Paso de Robles, in the United States.
Paderewski arrived here fron San Francisco on January 17, 1913, in his own private rail car. Citizens from all over came to greet him, as most had not only heard and loved his music, but many played his concertos and solos themselves. Doctors here began his treatments with the sulphur waters, and amazingly, his hands began to heal.
Through the years, even though he began to tour again, he made Paso Robles his home, and even began buying thousands of acres here to become a "gentleman rancher." The main contribution he made to this town was the fostering of the great Zinfandel grape varietal, for which our town has become very famous.
Paderewski decried the terrible things that were happening in Poland during those years, and did not return to Poland until 1918, when the Versailles Treaty returned Poland to an independent country. He became the First Prime Minister of the Independent Poland until 1922, when he resigned and returned to international concert touring. He died in New York in 1941 and was temporarily buried at Arlington National Cemetery. In 1992 his body was returned to Poland, where it now lies in the Royal Crypt of the Warsaw Cathedral.
From 1913 until 1941, he returned often to Paso Robles. He owned two ranches with land that covered three miles east to west and four miles north to south, most of it planted in Zinfandel grapes. He was a highly respected and beloved member of this town.
In 1991, the Paso Robles town fathers decided to have a Paderewski Festival, highlighting his life and his music. Next Thursday, November 8th, El Paso de Robles ( the Pass of the Oaks) will begin celebrating four days of the life and musical heritage of Ignacy Jan Paderewski in our 21st annual Paderewski Festival. At 12:30 on Saturday, November 10th, there will be an unveiling of a life-sized statue of Paderewski which will stand in our City Park near our historic Carnegie Library Museum.
At 4:00pm on Saturday we will host the Paderewski Youth Piano Competition Recital.
We will have several Dignitaries representing the Republic of Poland staying here for the entire festival.
From a tiny Victorian town, once nothing more than a rest stop for weary stage coach travelers along the Camino Real Trail, to a small Victorian town now world-renown for Paderewski and Zinfandel wine, El Paso de Robles has come a long way! We've only lived here 11 years, but we love this town and the great community spirit everyone here has. We are proud to live here and be a part of the "music and wine" heritage Paderewski left behind.
Until next time,
That's a wrap.
Monday, September 24, 2012
Bye For A While
Due to serious family problems, I am taking a short hiatus from posting. I'm not shutting down the blog, and I will be back, but right now my physical, mental, and emotional energies need to be with my family, and what little writing on my WIP I can do.
To all my followers, I hope you will stick around until I get back.
Thanks for your understanding.
Until next time,
That's a wrap.
To all my followers, I hope you will stick around until I get back.
Thanks for your understanding.
Until next time,
That's a wrap.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Tuesday's Thoughts: More Best Websites for Writers
Two apologies due, the first because I didn't post last Thursday as I said I would, and the second because I didn't post the websites as links, as my daughter said I should. I'll try to remedy at least the second this time.
JOBS AND MARKETS FOR WRITERS:
All Freelance Writing
http://allfreelancewriting.com
You can browse by category or search for specific paying freelance jobs.
Editor & Publisher
http://editorand publisher.com
Classified section for the latest in writing, editing, and publishing job offers.
The Market List
http://marketlist.com
This site specializes in market listings and resources for writers of children's books, science fiction, mysteries, and more.
Writer Gazette
http://writergazette.com
This site offers easy access to contests, markets, advice, and job listings. Extensive offerings of free articles on virtually everything writing-related.
GENRES/NICHES:
Resources for Children's Writers
http://resourcesforchildrenswriters.com
Hundreds of links to helpful resources offering advice on crafting, publishing, and marketing books for young readers.
Quantum Muse
http://quantummuse.com
User-created site: SF and fantasy stories and artwork for others to read and admire.
Mystery Writing Is Murder
http://mysterywritingismurder.blogspot.com
Blog brings insightful posts on what makes a successful mystery novel.
Murder By 4
http://murderby4.blogspot.com
Four suspense writers join forces and open up their writing lives on a blog, which is a must for all aspiring thriller writers.
ORGANIZATIONS:
Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators
http://scbwi.org
Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America
http://sfwa.org
Horror Writers Association
http://horror.org
Mystery Writers of America
http://mysterywriters.org
Poetry Society of America
http://PoetrySociety.org
Romance Writers of America
http://rwa.org
JUST FOR FUN:
Brainy Quotes:
http://brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/writing.html
Hundreds of quotes from famous sources speaking to the risk, struggle, and rewards of writing.
Daily Writing Tips:
http://dailywritingtips.com
Helpful hints on grammar, punctuation, word choice, style, and more will come in handy when you least expect it.
Merrian-Webster Word of the Day:
http://merriam-webster.com/word-of-the-day
Expand your vocabulary one day at a time.
Squidoo
http://squidoo.com
Share information about nonfiction topics, or just scour the site for valuable information on all sorts of miscellanea. It's almost as addictive as reading Wikipedia!
I hope some of the sites will be helpful, informative, or maybe just fun to go to.
Until next time,
That's a wrap.
JOBS AND MARKETS FOR WRITERS:
All Freelance Writing
http://allfreelancewriting.com
You can browse by category or search for specific paying freelance jobs.
Editor & Publisher
http://editorand publisher.com
Classified section for the latest in writing, editing, and publishing job offers.
The Market List
http://marketlist.com
This site specializes in market listings and resources for writers of children's books, science fiction, mysteries, and more.
Writer Gazette
http://writergazette.com
This site offers easy access to contests, markets, advice, and job listings. Extensive offerings of free articles on virtually everything writing-related.
GENRES/NICHES:
Resources for Children's Writers
http://resourcesforchildrenswriters.com
Hundreds of links to helpful resources offering advice on crafting, publishing, and marketing books for young readers.
Quantum Muse
http://quantummuse.com
User-created site: SF and fantasy stories and artwork for others to read and admire.
Mystery Writing Is Murder
http://mysterywritingismurder.blogspot.com
Blog brings insightful posts on what makes a successful mystery novel.
Murder By 4
http://murderby4.blogspot.com
Four suspense writers join forces and open up their writing lives on a blog, which is a must for all aspiring thriller writers.
ORGANIZATIONS:
Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators
http://scbwi.org
Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America
http://sfwa.org
Horror Writers Association
http://horror.org
Mystery Writers of America
http://mysterywriters.org
Poetry Society of America
http://PoetrySociety.org
Romance Writers of America
http://rwa.org
JUST FOR FUN:
Brainy Quotes:
http://brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/writing.html
Hundreds of quotes from famous sources speaking to the risk, struggle, and rewards of writing.
Daily Writing Tips:
http://dailywritingtips.com
Helpful hints on grammar, punctuation, word choice, style, and more will come in handy when you least expect it.
Merrian-Webster Word of the Day:
http://merriam-webster.com/word-of-the-day
Expand your vocabulary one day at a time.
Squidoo
http://squidoo.com
Share information about nonfiction topics, or just scour the site for valuable information on all sorts of miscellanea. It's almost as addictive as reading Wikipedia!
I hope some of the sites will be helpful, informative, or maybe just fun to go to.
Until next time,
That's a wrap.
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