'Fuzed'

No, this is not what I made but my idea was the same. I will post my finished projects after I pick them up.

I took a fused glass class the other night. It was a needed creativity boost for overworking through the holidays (not by choice). Eagerly I gingerly came down the steps from my porch as I headed into the night and squinted into the sky. The night was spitting snow that wanted to be rain and vice versa. In  essence slush. I drove my car into town and parked next to the historic NWI building. The lights within reflecting and glowing against the many pieces of glass art that twinkled and beckoned.

'Fuzed" Is the name of the business that offers affordable lessons in the art of fused glass. Tony is the owner. I wandered around the table where local ladies and friends were standing in front of their selected projects. Tree ornaments were popular for some. Another was making snowflakes. I wanted to do a bowl, two bowls. One with poppies for my Mom and another with tulips for my sister.

It was more difficult then I thought. Cutting and shaping the glass required just two tools but to get rounded edges was a bit more difficult then I thought it would be. I liked how every bit of glass was recycled. The vision in my head was difficult to achieve and Tony was kind and suggested I use a marker to draw the shapes and he would cut them.

We munched on apples, pizza and drank wine as we worked and created. Catching up with each others lives. Three hours in I realized I created fused glass the same way I paint. Suddenly I was done. The desire to work on it any further finished. Which just furthers my belief about myself that I'm in no way capable of doing any art in a mass production scenario. Small bursts to create one of a kind items, yep that is my style.

Dinner with Nick & Shannon {Sauteed Shrimp Linguine}

Tonight we are cooking together as we like to and have been inspired by watching the movie 'Chef'. The movie was good and about the cooking of some wonderful food. It was also about blogging and social media. We have decided to give my blog new life and an extra theme by adding one night of cooking together to it.

We could not find a recipe tonight that suited our mood and living in a small mountain town can be limited. Not so much on the choice of food but the time it takes to get to the store (and the lack of wanting to go) to purchase what we may need and want. So we decided to wing it and make it up as went along inspired by the flavors we craved and wanted for dinner.

Tonight Pasta and Shrimp. I wasn't feeling a cream sauce. Nick wanted Pesto. Alas no basil. The Roslyn Market had fresh salad greens, fresh spinach, homemade bread and fresh Crimini mushrooms. Nick and I are not writers of recipes we are creators of flavors. So if you are looking to get a recipe perhaps you best move your ass over to Epicurious.

Ingredient List:
Pasta Mama's Pasta (Plain Linguine)
Shrimp
Fresh Spinach
Garlic ( Fresh Minced)
Lemon Juice
Red Pepper Flakes
Small sweet peppers
Avocado Oil ( Out of Olive and this shits good shit although Olive Oil would have added more flavor.)
Pine nuts lightly toasted
Green onions sliced
Bacon

Farmers Market Baguette
This was sliced into rounds seasoned with Avocado oil, Happy salt and fresh minced garlic and baked on a cookie sheet at 350 degrees for 10 minutes and lightly browned. We dipped it into a bowl of balsamic vinegar.

Italian Blend shredded cheese (Tossed on top of finished pasta)


Bottle of Estrella  Merlot 2012 from Cali (to drink while cooking and eating)
Vanilla Ice Cream (later in the evening)
Pandora Radio (Nicks pick of the channel and mood)

Quirk or Crime?

The First Stonehenge Scotland's Master Builders.

I like magazines and interesting articles.
I also tend to steal them from the dentist, doctor and veterinarian offices.
Not a dirty little secret really because I will admit to it and putting it out there a wee bit further now via the web....that I'm guilty of a small form of thievery.
But I can't help myself. When I find some interesting tidbit of information I cannot live without I take the entire magazine or If I'm lucky I just happen to find the magazine being given away for free and can take it legitimately. But I believe it is kinder to take the entire magazine rather than ripping out the article. It's more tragic to pick up the magazine and not have that article in there than just never knowing you missed the article.

Do you agree? Do you steal in what you may feel is an innocent manner? Quirk or Crime?

