Good.

That’s what I wanted. Not to take up too much of your time. Since I am an ADD author and you’re beginning to wonder: What’s the point to today’s post, I’ll make it short …

as possible.

Here’s the deal:

I am working mom, who set many goals at the beginning of the year. I wanted to freshen up the blog, and before April hit, I thought I did a good job staying on my twice-a-week schedule.

While I have been lucky to meet my goal of publishing one story this year, I haven’t kept up with the schedule.

You say: Yeah, we noticed.

I say: Thank you.

Authors and writers love to set goals. We feel great when we meet them and wonder what goes wrong when we do not. Sometimes we want to block ourselves off from reality to write and meet those goals, but life comes in again like a goofy boss you want to hit. I’m thinking Office Space.

Yeah …

Life comes at you.

I a mom with a son who – as much as I love him – is the royal prince of my life. A job I love, which also takes away energy, and a wonderful husband. In addition everyday needs, my family and I dealt with a scare with mom’s health last month. We have been working together to set meal schedules and recipes, so she and Dad will eat healthier.

Time constrains all of us. We must make choices. As a writer close to completing several projects, I need time to edit and write.

I so wanted to tell you, the powerhouse readers, I am cutting my posts back to once a week on Sunday. I will continue to write about writing, books, pictures, family and cooking. I will still write and look forward to you reading!

By Rebecca T. Dickinson

Tonight, I told Mom something different.

“Take Charles to get a haircut,” I said. “Please don’t chop it all off.”

When my husband and I took Charles to the beach this past weekend, his hair looked like one of the fraternity boys who grow their hair out long and comb it over when the wind blew.

Medical coverage for Charles switched the name of primary caregiver to John, since he took him to his last two appointments.

Guilt rushed over me when I told Mom to take him to get his hair cut and when I saw the name change. In the past four months, I’ve worked more hours. No more than most people work.

Many spent this weekend celebrating their mothers. John surprised Charles and me with a trip to Myrtle Beach. I could not help feeling guilt when I was once a stay-at-home mom.

Add to it I schedule in writing time. I’ll admit it has been harder lately due to cooking dinners, busy spring weekends, Charles, and Mom’s health. (You’ve probably noticed I’ve fallen off my blog schedule a time or two.)

What makes a Mom?

No single recipe.

The truth is their all very different recipes and formulas.

A writing mom is among her child or kids like me scribbling notes while my son yells, “Monster truck rally.”

What better influence for a story than a boy whose hair has grown too long and loves his trucks?

By Rebecca T. Dickinson

Related articles

• A Letter to My Son Regarding Mother’s Day (dadandburied.com)
• Reasons Mommy Drinks #102: Meltdowns (metronews.ca)

I wanted to know what people ate, what they believed and why they believed it.

One constant in all of my travel, friendship and life experiences is the appreciation of landscape, cityscape and what people cultivate.

When I write, my favorite part of the story is deciding how my town will look or if the landscape is resonant of the narrow hills on which I grew. If the land flows alongside a river, or if is flat and full of golden corn.

True of many writers from the Carolinas, I’m attached the land and different cityscapes.

As a small city journalist, I studied the different structure of a town and how it influences the citizens.

As the wife of a Christmas tree farmer’s son, I learned what passion for land means:

It is something, in spite of all the words in the English language, I could not portray to you.

The passion of which I write is born and breathes with men and women like my husband.

A shot of my father-in-law’s farm where apple trees once produced fruit. The Christmas trees grew on another part of the land.

Flowers outside my father-in-law’s house.

My son, Charles, on a John Deere tractor in his grandfather’s barn.

Flowers Charles brought to John and me.

John does a project for his father where tomato plants will later grow.

On days I take my son to the park, John, my husband, reminds me he had worked on a farm. In his spare time, he and his siblings played in their imaginary world on the acres of their parents’ farm land. The garden provided food for their table.

As a reporter, I covered towns with an agricultural background. I understood terms such as grass fed beef and how a farmer’s soy bean crop was ruined by too much rain.

Now when I shop and cook, I go to a farmer’s market where my husband last summer restored the roof. Crops are grown by farmers from North and South Carolina. Anywhere else I shop I look for the same freshness.

Food, like landscape, inspires with its many colors, traditions throughout the world, smells and sounds.

Salad with fresh tomatoes and lemon as a garnish from the farmer’s market.

S

Salmon plated over brown rice and fresh cooked spinach, feta and onions.

Food from the land or city takes us somewhere we long for, even when we cannot afford the plane ticket.

We yearn for it.

It influences us.

Therefore, we imagine a place of which we write.

Where is your place?

By Rebecca T. Dickinson

English: A child studying (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Raise your hand if you’ve taken a bullet for your books.

