Monthly Archives: January 2012
I like to say I write paranormal, metaphysical, spiritual romance. So what the H* is; paranormal, metaphysical, spiritual romance? I think it can be anything I want it to be, but mostly I believe it’s about the Alchemy of Intimacy.
The dictionary definition of alchemy is; 1. a medieval chemical and speculative philosophy seeking to achieve the transmutation of base metals into gold – and the discovery of a means of indefinitely prolonging life, 2. any magical power or process of transmuting something common into something special.
I like the idea of speculative philosophy, at least I think so. I like the idea of changing something common into something special. I like the idea of having magical powers. Some of my favorite characters have magical powers.
I defiantly like the idea of transmuting romance into something special.
I believe romance writers use their creative powers to take every day love stories and transmute them into something special. They allow readers to believe they have reached across time and space to find a higher plain. Romance writers allow you to imagine everlasting love (HEA) and enjoy the journey along the way.
I also believe that some of the greatest risks are the risks not taken. Or, to put it another way, often the greatest risk is to take no risk at all. To play it safe and take no risks translates into dull, boring and a life not well lived, not fully experienced.
When we take risks we expand our experiences. I know what it feels like to sit in the comfort of my home and read an book about travel to Scotland, but how does it FEEL to actually take the necessary steps to board a plane and fly half-way across the world? What does it mean to land in a foreign country where people have a different culture, different food and drive on the other side of the road? It’s a risk, especially the driving part, but it’s also an experience rich with possibilities.
Take for instance the risk of falling in love. Now that’s a grand and glorious risk. It can contain the highest highs and the lowest lows. What else in our emotional experience presents as many opportunities for risk, success or failure?
I also believe that there are no bad romantic experiences and conversely, there are no good romantic experiences. Experiences just are. It’s our perception of them, and usually our expectations, that judges them to be bad or good. We expect romance to look and feel a certain way and when it falls short of our expectations, well that’s bad. When it fulfills our fantasies, I mean our expectations, it feels good – real good. Metaphysical, spiritual good.
I’m sure you could come up with a number of examples where the romantic risk you took, and the experience you had, was not at all what you expected. But maybe, just maybe, what may have seemed bad at the time, become oh so good when viewed through the rear-view lens of time. Like whoa, glad I dodged that bullet. That’s the nice thing about time. Time lets us look back and enjoy.
And for you, my dear friend, I do hope you . . . Enjoy always, T
She had always wanted to lead a safe life, until she realized how really boring safe really was. It was the creative writing class that drove the nail home. How could she write about angst when she didn’t have any? Most of the time she thought it was great to have a life where everything moved along smoothly and nothing bad ever happened, and it was, until she realized that she had missed out on having any really great or amazing experiences.
How could she write about being stalked, about being in dire financial crises, or even feeling as though her life was at risk, when those thing didn’t happen to her? They really did happen to somebody else; somebody she didn’t know. No one in her circle of friends had been the victim of unusual, freaky or even wacky circumstances.
She had always rolled with the punches and had come out standing as she lightly dusted the dirt from her hands. The worst thing she had experienced was her divorce, and even that didn’t feel so bad now that it was ten years behind her. At the time it had felt like hell. She had even considered doing harm to herself, really seriously considered it, but the urge had passed. Such an idea was too selfish of an act for her to put into action. She believed it would have caused too much pain for the ones she left behind and not enough for the one she was trying to escape. So she had hung on and made it through the days, weeks and months that turned into two years of domestic warfare that eventually put an end to her emotionally abusive marriage. As John Mayer had sang, “When a heart breaks, it don’t break even.”
That was her life, so like the sweet romance songs she loved and the messages they carried. She was often impressed, if not amazed, at how well a current hit song would fit her situation in life, as if God and his angels, or perhaps the collective consciousness of the world, was speaking directly to her.
How could she hope to write creative, angst-filled, suspenseful fiction with such a mundane life? Why even bother? Who would want to read such dribble as the story of her life? Writing was supposed to be cathartic, a purging of your spiritual, mental or emotional demons. Except she didn’t feel she had anything to purge. For the most part, she believed life was good and she was blessed.
There had been moments, snatches of highs and lows, but they were the exception on an otherwise flat EKG of her life. The birth of her children, especially her first born, counted as a high, but every mother on earth shared some kind of similar experience. Her pregnancies and deliveries had been relatively easy. Going through a nasty and emotionally painful divorce was a low, but again not very unusual, especially in a society that racked up a fifty percent divorce rate.
She had no dark, long buried secrets to bite her on her ass or haunt her every waking hour. She had always refused to hold onto stuff that created emotional baggage. Her life was more like a sieve; move on and let the dirt shift its way through the holes. She believed everything and everyone had their share of cracks. That was how the light got in and the dirt flowed out. And she did her best to keep the flow flowing.
Perhaps she should become a romance writer!
In my local newspaper they used to run a regular column called: I love it… I hate it. (They may still run the column but I no longer get that paper so I don’t know.) I like the idea of doing an; I love it list. I do NOT want to do an; I hate it list. Why bother? And I really like the idea of doing a LEA list, because while I may not love all the things that make my list I certainly lea (like, enjoy, appreciate) them. For those of you who may have missed it – this explains LEA.
Here is my fist LEA list of 2012. It may also be my last – who knows – but I do know it’s my first.
I lea my morning cup of coffee. Usually I drink it at work and usually not more than one cup. Unless I’m at a breakfast diner, like Denny’s or IHop, because their coffee cups are so small compared to my regular 20oz cup.
I lea pens that write soft and fine, like the one I used to write the draft for this blog. A pen that writes soft is one where I don’t have to press down hard to get the ink to flow. Flowing ink, like flowing words, is very important to me when I’m writing, as opposed to typing, and then the ink doesn’t matter because it’s not really there.