The other day I was looking through the free pile at the Roslyn Library and it was full of good stuff. So I rummaged through the pile, a picture of standing stones and the words Scotland grabbed my attention and I quickly picked up the National Geographic the cover was titled "The First Stonehenge." Intrigued because of my current book I'm writing titled Heather and Stones set in Scotland I put it in my pile to take home and read.

The article was engrossing the discovery of a large mysterious stone complex buried beneath a farmers field on the Orkney Island called Mainland just off the North coast of Scotland. Archeologists are unearthing the remains slowly and the findings have been fascinating and are in fact changing history. The photographs in National Geographic magazines are breathtaking, works of art. The article had photos accompanying it and the detail of the stone work in the photo's was mesmerizing.

Check it out!
August 2014 issue.

Failure to launch.

I have to admit defeat this year.
I have been defeated by time and work.
Every year for the last four years I have written a rough draft for nanowrimo and this year I have failed to even get to the halfway mark of twenty-five thousand words.

There is still time and I would like to get to 25K. That is my goal. And then another goal would be to get this book farther maybe still work on the rough draft through December.

Although I do not win I can complete the goal.

Don't give up the love of writing!

Nanowrimo time.

Stones & Heather.
Deep in the heart of Scotland and deep in the heart of researching restoring and preserving Invergarry
Castle.

The Man in the High Castle.

Roslyn has been invaded by Hollywood and Amazon.
The sounds and flickers of a set being built echoed throughout the valley all week.
A pilot for an Amazon original series is being filmed in our small town. Money changes hands and lives are disrupted. Some grumble and some embrace.

I thought it would be cool to be an extra in something like this. Alas was never called to participate but I did watch the excruciating process, Shana and I sat for hours perched upon the Roslyn Yard rail and watched slowly the process unfold until we were cold, hungry and ready for a drink.

In the distance the camel is Hitlerized and the town is circa 1962.

OMG, Michael Greene prior to his casting call in the diner across the way.

Sunrise Diner Interior.

I love your brain

"I love your brain."

This man I adore.  Said that to me. It makes me smile every time I think about it.

Pollution

Beijing pollution

Spring breezes ricochet off the taller mountains that lay above the small town. The breezes tendrils touching and drifting over cold rock and glaciers, lowering its temperature further before this new mighty wind meanders through the twists and turns of dales and trees as it makes its way to the valley floor.

This wind has traveled far and now even as it touches her skin, it is still cold from running over snow. Drying gardens and lawns with it's incessant blow she notices as she walks down the sidewalk looking up at the neighbors yard but she has to pay more attention to the path below her that is broken and in disrepair littered with weeds, shit and winter debris. Glad she put on a jacket before leaving her house and reached up again in impatience to move her hair out of her face as the spring wind twisted and turned the air and the strands in mad circles.

Hush, she thinks and is more than ready for the wind to hush it's moans, moves and continuous onslaught that marks Spring in the mountains. Dodging an errant bush that has invaded the sidewalks girth she moves back onto her path. A car comes around the corner, and it is the neighbor from up the street. He slows down and waves then stops as he gets closer and recognizes her. She leaves the sidewalk to make her way over to the passenger window smiling at him in a friendly way, even though she doesn't like him. It's a gut hunch and a few odd brushes with him that leave her with the feeling she knows she should trust her intuition.

"Hey how are you doing," he says as he grins and leans across the car to stare up at her with his huge wolf smile.

"Oh you know me, breaking hearts and slaying dragon's." He laughs heartily and she smirks and shrugs her shoulders because she really means it she thinks, breaking hearts and slaying dragon's. That is what she has been up too lately. Although the dragon is just a troll really. And she never wanted to break anybody's heart along with her own but sometimes it was the only option in a situation.

He looks away staring up the road and then turns to stare at her again, "Haven't seen you in awhile."

