Welcome to Sunday Poetry. If this is your first visit you can read about the purpose and inspiration here.    

What’s your part?  Just slow down a little and come along for the read–or sometimes, for the listen.  If you’d like to tell us what the day’s poem means in your life, or what word or phrase you’ve chosen to reflect on, or where those reflections have taken you, we would be honored. 

Last Sunday’s poem was about a moment.  This one’s about the day ahead.  The Only Day in Existence by Billy Collins shares much with This Moment, though.  It’s all about paying attention, about watching and waiting, about the ordinary becoming extraordinary.

I heard Billy Collins speak and read some of his poetry at Chautauqua Institution (where I’ll be when you read this) and that lecture sent me on a quest to find poetry and poets who speak to me.  He certainly stands at the head of that list.  Accessible and multi-layered, each Billy Collins poem is a joy to read and contemplate. 

What lessons does the day ahead have to teach you?  Remember you are always welcome to share your insights here.

 I’m still traveling, but next week I’ll begin sharing some of the wonderful contest entries I’ve received for the four pie gift boxes, as well as photos of some of the prizes.  Remember, I’ll choose a winner each Friday in June and one grand prize winner in July.

If you haven’t checked out the giveaway you can find information and rules here or here.  Remember to email your entry to me at my website.  Winners will be randomly selected from all correct entries.  Each gift box is different, but equally fun to receive.  We have pie cookbooks, aprons, charms, pie servers, and lots more.  The grand prize is the winner’s choice of a Kindle from Amazon or a Breville electric pie maker from William Sonoma–subject to availability.

Thanks to all of you who’ve sent pie recipes or links you love, memories and stories.  Wanda would be so proud of you.

Welcome to Sunday Poetry. If this is your first visit you can read about the purpose and inspiration here.    

What’s your part?  Just slow down a little and come along for the read–or sometimes, for the listen.  If you’d like to tell us what the day’s poem means in your life, or what word or phrase you’ve chosen to reflect on, or where those reflections have taken you, we would be honored. 

I loved this poem the instant I first read it.  In This Moment, Eavan Boland captures just that, one evocative moment in time, things seen and unseen.  This week, if you have time, try to capture a moment in your life.  What’s happening around you?  What have you been missing by rushing on to the next moment instead of savoring this one?  What do you wish you could hold on to?  For me at this moment as I type this?  Shocking pink roses from my hillside arbor sending their heady perfume to every neighbor’s house.  Spoons clinking in the kitchen.  Nemo searching for crumbs on the floor.  A breeze ruffling spring’s newest leaves. 

I particularly love the line “a woman leans down to catch a child who has run into her arms.”  I am reminded of being a child myself, of playing outside until dusk, then running home to my mother.  Thank you, Eavan Boland, for reminding me to pay attention and remember past moments, too.  And thank you, Poetry 180.

I’m in rainy Ohio, shivering with my brainstorming group.  Ohio in the late spring is newly green and outside the windows of my son’s house, both a Japanese magnolia and a pink dogwood bloom.  I feel glad to be here no matter what the weather.  

Last year we were together in Florida, so our venue has changed, but our group has not. Publishers have come and gone, as have agents.  We’ve all made changes in what or how we’re working now, but the brainstorming process is the same.  Each of us gets two one-and- a-half hour sessions during our five days together when the group focuses on whatever we ask them to.  I’ll be working on the first book of my new series, which has a brand new set of challenges for me.  If we answer all my questions in the first session, I’ll move on to next year’s book in the second. I do not expect to move on to next year’s book.

Sunday: We had dinner together last night, but we still feel as if we haven’t really caught up with news.  So in our first session we spend an hour talking about what’s happening in our lives.  We tell stories for a living, so this is one of the best parts of the day.  The news is for the most part good, which sets the tone.  We launch into plotting two books, one an international thriller, one a mystery, which is part of a well established series.  The books couldn’t be more different; the brainstorming has a common theme.  Both times the minute we begin to “fix” what we perceive as a problem, the entire story unravels.  And keeping track? We resolve to buy visual aids, poster board and post-it notes.  We accomplish a lot but have a lot more to do.  Good thing there are two sessions per author.  Mideastern food for dinner.  Completely exhausted, I sleep very well.

Monday: More rain.  I’m glad we’ll be snug and dry inside.  Just a few pages to read before we launch into one BSer’s proposal for a Christian publisher.  We agree immediately that it’s a great idea, with interesting twists.  I’m enchanted with the intelligence and simplicity of the premise, because while the plot will have plenty of action, the dynamics of the two main characters are well spelled out .  We spend the rest of the session fleshing out the characterization and motivation.  We are far less frustrated than we were yesterday.  By afternoon we’re ready to launch into the second book.  This one’s part of another established mystery series, and today we figure out how to tie up some loose ends.  I laugh so hard at one point that I have tears rolling down my cheeks.  The premise that won the day has so much comic potential, I can’t wait to read it.  Dinner in a noisy restaurant, but we don’t care.  At home I find myself looking forward to my first session tomorrow.

