Write, don't call me.

I get so many robo calls and calls from people asking for money, that I don't answer my home phone unless I know who is calling. If they don't leave a message, I don't think they need to speak to me. Very few people know my cell phone number. I have a small flip phone that really doesn't do anything much but act as a telephone, not a computer.

The blogger at Windbreakhouse really speaks for me about being glued to a cell phone. She says she wants people to write to her, not call her. I like that, but at times I like to hear the voice of my family.

This blogger and writer says what I feel about cell phones and the obsession people have today with being available 24/7. I am not available 24/7 and I like it that way.

https://windbreakhouse.wordpress.com/2019/08/07/want-to-talk-to-me/comment-page-1/#comment-1809

The ending of a bad week for the country and a good weekend for me

The  past two days have been busy but fun. I worked at our booth at the Festival on the Square in Hayesville Saturday and Sunday. 

I wish I understood why I can sit for hours talking to strangers and meeting new people with no pain in my back or my feet or anywhere although my doctor tells me not to  sit for more than an hour at the time. I thrive on meeting and talking with people. If anyone is a People-Person, I guess I am. It is a  joy for me to discuss writing and get to know individuals who are interested in writing and in books. 

Joan Gage took the major part of the work off me this year. She and her husband Rob set up the tent,  the tables and brought all of it back to my house today when the festival closed.

It was a special joy to help a woman who recently lost her husband, buy a book on widowhood that will help her deal with her grief. It is On Our Own, Widowhood for Smarties, and I have two poems in it. She came by today and told me she had been reading the book. 

I got a kick out of selling a couple of books for someone who sat there and basked in the buyers' appreciation of  the author's military service. 

Marsha Barnes surprised me with her beautiful children's book, but more so with her sales ability. She  told me she worked on the floor selling furniture at one time. Then  I understood.

If I  did nothing else this weekend, I hope I helped the  other writers see that  it is not hard to invite passersby to come in and sign up for a free book, then open a  conversation with  them. The purpose is not to sell them a book, but to engage them in conversation, and if they seem interested in the books, talk about the books. Most of the time, the passersby will  take a book with them when they leave.

Dispensing information about our writing group and making our literature available for those who might want to know more was our goal this weekend and we did that. Would-be writers  now know where to go for classes and for more information from professionals who are willing to help them.

This week I'll teach a poetry class, promote classes by others who will teach at my Writers Circle studio, and  hopefully find time to  swim a couple of times. I hope to go to  a critique group and have lunch with a friend. This week will be full and will pass too soon as all the days of my life seem to  do now. 

I will try not to  listen to the news because I can't fix anything and worrying about it makes me ill. I will live my life in a way that I hope is an example to those who fail to see that divisiveness could be the downfall of  our country. Reaching  out to  help others in whatever way you can might seem a small thing, but when we all do that, it is a large thing. 

Have a good week, my friends. 

Back to Poetry Group

After five years, I finally went back to my poetry critique group tonight. I am so glad I did. We had a great group, small but all of them excellent published poets, and my poem was well discussed. 

Janice Moore, poet, has facilitated that group for many years. She teaches English at Young Harris College and although she retired this year, she is still on staff as an adjunct professor. Having her as our leader is a bonus because she is knowledgeable about all things literary. 

I believe that any serious writer should be a part of a well-run critique group with people the writer respects. Most writers or poets who publish books will list their writing group on their acknowledgements page. I know I did. Janice Moore was one of them. She also wrote a blurb for my poetry book, Now Might as Well be Then. I was honored.  

We will have some excellent writers and poets at the Netwest Writers Conference in Sylva, NC on May 10. Conferences are great to meet new writers, make friends with like-minded people, and take classes with top writers. We will have Judy Goldman, Susan Snowden, Kathryn Byer, Nancy Simpson, Gary Carden, Newt Smith and William Elliott at this conference. Any one of their sessions will be well worth the small charge for attendance. 

In the coming weeks I plan to get back to my own writing and get that poetry book published that I have on hold. Time is flying by and I have so much I want to do. Tonight's energy-filled meeting has me pumped up and feeling creative. 

What makes you feel creative? 