She shook her head and moved her hair out of her face again turned away from him and stared out at the spring view. "And you won't, laying low staying out of trouble." She wanted to end the conversation, but waited to see if he would first. He didn't and there was an uncomfortable silence as they both said nothing for long moments. She could hear though as he smacked the steering wheel a couple of times, he started to say something a couple of times, would change his mind and smack the thing again. She rolled her eyes more so at herself for not ending this.  She bent down to look into the window again and excused herself to move on. But he stopped her by saying her name. She sighed softly and met his eyes. Then looked away again, she did not want him to see anything in her eyes especially hurt and the longer she stood here the more she thought about the things she did not want to thing about.


He pursed his lips and turned his head to look back out over the steering wheel one forearm casually resting there, stared up the street into the distance. "I'm sorry" he said. "it sucks and it's just not the same anymore without you guys together."

She moved her face into a hard unreadable mask and moved back away from the car and shrugged. "It had to be done. I got to go, see you later." She walked away from the car, ignoring him when he tried to call her back, pretending she did not hear him. She could hear him finally move the car on up the street and with relief she crested the hill above town and smiled at the day that framed the busy downtown core as she walked toward it. First getting her mail and then crossing the street to the coffee shop to grab a cup of tea. It was a hothouse of gossip and she left quickly.

She thought to herself, there I did it. I got out of the house, and now I can go home. Get away again from the mouth pollution that stinks and dirties a small town. Gossip is mouth pollution she decided as she cut across the park to take a different route home. The hot tea in the paper cup warmed her hand and she moved it to the other one to do the same for it and then pulled the strap of her bag she carried her mail in back over her shoulder when it slipped doing it. At the edge of the park she cut away and took the small incline through the pine forest bordering the park. It smelled like new earth and dew on leaves and she moved up the trail carefully to avoid the wet branches of new spring growth.

After being the brunt of insidious gossip for the last couple months she had retired from it. Realizing that you can heal yourself faster by staying away from it and not engaging it further. She thought of a picture of Beijing China she had seen recently the city was covered in a smog so thick that you could not see through it and she rather thought that even the sweet air of this mountain town might be the same thing as the dirty city just dirty with words.

Australia

Late post from last week that I forgot to post:

Second week in with the new schedule. Last week it seemed as if it dragged by. But this week I really appreciate the short bursts of work that I'm doing. Tuesday is my favorite.

6:00 - 8:00 AM Work AMZ
 8-10 workout
10:00 - 1:30 Work AMZ
 1:30-2:30 Lunch and shower
2:30 - 3:00 Work AMZ
 3:00- 6:00 Writers group, dinner and visit with my man
6:00 - 8:00 Mama Vallone's

My writers group changed to afternoons to accommodate my new schedule and now finally I get to my point of the title of my blog. One of the other members has lived in Australia and it has long been my dream too as well. Her children are there and now she gets to get another house there. Her story: short... and I'm dying to hear details, she went to Australia married, got divorced for a man she met in Australia, found yet another man married him and had children.

Australia has been on my mind for a couple of weeks. I'm trying to remember how it first started.
Ring? Writers Group? But a essay has been roaming around in my mind for the feelings behind it.

The moment I was kinda cool.

Knowing the right person at the right time happened to me and I was kind of cool for a moment in time.  In my mind anyway.

(L) other people in band, (C) me :) (R) Shaun Morgan Welgemoed

Seether my long time favorite band, ever... by chance happened to be playing at the Benton County Fair. Seether hails from South Africa and the lead singer goes by the name of Shaun Morgan. I admire his writing; even for a song his brilliant and creative use of words I find beautiful. His written lyrics sad and haunting sometimes, most of the time angry but done in a beautiful way.

"Before you hedge those bets you placed against me, be reticent of fortunes they foretell.
Your verbal defecation I can't wash away despite myself.Your vanity it seems to serve you well.Your so quick to choose the path walked by the righteous so you can go and nest among the weak. The innocent observers will refuse to find the light within, renew the disappointment of the meek."