Tuesday: Start the day with breakfast and a catch-up session with the writer I’ve known the longest.  It’s fun recapping our past together, mutual friends, shared history, all dissected over whole wheat pancakes.  At the hotel the group gathers for the day.  I’ve provided everybody with a long synopsis of my story and we launch right in.  While there’s a disagreement about how much of the past to include in my novel, for the most part people are perplexed about what I perceive to be problems.  What am I so worried about?  I feel a tremendous rush of relief.  My breakfast buddy tells me a scene she visualizes.  It’s a bit different from what I’d planned, but I like it immediately.  This is the beauty of brainstorming.  We spend lunch time telling publishing horror stories, our version of marshmallows around the campfire, then in the afternoon we brainstorm a book that’s new to us.  The author’s figured out most of it.  We tweak what doesn’t work for us, but it’s all small stuff.  Small stuff is the best kind of brainstorming.  A rich and satisfying dinner at a local Italian restaurant, then home to sleep off the calories.

Wednesday: Oh, good, a brand new series in the making.  We rub our hands in anticipation and dive right in.  As the morning ends, we’ve suggested characters, occupations, titles, plot fragments.  A lot of ideas for the author to contemplate as she makes it her own.  In the afternoon I present my second idea by reading an autobiography I wrote from the point of view of the main character.  Since this is next year’s book, there’s not much more to go on.  Luckily, that doesn’t stop us.  Sometimes the most fun is fleshing out a skeleton.  By the session’s end mine is walking and talking.  An Irish pub tonight chosen because, of all things, it’s quiet and close–and yes, it’s still raining. 

Thursday: Back to our original two books, both of which needed second sessions.  We get further this time, and are less confused.  By the session’s end, the authors are feeling positive about how far their stories have come.  We sit with a bottle of good Merlot and talk about how much we enjoy each other and the process.  Believe it or not, the sun finally comes out.  Who knows if we’ll be able to meet again next year.  Careers and needs change, and lives get sidetracked.  But here’s hoping.  Writing is often a lonely profession, and for five days, we’ve been able to move beyond that. 

Eight very different books in progress, now.  I like to think that every one of them will be on bookshelves in the next few years and that our five days of exhausting, exhilarating work will bring the same pleasure to our readers as they have to us.  Meantime, tonight, we will all sleep well.  We’ll need it.  After all, the work has just begun.

Welcome to Sunday Poetry. If this is your first visit you can read about the purpose and inspiration of these Sunday posts here.    

What’s your part?  Just slow down a little and come along for the read–or sometimes, for the listen.  If you’d like to tell us what the day’s poem means in your life, or what word or phrase you’ve chosen to reflect on, or where those reflections have taken you, we would be honored. 

Today’s poem is “How to Become a Stepmother” by Beverly Rollwagen.  Last week we honored mothers, and this week it seems fitting to honor stepmothers.  This poem is so acutely visual.  Can’t you see these scenes unfold, feel the emotions, feel that final zing of pleasure as you begin to believe things might just turn out after all?  How many of you had stepmothers?  How many of you are stepmothers?  Can you relate?

Has anyone ever watched you “from all five corners of the room”?

Since this link will lead you to website of The Writer’s Almanac, if you choose you may also have the pleasure of hearing this read out loud by Garrison Keillor by clicking “listen” at the top.

I’ll confess, I rarely find time to read the newspaper.  This shames me to admit it, so I’ll quickly add that I do read stories online every day.  On my iGoogle homepage, I get the highlights from the New York Times, the Washington Post,  The Huffington Post Blog Feed, BBC, and Time Magazine.  However when I take the time to actually read the Washington Post section by section, I’m always amazed at what I find on those pages that scanning online headlines didn’t give me.

I knew how horrifying the recent swath of tornadoes were for people in Alabama and beyond, but reading this story put a human face on that disaster for me.  Two families, connected by the excesses of Mother Nature, one in Alabama, one in Tennessee.  The Tennessee family finds a pay stub brought to their home by the winds, the Alabama family, to whom it belonged, is contacted.  The Tennessee family, which has so little in the way of resources, finds it cannot let go of what’s happened to these strangers so far away.  The story’s about the best within us, and the way we sometimes reach out in the most personal of ways.  I was mesmerized and happy to be human.  Read it.  You will be, as well. 