A New Student at Writers Circle, Gene Vickers

Mt Zion

By Gene Vickers

The pastor was late and his tardiness allowed time for a sobering walk up the hillside. I didn’t need a
compass to determine which direction was East; all of the headstones and markers faced that way. Hope is ever present, even in cemeteries. A recent burial was indicated by fresh flowers and fresh turned earth; a new neighbor moving into what appeared to be a very old neighborhood. Graves dating from the early 1800s were everywhere. Markers were so old some names and dates were obliterated. Time, the very commodity each one residing here ran out of, is now so brazen as to take away their identities.

As I read names and dates I tried to imagine the era in which they lived and died. What, according to my memory of history, was happening in 1803. Eighteen thirty-five, eighteen fifty-six, and all of the other by-gone years.

As I stood in front of Ezekial Brown’s final resting place, my cell phone rang, breaking the silence of
my contemplation of eternity. I was somewhere between his birth in 1807 and his death in 1886. Why
did I answer my cell phone? Habit, I guess. It was someone doing marketing for a surveillance equipment company. After several no’s, they finally hung up. But Ezekial had closed the door and would not allow me back inside. I couldn’t blame him. Rude is rude no matter the century. I moved on.

Ezekial had a neighbor, a small neighbor, and I decided to read her poetry cut deep into the headstone: “Only five years with us she spent, till God for her His angels sent.” No doubt Elizabeth had brought lots of joy and happiness into her family that sixth day of January, 1929. The Stock Market would crash later that year. It was not the best of years to be born. But the crash of the market paled in comparison to January 25, 1934, when Elizabeth moved here permanently.

“Who wept for this child?” I thought.
“I did and still do,” came a voice into my mind.
I looked next door and there was her mother’s place. Both mother and daughter, side by side, separated only by a few feet of earth and eternity. The hillside seemed alive.
“Come here.”
“No, over here. Come over here and read my name.”
“Please say my name. I haven’t heard it in so long.”

I went to as many as I could, saying each one aloud and reading the birth dates. I purposely did not read the date of their death. Many of the stones were so old and worn I could not read their names. I felt their pain, the pain of being nameless and forgotten. I heard the pastor as he arrived in the parking lot. I could feel the disappointment of those whose names I had not read.

“I will come back,” I told them in my mind. “I will come and visit you again.”

Coming Home to Winter Storm - Looking for Spring

This snow storm that has hit north Georgia and my home in western NC has stopped us all in our tracts. The ice is what gets us. In Roswell, GA where I have spent a few days with my sister and brother in law, I have been happy to stay indoors and enjoy the white woods through the large windows.

It is unbelievably quiet here although we usually hear cars on the street beyond the lake. No cars today. Everyone stayed home as they should. Schools closed and businesses shut their doors as well.

Mother Nature throws us these curve balls occasionally, and we have to slow our pace, stop and breathe slowly. 

Maybe that is why we have these kinds of days. Perhaps we have to be forced to slow down and realize that we don't have to get out every single day and do something. When the roads are so bad we might have a terrible accident, we remind ourselves that nothing is worth getting out in this mess, unless it is a matter of life and death.

As for me, I used yesterday to write and revise some work. I don't know where I'll send it or if it will see the light of day, but I did enjoy writing for an hour or two. 

I enjoyed having my sweet sister give me a shoulder massage that helped the pain caused by the damaged rotator cuff. She has also done Reiki, an energy healing on me a couple of times. I don't claim to understand it, but I do know it helps. My body has taken a beating with all the travel I've done recently.

My sister, Gay Council Moring

The trip to Florida this winter was harder than last year's escape to the sunshine state. Someone said the Karma was not right for me this year. I had health issues, computer issues, automobile issues, condo issues including losing my keys and AC going out. In spite of that, I loved seeing good friends and family, reading my poetry for a senior group, and speaking to a group of folks who want to write.

Sandy Beall and Richard Sauers, her interesting and fun husband

Tammy Beall and Sandy 

I loved the ride from Tallahassee to St. Pete with Sandy Beall, one of the most generous and kind women I've ever known. She also drove me all the way back to Atlanta and then flew home on her dime. We have known each other for about thirty years and have so much history together we never run out of things to discuss. She says she enjoys the drive and we made an overnight stop to visit a family we both love. 