Raise your hand if you’ve taken a bullet for your education.

Raise your hand if someone has threatened you because you deserve that right.

Courtesy of http://www.vitalvoices.org/node/3341.

In case you did not catch Time’s 100 Most Influential People edition, one teenage girl was on the cover. Malala Yousafzai and two girls were shot by the Taliban. She defended her right to an education.

I get it.

No one wants to study for a test.

But, imagine if you’re right was stripped from you because you’re a woman, handicapped, ADHD, diagnosed with schizophrenia, Christian, Jewish or Muslim.

It is easy to forget the books that surround us are not just a chore.

They’re a blessing.

It is easy to forget the literacy rate in some countries around the world is low, and that the people who do read are thankful for the fact they read more than most people I know, including me.

I think Malala Yousafzai is not only a heroine for women, but for the cause of literacy and education.

Go get your book.

Then spell out the words: Thank you.

By Rebecca T. Dickinson

Related articles

• Diane Sawyer to Interview Malala Yousafzai (blackchristiannews.com)
• Malala Yousafzai signs $3m book deal (bbc.co.uk)
• Malala Yousafzai makes Time’s ‘most influential’ list (dawn.com)
• Malala Yousafzai signs $3 million deal to publish her memoir (ibnlive.in.com)
• Malala Yousafzai Should Be The One. (ppppunjab.wordpress.com)
• Malala Yousafzai : Teen Warrior Princess (ankitasadarjoshi.wordpress.com)

Rating:

Sum It Up:

Powell brothers, Moody and Muir, faceoff in a struggle to become men without a father. Ginny, their widowed mother, pushes younger brother, Muir, harder to work on the farm. Ambitious, Muir wants to take his life another step and achieve something monumental.

On the other hand, Ginny waits for Moody to sober up from his wild bootlegging nights before she bothers him. Moody and Muir argue and fight to the point Moody burns down a house Muir attempts to build in the beginning of the book.

After the deaths of her oldest daughter and husband, Ginny continues to struggle with widowhood and dedicates herself to the care of her family.

As Moody attempts to change near the end and Muir journeys to discover his purpose, This Rock explodes to show what one brother will do for the other no matter the cost.

Photo taken during a trip through the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Thoughts:

I gave the book four stars out of five. Morgan’s writing reads with beautiful prose-poetry of nature and how people work. With the intimate and down-in-the-dirt farm imagery similar to poet Josephine Dickinson’s Silence Fell, Morgan weaves imagery and work into a magnificent blue sky of his own.

In the few scenes when there was action, you were a part of it. You wanted to watch and try to get Muir and Moody to get along.

Past reviews describe the book as gritty. When it comes to it, the farm, the bootlegging, the church and the ending all capture that grit and dirt. Morgan does a great job making the reader grit his or her teeth while reading intense scenes, such as the moment Moody holds a knife against Muir or when Ginny finds Moody all beat up.

Ginny is a great character. One of the best chapters Morgan writes is when she thinks about her widowhood. She says the loved dead always walk with you.

The downside of This Rock was Morgan did not fully develop his characters other than Ginny and Muir. As I wrote in my previous post, I expected the book the read from Muir and Moody’s point-of-view. Moody was a shadow at times, and I wanted to enter Chesnut Springs, where the bootleggers lived. I wanted to see the action he experienced in Chesnut Springs.

Peg Early – a character mentioned throughout the book, but seen one time – could have been more fleshed out had Morgan wanted to focus more on the relationship between the brothers. The book left the disconnection between brothers at points.

What kept me from a 5-star rating was the end of This Rock. Maybe Morgan wanted a disconnected ending. A lot was left unresolved. It didn’t make sense. The only theme the end carried with the book was grit.

But, I will read Robert Morgan again.

“Southern poets are still writing narrative poems, poems in forms, dramatic poems.” ~ Author and Poet, Robert Morgan

Words and Photos by Rebecca T. Dickinson

Note to Readers: Working to return to regular blog schedule this week. Thurspiration will return. Apologies work, toddler and family have kept this blogger busy.

Related articles

• Days of Our Reading Lives: This Rock, Part I (rebeccatdickinson.com)

Mold them, shape them.

Keep them simple.

Who will read them?

The greats.

Sure. There are the greats, but they sit on thrones above.

The ones who want a break from work. The ones who want a break from bills. The ones who want a break from screaming children. The ones who want a break from boyfriends and girlfriends or spouses.

Yes, make words simple.

You never know who will read.

Why is it important?

Reading for a writer is sensual. It is an endurance of an author’s passion over a long period of time much like a strong relationship. Books connect you to people, open new doors and relationships you never expected.