Then there’s the atheist who’s planning to capitalize on the Rapture (coming to a town near you on May 21st) by signing contracts with those religious folk  who believe they will be among the  ”raptured” and are worried about the pets they’ll leave behind.  Said atheist, Bart Centre, promises that for a fee paid up front (because hard cash will likely be scarce in the Great Beyond) his caregivers, who must be atheists themselves–lest they be raptured too–will  find homes for the pets when the owners disappear in a flash. 

And no, I am not making this up.

And here’s a little snippet from an article about sunscreen protection.  “She (refers to Olga Naidenko, a senior scientist at Environmental Working Group) adds that since the Food and Drug Administration has yet to finalize sunscreen regulations (a process underway since 1978), manufacturers are not required to show that their products work or to substantiate claims about them.”  1978?  Somebody’s joking, right?  In 33 years they can’t finalize sunscreen regulations?  Who knew even the government could be that inefficient?

I spoke about my writing career yesterday and as always, I was asked where my ideas come from.   One morning with my favorite newspaper is all it takes, folks.  And I haven’t even mentioned the obituaries. . .  Stay tuned.

I’ll be away from home for the next two weeks, but I’ll continue to blog.  Next Friday I’ll tell you what a week of brainstorming with fellow writers, this time in Cleveland, OH, has taught me about the book in progress and writing in general.  At least, that’s the plan.

On a separate note?  Don’t forget to send a pie recipe, story, reminiscence, etc. to enter the Great Pie Giveaway.  More details on my contest page or here.

Welcome to Sunday Poetry. If this is your first visit you can read about the purpose and inspiration here.    

What’s your part?  Just slow down a little and come along for the read–or sometimes, for the listen.  If you’d like to tell us what the day’s poem means in your life, or what word or phrase you’ve chosen to reflect on, or where those reflections have taken you, we would be honored. 

Today is Mother’s Day, and the broad array of poetry about mothers isn’t surprising.  What other relationship has more impact on our lives?  Whether we revered or mistrusted the women who gave us life or raised us, they still reside deep within us .  We struggle to be like them or we struggle to be as different as possible.  We greet Mother’s Day with tears or laughter, but always with memories.

To My Mother, by Wendell Berry, expresses so beautifully the acceptance the best mothers give their children.  I was particularly drawn to the ending, and the poet’s vision of Heaven.  I hope you, too, will find comfort and pleasure in reading this one. 

Remember that since this link comes from The Writer’s Almanac, you can choose to hear Garrison Keillor read the poem by clicking on “Listen.”

Thank you for reading with us today, and if you choose to comment, thank you for that, as well.

I am endlessly fascinated by feedsacks.  I don’t mean the burlap variety farmers use for hauling hen house manure, or the ones the foolhardy leap into for Fourth of July sack races.  I’m talking about cotton feed or flour sacks adorned with cheerful prints that were designed to be emptied, washed and used for quilts or clothing.  The practice began in the early twentieth century and is said to continue today, although with a much smaller supply and audience.  Feedsacks experienced their heyday in the 1930s and 40s, and are definitely collectibles today.

I found my first feedsacks at a quilt show, wonderful blue and white prints that I snatched up and began, slowly to add to through the years.  I’ve stayed with the theme, although I’ve allowed red and a little yellow to sneak in from time to time.  I have a wire basket filled with whole feedsacks or portions and plans for a patriotic Ohio Star quilt someday, when I can finally bear to cut them into smaller pieces.

Years ago, when my collector fervor was at its strongest, I found three and a half inch four-patch squares on eBay, some of which were said to be stitched from feedsack fabric.  So I won the bid and waited impatiently.  When the four-patches arrived, I saw what a motley assortment they were.  Some hand-stitched, some machine-stitched, some four inches, some three, some stained and all in need of a good soak.  Humiliated I put them away and told myself someday when I could face my own foolishness, I’d drag them out and see what could be done.

Several weeks ago I saw the squares on a long list of my UFOs.  That’s Unfinished Objects in quilterspeak, and most of us have a lot of them.  With a sense of duty I pulled out the squares, and finally they spoke to me.  I saw what I’d missed the first time around.  These were scraps from somebody’s sewing basket, a bit of this shirt, a piece of that dress, and yes, some were likely feedsacks, although I’m not expert enough to be certain.  But it no longer mattered.  I had something precious in my hands, another woman’s hopes and experiences.  I began to plot how to make best use of them.

The four-patches have now grown into sixteen-patches, carefully washed, trimmed and combined.  I’ll set  them with brand new navy star points and muslin using this Scrappy Star pattern from Quilt In A Day, and when I’m finished I’ll have a lap quilt or larger, both old and new, the memories of someone from another generation and my own stitched together.

