Eye of the Beholder

This painting won second place at the county fair. (No, I didn't paint it-I wish!) But only won second place? Look carefully as all of God's world is in this painting. Every stroke has a meaning. from the tree branches to the valleys and fields. Look carefully and see the clouds in the eye and within the pupil you see the earth. The more you look the more you see. Amazing. How much thought went into this painting? Why the heck didn't this get first place? I would have definitely given it a first place + plus.

Art; it's all in the eye of the beholder. Perspective is everything.

Isn't this also true about writing? Its why one editor will love you and the other blows you off. I think this perspective is what keeps me writing. Knowing that one rejection (or twenty) does not mean that there isn't someone out there who will love it. Someone who's day will be made that much happier by reading what we wrote.

I wonder where Stephen King would be now if he hadn't found Bill Thompson. Would someone else have seen the potential of Carrie? Made it such a great best seller?

So we write on, curse the dark and hope for the future. Wait for someone with the perspective that will match our story. And hope they out there. Somewhere.

P.S. I didn't get this artist name, but if you're out there let me know and I'd be glad to post your name. You are an amazing artist.

How much you want for this?

Thinking of murder

I have a scene in the beginning of one of my manuscripts where the wife is thinking of murdering her husband. Her husband had been acting crazy for months. Obsessed with building a bomb shelter, pouring all their money into it. It so consumes him the wife is living in fear of his mania. My critique group thought it was a bit extreme to have the wife thinking of murder instead of..say...therapy.
My thoughts are that just sending him to therapy would be a boring book. And she doesn't actually kill him in the book. (that's taken care of by forces beyond her control) But how weird would your significant other have to get before you'd think of divorce? If your "other" started obsessing over something strange, drained your saving account and spent every waking hour on this obsession. Got so bad you could see something in his eyes that scared you.... What would you do? How long would you put up with it?
I'm not saying murder is the answer (we'll save that for the book) but what about divorce? Or just leaving? Kicking him out?
Thoughts?

Critique groups

I found a new critique group and I think its going to be fun. The people there were pretty good writers and had a good attitude about critiques.

I always go into a new critique group with a bit of trepidation. I've seen some pretty bad ones. How about a twenty minute discussion on whether the word fuck should be said by a man who gets lost? (forget about the man, I'd probably let that one slip under a lot less stress :) Or the one who literally tried to rewrite the story, change endings completely and then argue as to why their idea is better. Lots of arguing. These are the kind of groups we should never go back to. At least not if we want to keep our sanity.

But this group had some good people with open minds. A very important thing, those open minds. And they always ended on a positive note.

:)

Happy now!

Proud mama!

My daughter was chosen as one of the core singers for the Perry Awards!!!

:)

(A Perry Award is giving for the best of the best in NJ musical theater. The award ceremony is in September)

Raising Elvis

I try to raise him right. Give him good manners and morals. Good food (he demands to eat whatever we are eating), a nice house-er-cage (Graceland), love and affection and I wake up this morning to hear "YOU'RE A BRAT! BRAT! BRAT BRAT! HEY BRAT! Come 'mere."

Then he clucks like a chicken. . . "Buc, Buc, Buc, BaGawwwk!"

I've been trying to teach him "I love you" for years but he seems to have an aversion to expressing affection. He also refuses to say "thank you."

And he's no snitch either. Although he calls each of the dogs by name, (then laughs when they come running, "heh, heh, heh") he refuses to tell me who tore up the garbage and spread it all over the floor last night. He had to see it, most was right in front of Graceland.

And he calls me a Brat!

And then as I'm sweeping up the mess-he laughs, which is more like the cackle from the wicked witch of the west. Sometimes I feel like he thinks I'm the slave in this relationship and sometimes I'm afraid he may be right.

Second thoughts?

Ever push that piece of work out the door and then get stuck with all the ...maybe I should have's...?
Maybe I should have changed this, added that, was this part too shallow? Too deep? Too wordy?
>Sigh<
Then you worry, fret and stare at the email while trying to push your thoughts into it by osmosis? Which leads me to ask if a piece of art ever finished? Can you write and write and then put it down for a bit and go back and say it is definately complete? Ever?
Or do you start the rewrite process all over again?
Did Van Gogh know when to stop putting the last star in Starry Night? How did Monet know when the the last water lily was complete?
Now the waiting is painful. Excruciating.
So I come here to moan and vacillate over what could have been, what could be-what I could do if I went over it just one more time!

Wandering Massachusetts

I've been traveling. Right now I'm in Massachusetts. Rolling hills, deep green valleys and some really nice people. Old houses and buildings reminding me of a Mayberry. I keep looking for Andy and Opie. (who names a kid Opie, anyway?)

I love the farms here and wish I could live in a place like that. Lots of land to let the dogs run free, neighbors that are not right on top of me and fresh air.

Amazingly, I'm getting a lot of work done here. I've carved out time and hid in my room and pumped out quite a few pages. Its getting easier as I relax and I think that's a problem sometimes. Not the relaxing part but the things that prevent us from relaxing. My brain constantly multi-tasks. Pushing out the day to day stuff is sometimes hard, sometimes impossible. Up here I'm not staring at the house, the critters and the things that need to be done. It's easier to turn outside things off, so I can get the stories out.

So how do you get past the everyday to find your stories?