Had John, my husband, not introduced me to Robert Heinlein, I would lack an improved understanding of how a Science Fiction author explored love.

As fellow blogger, Pete Denton, wrote in his recent post “Research,” reading in your genre will help you polish your craft as a writer.

Courtesy of http://www.tower.com

This Rock

A few weeks ago, I went to the library and researched books set in the nineteen twenties and thirties about teen boys. I was interested in stories about characters outside of Chicago and New York, because I’d read many of those books. Since Chicago in the Roaring Twenties is an entirely different subject, I wanted to focus on rural themes and a good read.

When I selected This Rock, I did not realize it was part of series. I was able to read it without having to read its predecessors. Introduced to author Robert Morgan – a native of North Carolina – you could tell his natural poetic voice carried into the prose about the Cain and Able struggles of brothers Muir and Moody living with their mother, Ginny.

Pick Your Narrator

I experienced the flow of literary fiction mixed with descriptions of nature and two rich main characters. Surprisingly the duel P.O.V. was not what I expected. The author switched back and forth between the mother and son, Muir. I thought this was odd, since the description focused a lot on the bootlegging brother, Moody.

Some characters authors do not wish to examine too closely. Moody was one of those characters, and as a reader, I yearned to know more about him.

Duel P.O.V. is a tough thing to pull off in a book along with deciding the direction in which you will go with your narrator.

I’ve read contemporary authors who write from the P.O.V. of many characters, such as Joanna Trollope. I believe it is a way to stay connected to the ability of a story to be examined in multiple aspects.

Morgan writes in first person. As the novel continues, he tells the story more from Muir’s P.O.V.

The original editor who worked with me told me not to write my book in first person or from one point of view. I chose third person dual P.O.V., and it has taken time to clean it up. I learned how to become the pit crew for my book by reading books like This Rock.

Your brain begins moving with the story: Wow, this is awesome, or What was the author thinking here?

My husband says you’re supposed to read books for enjoyment. Yes, you are, but I think writers naturally analyze them. How P.O.V. is done in books like This Rock will work the narration part of your brain.

I believe Morgan should have written chapters from Moody’s point of view because I think – as a reader – he was more of a counterbalance to Muir than was Ginny. That said, I know why Morgan decided not to write from his point of view.

In Sons of the Edisto, I write from the P.O.V. of JD and Owen. They are opposites in their view of the world. One boy, JD, believes shoes and name brand bikes say a lot about a boy. Owen looks down the train tracks wondering how long it would take him to get to Michigan to meet Henry Ford.

Bootlegging, Science and God

The other lesson I examined in This Rock was how Morgan wrote about bootlegging. The one time in the book when the mother Ginny entered bootlegger Peg Early’s place, I was entranced. I wanted to know more. Unfortunately, Peg Early appeared in one scene.

Morgan focused on Christianity much more than I do in my own writing. Again, I believe it goes with what the author fits into his or her narration. His main character, Muir, wants to become a preacher.

As a Southern writer, I understand the importance religion can play in stories whether good or bad. My main character, Owen, wants to enter the field of science and looks at the future. What I learned from Muir is how he became disillusioned with his dream when he messed up.

That is essential to all young characters. They mess up at some point.

How do you, as the author, make them relatable?

How do you ground them?

Are they closer to religion, art or science?

How do you narrate their story?

The questions are within the pages you read.

By Rebecca T. Dickinson

Not many.

Just enough.

Congress votes down

new gun law.

Children dead –

six year olds 

remebered from Sandy Hook.

Once smiling faces

not enough to move

men and women

in big boy

and big girl suits.

Yesterday, an armed man

threatens the school

where I used to

substitute.

The police got him

before he ever arrived.

Blue strobes of light

flash around a house

and a boat with a man.

No answers as to why.

Explosion,

Texas,

Clover.

Why?

A lot happened this week. More than words can express. In fact, I could not find words to express how I felt about what happened in Boston, the Senate, Texas and at a school where I used to substitute teach. The moment I found out I thought of Sandy Hook and September 11, 2001.

Journalists are busy right now. They will answer the who, what, when and where.

The why is harder.

Why would someone set off bombs?

Why would someone limit certain people access to guns?

Why are innocent people killed?

Why are children killed?

There is no certain answer.

Only this:

We, the writers, compose to explore the why.

By Rebecca T. Dickinson

Thoughts, prayers and love for Texas, Boston and Clover High

Courtesy of http://fadingamericans.wordpress.com/featured-animals/green-sea-turtle/

The sea turtle, box turtles and large land turtles take their time getting somewhere, but they choose different paths, have a hard shell and get where they’re going.