This cold weather is bound to end soon. Spring is waiting with baited breath 

to jump out and surprise us, I'm sure. 

When we least expect it, we will see 

a robin in the yard, a humming bird 

will hover on the deck searching 

for the feeder he frequented last year. 

The sun will come back and warm us. 

We will forget the cold of February, 2014.

A Fall Writers' Retreat in the NC mountains

Have you heard of the Duke University Writers Workshop? The name is changed but the excellent writing instruction has not.

Table Rock Writers Workshop will be held September 17-21 at my favorite retreat, Wildacres, just off the parkway near Little Switzerland, NC. I am delighted that I will be going this year.

View from the large patio between lodges

They have some openings left, so visit their website, www.tablerockwriters.com

I have been wearing a boot, not a pretty boot, for the past three weeks on my left foot. I awoke one morning to find my foot swollen and painful. I couldn't imagine what was wrong. I soaked it and the swelling subsided a little. But I went to a podiatrist and after an ex-ray he saw a fracture in a metatarsol bone. To keep my foot stable the doctor had me wear something that looks like part of a space suit. For the first few days, I tripped on the boot itself, and almost fell several times. Now which is worse, I asked myself, a fractured foot or a broken hip? After three days I could clump around the house without losing my balance. But I have come close to hitting the floor more than once. Tomorrow I see the foot doc again. I hope he will set me free so I can walk without pulling my back out with each step. We have a big, big weekend here in Hayesville. The Festival on the Square, sponsored by the Clay County Historical and Arts Association, will begin Friday night with a street dance. (Can't dance with a space boot on my foot) On Saturday and Sunday our Netwest writing group will have a booth where writers will be signing books and meeting people, promoting our group and I hope to tell some folks about Writers Circle. If you are in the area or can come for a weekend of fun, drop by and say hello. Hopefully I won't be wearing a boot.

Henderson County, NC - Flat Rock Community College

After a long drive I arrived in Henderson County for the annual Bookfest held at the Flat Rock Community College. We all know of the Flat Rock Playhouse, where plays are performed all summer and people from everywhere travel to see them. We also know that the Carl Sandberg home is here.

Writers are hearing about the Blue Ridge Bookfest, now in its third year and growing. When this event was just an idea by some people in Hendersonville, I learned about it from Bob Greenwald who contacted me with questions about writers who were being considered as key note speakers, and authors who might want a table.

I rode up to the first bookfest with Kathryn Byer and her husband, Jim. I enjoyed meeting many of our Netwest writers who were present. We did not have a table that year. The second year, I could not come, but Lana Hendershott and Karen Holmes sent me glowing reports about their day.

This year, I am delighted to see that Flat Rock Community College has lent their support and sponsorship for the bookfest. Bob says when he spearheaded the first one, he had no idea whether it would sustain the interest of sponsors but he feels sure it is here to stay.

The kickoff with free workshops on Friday afternoon by Nancy Simpson and Carol Roan set the atmosphere that only comes with a group of writers. The buffet reception that evening was a meet and greet time where I had a chance to talk with poet and editor of Wild Goose Poetry Review, Scott Owens. He was at the bookfest for the first time.  At 6:30 PM,  we all sat down for a dramatization of Ann B. Ross's first book of her famous Miss  Julia series. Mrs. Ross, a resident of Hendersonville, was honoree for the evening.
As tired as I was and suffering from the chemical scents in the room, I still enjoyed the program.

On Saturday six of our Netwest members sat for a panel discussion on a variety of writing subjects including poetry, editing, compiling an anthology and a poetry collection, free lance writing, publishing a literary journal and submitting work. This group of writers could have gone on another hour, and the audience seemed to want more, but we only had 45 minutes.

Bill Ramsey iss program chair. This year he brought in  Ron Rash. Last year Robert Morgan was the keynote speaker. Who will they have next year?

I don't know, but I hope to be back to see.

From left, Glenda Beall, Wayne Drumheller, Jayne Jaudon Ferrer, Lana Hendershott, Nancy Simpson, Nancy Purcell, JC Walkup.

Also present on the panel but not in the photo: Rosemary Royston.

Linda Smith, publicity chair for Netwest was also present.