And it is your day lucky, because I was lucky enough to know a guy who got me VIP tickets. So not only did I get to have a great seat, I got to meet the band and have pictures taken with them. What a moment in time that was. I'm not a huge fan of getting to know, stalking, tracking stars down. But I was thrilled to meet this man, thrilled I say... thrilled and honored. A clip from the show.

And as I filmed this clip I turned because behind me in the very small VIP crowd was Vitamin C. Random moment of complete coincidence. Complete surprise to see this man from my past after so much time has passed.

North Kachess

Booted Mom out of the house and strapped the canoe to the top of the Suburu and headed West early Sunday morning. It is the first time I have been on and in Lake Kachess and it was beautiful. The foothills of the Cascades loom on each side of it sometimes leaving no beach.

Meandering and paddling slowly up the lake and heading Norte into the sweltering heat. The air is filled with smoke from the summer fires giving the air a look of humidity. The water is crystal clear and the ghosts of tree's live in the depths. Eerie to see them and gives me a chill on my arms as if the lake is haunted.

We troll and have no luck and stop on the right side of the lake to change out gear. The minnows dart in the shallows nibbling Nick's feet and legs as he stands in the water. I catch an even larger one just off the shelf and reel it in to the bank, just to throw it back.

Crossing to the other side we skim the shore for a good place to stop and swim. We find a spot but there is not enough beach to barbeque so we get back in the canoe and head up the lake again. Finding the spot and set up a temporary camp and dine on smoked ribs, barbeque potato chips, peaches and cake.

Late in afternoon we head back and I can see the reflection of aqua light in a cove. I'm paddling while Nick is fishing so I make the turn to go and explore, the spot beckons me to see it. Breathtaking as we pull into the shore and peal off clothes to swim here. Large masses of rock are underwater and we swim to each of them, stand on them. It is like a coral reef in the Caribbean. The blue sky reflecting into the shallows and giving the illusion of aqua colored water.

Above the cove and beach is a ledge and plateau perfect for camping. "Why is no one here, this is the best spot on the lake." This spot so perfect I want to camp and stay forever and I'm not much of a camper.

No picture will do it justice. Yet I try.

Thursday again

It is Thursday again. And you know what my favorite thing is about Thursdays? It's my one day off to myself. I don't work anywhere and no one is here. I have the house to myself not sharing it with my man, work or anything else. It's mine. It's my day. It's my writing day. Although I write everyday, this day is the one where I can set up my bedroom and hunker in for the long uninterrupted write. I can nap, read, pop out to visit with a friend or neighbor, garden, watch a movie. I kind of leave it up to whatever the hell I feel like doing. It's all mine.

Last night I took some time off work and went to a "Ladies Night" out past Ronald. It was a potluck and clothing exchange. I really wanted to go and I did. But just an hour in, I was overwhelmed by talk. I don't know if I can explain this but there was so much talking it irritated me. It's like when your hair is in your face, eyes and mouth irritating the shit out of you and you just want to scream but settle for putting your hair in a pony tail. Which relieves it but doesn't wipe the irritation from your mind. Do you get what I mean?

There was one person there that talked incessantly and mid into the evening I groaned out loud with it. So I quickly left the building and went back outside to the table that sat among pines. Night shadows and bugs and yet more chatter all of it making me itchy and longing for the solitude of home.

I was overwhelmed by conversation and stories that went on and on about shit I don't give a shit about. When I go out, I want quality conversation not goddamn endless stories told in the second person about how well she raises her kids, reveres god and lives such a pious life. The one saving grace was this lovely creature sitting across the table from me who writes screenplays and mentioned the voices in her head. Now that I wanted to talk about.

Did a search for images of irritation and stunned by the amount of irritated penises and buttholes that loaded onto the screen. Who posts this shit? Gross.

And a lovely little post by one of my favorite authors that makes me feel normal or like the writer I am.