I lea lists that have more than two things listed because two things doesn’t really seem like a list at all; it just seems like a couple of things. But three things, well now we’re talking.
I lea other people’s funny blogs that make me laugh or even just put a smile on my face. I’m not a big fan of serious blogs, they tend to be too depressing. Kind of like I hate lists. I mean really, why bother. But hey, whatever works for you. (I don’t want to get on anyone’s hate list!)
I lea romance. Of course, that’s why I write about romance. I lea a good relationship and a happily ever after.
These are just a few thing I lea. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I love these things. Certainly not the way I love my stellar, beautiful, smart kids or my handsome and charming beau, so I believe lea is the more appropriate term to use here.
But most of all, I lea you, because you’re here. You’re here and you took the time to read my blog, so most of all, I lea you. Writers without readers are like that tree falling in the forest with no one around. The potentical for sound is there but no one’s listening – or in the case of a writer – reading. Thanks for making my list.
Enjoy always, T
An old friend of mine used to say; “She’s not good looking, but she’s sure looking good.”
If I don’t look in the mirror I forget how old I am – and how old I look. Which is a good thing. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not bad looking, I’m just not good looking either, or at least not as good looking as I would like. I figure that holds true for most – maybe all of us. We all fret and worry over our looks. That’s why the fashion and cosmetics industry is so HUGH.
But on a day when I’m being nice to myself, and I’m having a good hair day (like today), I think I look grand.
However – that is not what this post is about, believe it or not.
It’s about looking for good and feeling young, young at heart. It’s about how we feel and how we see, not how we look (at least not looking-glass look).
I’m reaching a time in my life when I have some good days and some not so good days and some that are so much better. But for the most part – most of the time – I’m a happy person. It is my preferred state of being. Kind of like being healthy. I like being healthy. I also like being happy. I’ve tried the alternatives and I’m sticking with healthy and happy.
It’s hard to feel healthy when you’re sick, really sick. Reality has a way of being….well, real. It’s also hard to feel happy when you’re not. But it is possible to know that;
This too shall pass.
A few years ago, [yes K, I know it was more than a few years ago, but for now let’s stick with] a few years ago I had a “procedure’ that resulted in recovery time and a great deal of pain for a couple of days. My darling daughter came to my aid to help me as I
wallowed in my pain progressed through recovery. At one point, as I’m curled up on the sofa, my stomach clenching with cramps, she said, “Don’t worry, Mom, this too shall pass.” It was grand.
Her simple words cheered my heart more than she might have known. Her optimistic outlook brightened my day and warmed my heart. Other body parts were still feeling the pain, but my heart was light and happy. And it had nothing to do with the pain meds.
She – of course – was right. The pain passed, the procedure was a success, and life soon was good again. Not that life had ever really been bad, not really, but now I was once again plugged into the neon light and could actually see the good.
Which brings me to my point…When we look for the good, we find the good. If you don’t believe me, look in the bible… Seek and ye shall find. Which really means, look for the good and ye shall find the good. Converstly, if ye seek the bad, ye shall find the bad, so it’s all a matter of where you’re looking. Me – I’d rather look for the good.
How about you? I’m hoping you’ll go out and have a good looking day.
Enjoy always, T
Ahh, hair. Long flowing tress, silken strands, cute perky curls. Dark as midnight, rich as mahogany, golden as the sun, soft as silk, How we romance writers love to describe hair, usually the hair of our heroes and heroines. The color, length and waviness are all very important.
On Sunday I watched the Golden Globe awards and of course hair styles were very much observed and commented on. What looked good and what didn’t. And let me tell you, I saw some hits and some noticeable misses. But I’m not here to give you my review of red carpet hairdos. I’m here thinking of my own. I know, how self-centered of me, but that’s the way it works.
We’re probably all familiar with the story of Samson and Dehlia. If you’re not – go google it or just pick up the old testament of the bible. Long story – short, the guy was a great, big, strong hero with long, thick, dark, wavy, hair. What more could a woman (or romance writer) want when looking for the perfect hero hairdo? But nasty ole Dehlia had it out for goody boy Samson and as soon as she got her hooks on him she had his lovely locks cut short. Yep, off with his hair. And with his hair went all his power. . . along with his eyesight, but that’s too much to go into here. Years later, when his hair grew back, he also got his power back and eventually there was a happy ending. See how it all ties together.
Anyway, when I was in my twenties I had long blonde hair to the middle of my back. Men loved it. I loved it – until one day when I cut it all short. One miserable, “what-was-I-thinking” day. And it’s never been as long since. I have often missed my long golden locks. After that major surgery on my hair I have gone from shoulder length to pixy short and back and forth on a continuous hunt for the just right, or at least perfect hair style. It continues to elude me. Oh woe is me.
I ended the year with fairly short hair, or at least shorter than I like. Now that I’m – shall we say – older, I figure I’m pass the time when I can get away with long flowing locks. Besides, my hair is now too thin to support the look. By the time it reaches past my shoulders it looks like wisps of lonely strands hanging limp and unmanageable. We like our hair to be managed.
But I’m not a fan of my now-short look either. I’m thinking 2012 is a good year to let it grow longer. Not long mind you, just longer. For the next few months it’ll be a work-in-progress as it goes through that unpleasant stage of ‘growing out’. Like any new years resolution, I hope I can stick with this. But by February – well who knows. I may be back to looking like Mary Martin from Peter Pan fame. I certainly hope not.
Here’s to long lovely locks in 2012. Or at least a somewhat closer to perfect. Hell, I’ll settle for Goldilocks “just right” if I can ever find it. Now that’s a fairy tale if I ever hear one.
So how’s your hair hanging. Off the top of your head, tell me if you love it or hate it?
Enjoy always, T