I’m reminded of a novelist’s mission as I piece together the old patches and wait for the new fabric to arrive.  My job as an author is to take bits and pieces of my characters’ pasts and surround them with new events into one cohesive and pleasing whole.   I’ve never been more aware of that than with the book I’m writing now.  Each character has a rich history that can’t overwhelm the quilt of my novel.  While the history is “central” to who they are, it’s just a part of the story.  Only when a reader looks closer will the history, the past, add the color to the overall shape.

I’ll love this quilt once it’s finished.  When I wrap myself up on a cold evening, I’ll think about the woman who pieced these tiny squares.  Together, old and new, we created something useful and hopefully, pleasing.  But I’ll never snuggle under it without thinking of my book in progress, as well, and the story that grows in my mind from scraps of the past and slices of the present, as I stitch the four-patch squares into stars.

Where is everybody? 

No, you didn’t arrive at the wrong place, and this IS the day when Chapter Four, Part One of Treasure Beach should be here to entertain you  But this year May has five Tuesdays, and Chapter Four demanded (bossy ol’ chapter) that I divide it into only four parts, so each would be rich and meaty.

With that in mind, instead of Chapter Four, Part One (which will debut next Tuesday) today I’m announcing an exciting new giveaway in honor of the upcoming publication of Sunset Bridge, Treasure Beach’s big sister, as well as the final full length novel of the Happiness Key trilogy.  

Your mission:

Between now and June 30th 2011, your mission is to send me any one of the following:

1. An original or family pie recipe. 
2. A link to an online pie recipe you’ve enjoyed making or eating in the past and the reason you chose it 
3. Any other pie-related link, story, or feel-good moment, and the reason you’ve included it.  Tell us about your first try at making a pie, watching your grandmother roll out pie crust, a pie that just didn’t work out or one that really did, etc.

Some Things To Consider:

1. I’ll be posting some of the entries, so by entering, you are giving me permission to share your contribution with my readers, properly attributed to you, of course. 
2. Respect copyright, if applicable, by simply linking, if your entry isn’t original, to the original story or recipe. 
3. Be sure you add an original sentence or two about why you chose your entry.  Emails with nothing except a link will not qualify for the giveaway. 

Some Things You Must Know: 

1. There’s a limit of one entry per person, although you are welcome to share more often. 
2. Because of the rising cost of postage, you must have a North American mailing address to receive a prize. 
3. You must also be willing to have your first name and hometown published here if you are a winner.

Prizes (the Fun Part):

Each Friday in June, random.org will pick one winner to win an assorted box of prizes, for a total of four. 

What kind of goodies?  Costume jewelry watches, Happiness Key T-shirts, aprons from Wanda’s Wonderful Pies, autographed novels, special soaps, pie charms, a vintage china pie plate, two unique pie servers, pie cookbooks and more. 

Then to top off the fun, on July 1st, to celebrate the arrival of Sunset Bridge at your favorite bookstore,  I’ll choose the winner of a grand prize, a choice of a Breville Pie Maker from Williams Sonoma, or a Kindle from Amazon.  The choice will be yours, unless one or the other of the prizes is no longer available.

Please email your entry through my website. 

Winners will be announced here each weekend of June and on July 1st, so check back often.

Let the fun begin.  And please return next week, when Treasure Beach resumes. 

Meanwhile, if you’re making the Happiness Key mystery wallhanging designed by quilt designer extraordinaire Pat Sloan, visit her website for the next, beyond-cute installment.

Welcome to Sunday Poetry.  We began this page in March, and if you didn’t join us then, don’t worry.  This is a drop-in, drop-out adventure.  You can read about the purpose and inspiration behind Sunday Poetry here.    

What’s your part?  Just slow down a little and come along for the read–or sometimes, for the listen.  If you’d like to tell us what the day’s poem means in your life, or what word or phrase you’ve chosen to reflect on, or where those reflections have taken you, we would be honored.  But there are no demands or imperatives.   If I have something to add, I will.   If you have something to add, please do.

Today’s poem is by William Blake, a lusty hosanna to spring.  Since this poem is in public domain, I’ll quote here.  With spring and May Day  in mind I searched for a poem that captured the utter simplicity of the season, with no guile, no laments.  I found this on www.portablepoetry.com, and I thank them for publishing it for us to enjoy.

Spring

by William Blake (1757-1827)

Sound the flute!
Now it’s mute.
Birds delight
Day and night.
Nightingale
In the dale,
Lark in the sky,
Merrily,
Merrily, merrily to welcome in the year. 

Little boy
Full of joy,
Little girl
Sweet and small.
Cock does crow,
So do you.
Merry voice,
Infant noise,
Merrily, merrily to welcome in the year.

Little lamb
Here I am
Come and lick
My white neck.
Let me pull
Your soft wool.
Let me kiss
Your soft face,
Merrily, merrily we welcome in the year.