Sometimes I feel a lot of pressure to get out there and be “normal.”  Volunteer. Have dinner parties. Keep regular hours.  Wear the right clothes.  ( I really feel this pressure lately!)
And yet, what I know to be true is that writers are an odd lot.  It’s just that simple.  We’re reclusive and tend toward eccentric habits like going to bed at 7:30 pm or 5:00 am or searching madly for candy corn when it isn’t in season.  There are only two people  in the world that I will talk to on the phone for more than five minutes: my BWF (best writing friend) and my sister, and trust me, other people comment on it.  I need VAST amounts of quiet time, and get really, really, really excited when I know I will be alone in the house for three days (which is coming up this week).   I don’t really want to wear suits. I want to wear emerald green hippie dresses and bare sandals with a super long scarf from India. Barbara O'Neal.

TQ

Today I had the luxury of writing a vast majority of the day. What a pleasure. I decided to dedicate Thursdays as Query day. (TQ) Because... how the hell can you get published and paid to write if you don't submit to agents.

Yeah I tell people all the time I'm happy with just getting the damn thing, the voices of characters, scenes out of my head. But in my secret little spot where I hide dreams and desires I would loveeeeeeeeeeeee to be paid to write all day about them.

So today I researched agents and found three and all required a synopsis of 1-2 pages. Well, what in the sam hill is that? Now a query letter is not enough? So I got on that lovely thing called the internet and found some fabulous advice and outlines and started in on it. I'm pretty damn positive that all of life's answers and solutions can be found on the web with a big of digging.

I was sidetracked by Miss Snarky's blog (now defunct). Years ago she offered to let aspiring authors send her their synopsis and then she critiqued them, she was a successful literary agent at one point and new her stuff. They were hysterical and out of the 100 I read, only two I found intriguing and well written enough to understand what in the hell was going on for their book idea. Even funnier were her comments in red. (WTF? Alien Alert! were some of my favorites.)

Anyway... I learned quite a bit and a bunch of acronyms as well and got started on my own MS-JOT for Curador. By far the best I found was for my official chosen genre contemporary fiction. I have posted some of it below.  (This is very condensed and hacked for my own use.)

Publishers and agents require a synopsis of your novel before you submit the MS (that’s 'manuscript' – might as well learn the jargon now). The synopsis is your most powerful, in fact your only, selling tool. Your cover letter is less important, and I'll cover it in a future article, but what you are selling is your novel, and your novel's representative is your synopsis.

Before I get started, I want to quote a wise editor I know, who said that, to the author, writing the synposis was writing the story's obituary. The story is done, the characters are gone from you. It is over, and now you are summarising them in what you hope is an honest and compelling way. 

Stage one: go through your MS and jot down what happens in each scene. A usual novel has between 60 and 80 scenes, grouped into chapters. Ignore the chapters. 


Stage two is the condensation of your jottings into a summary.  

Stage Three is the paring down.

 
Stage Four: the enrichment. This is where you very gently add a touch of flavour, a touch of story-telling, into that pared-down skeleton. Not too much: you don’t want to inflate the word-count, but just enough to give the agent or publisher a sense that you can write. Not a sense of how the story is written, its tone of voice, but a sense of your own skills  

The synopsis should mirror the genre of the story. If it is a limpid romance, it should flow like a romance, delivering its unfolding love story in a charming, beguiling way. For a mystery mystery, it must become more tense and even thrilling as it goes. While still summarising and giving the action with a few tiny 'colour' touches, you can make it exciting. Yes, you give away the ending, because you must tell all the action, but you can do so in a way that the agent or publisher finishes it saying, 'Wow!'

Stage Five. Yes, you have a bit more work to do. This is your sense-check, your last read-through of the synopsis. You must judge whether you think it is an accurate and honest representation of your novel’s action, whether it delivers an emotional impact as well, and whether it is, in and of itself, a good read. As this is the only reading experience the agent or publisher will have of you, it has to be a good one. If your synopsis tells a good story, if it IS a good story, then they will trust that the novel itself will be a good story, too.

Afternote: don't forget to put your name, contact details, and word-count in the top right-hand corner of your synopsis. This makes it safe to detach and hand around, and you want that to happen in a literary agency or publishing house. 

Copyright Caro Clarke