Courtesy of http://www.frmheadtotoe.com/2012/10/fox-halloween-tutorial.html

The fox watches, waits and listens. Those are essential to editing. When you think you’re ready to send a piece out, step back into the grass and hear your story read out loud again.

Turtles are born with hard shells.

Most writers are not.

With time you build one. If not, you quit. Sure, there are still critiques that hurt to hear, but we need them said.

I need them said.

Turtles also move slow to get where they’re going.

Every writer, journalist and author sets out on a different path. Many writers have deadlines. I lived by deadlines at one time, and now I set them for creative work.

That does not mean you look for the short cuts.

Today, I smiled when I completed writing my longest story to date, 22 pages, When Tomorrow Comes. I began writing the story sometime between July and October 2011.

You say: Come on, Rebecca, it’s 2013 and that’s only twenty-two pages.

I say: Yeah, but it took a long time to figure out where the story was heading.

I knew I had a story about a mother who lost her husband and job as a financial advisor in the city. She lost her house, and her popular teenage daughter lost her prominent place at a private school. She attended a public school with a two-star rating online.

Those ideas took time to develop and unfold. Only in the last five months has the story really molded into what I wanted, and I’ve enjoyed writing it.

Sometimes I like to slow down and read over the last couple of paragraphs before I write again. Scientists do not want to mess up formulas and most that I’ve observed – on television – pour their solutions slowly into another container.

If the words invite you dance, then let them lead. Take slow steps. Watch the words pour on the page.

When I completed my story today, I felt happy. I have written many stories I am not happy with or were for the pure purpose of self-help during tough times. I never planned to use them for anything.

As I wrote back and forth between Catherine, the mom, and Tara, the daughter, I could not stop.

I must admit the story is not a first draft. It’s more like a sixth because I’ve edited it many times before I began writing the next section. Yes, I edit stories before I complete them, but every author is different. I do the same with my Elliot McSwean  stories.

In my approach to editing, I look like a fox.

1. Watch
   

   Read through one paragraph or page at a time. Soak it in. Take in the scene.
   

1. Poke your ears up.
   

   Listen. Read your work out loud. Then listen to someone else or a computer voice read it back to you. I use both of these techniques, which have helped me improve my self-editing.
   

1. Slow Approach
   

   Have you watched an Arctic fox sneak up on a rabbit? A good hunter approaches its prey that never hears it coming.
   

   Be that way in your editing.
   

   As proud as I am of the fact I completed writing my story today, I know I will go back and slash out words and dialogue that just does not work.
   

   If you’re good, those unnecessary words and accidental punctuation won’t hear your backspace or return button go click-click-gone.
   

By Rebecca T. Dickinson

Thank you again to all of my readers who have stuck with me even though I haven’t stuck to my schedule. My mom is doing better and she is out of the hospital.

Dear Mom,

Will you walk with me for a few minutes in the garden?

Photos taken on my father-in-law’s farm late last summer where many beautiful plants and trees grow.

I think of you walking with me in the garden. Instead of shopping for dresses, we will look at ripples in the river. Don’t you see them dancing there? The goose took off, and his wings tapped the water.

You walk with me, though you don’t know it. When I find my peace beneath the trees next to the Catawba or when I am lost in the Blue Ridge Mountains, you go with me.

I wish we’d traveled together when I drove above the mountains in mid-winter. You could not tell wood from mountain side in mist so white.

You have asked me to go shopping so many times or for a bite to eat.

I did not go.

Now guilt burns.

You see, Mom, I live with you. I could not take money from you. My loving mother, you would not see it that way for you love and give in the way you can.

For now you cannot walk with me to see the trees blooming. Yes, Mom, I wish you could see the dogwoods blossom near the Greenway. Soon the bees will be shopping for honey.

You wished I would go to lunch when I put on my apron. The flour was poured into the mixing bowl.

“When will I spend time with you?”

“Here I am. We could cook,” I said.

A few days later you lie in your hospital bed. You and I, different women we are. Let us find a new way to live as mother and daughter. Until then, remember I think of you always when I wander between the trees and beyond the river.

I ended the When Write Letter Series a few weeks ago, but after my mother went to the hospital Saturday morning I changed my mind. One more was needed. You will notice this post and Thursday’s Thurspiration are connected. Thank you, readers, for your constant support!

Words and Photos by Rebecca T. Dickinson

Related articles

• Thurspiration: Strength to Stand (rebeccatdickinson.com)
• When We Write Letters, Part IV: A Mommy Scribbles Letter (rebeccatdickinson.wordpress.com)
• One Daughter A Sparrow, The Other A Vipont (friedgatortail.wordpress.com)
• Uproots Tree, Saves Mom (video.foxnews.com)