Tag Archives: change

Just Kill ‘Em


A friend of mine writes murder mysteries. She has found a positive way to channel negative energy connected to a particular person: she turns the person she is angry with into a character in a book. Then she kills them. End of story. End of her frustration.

I found that tactic hilarious. I didn’t think it would work for me. Then, I had a fight.

After I had strong words with a person, I felt badly. My head ached, and I was sick to my stomach. I realized I needed to change my response to this negative stimulation. I pulled out my laptop and began working on a story as a way to get my mind off things. The adrenaline increase from the argument was rerouted to my creative brain. Before I knew it, that re-channeled energy helped me produce 1,000 new written words.

I liked the outcome of that choice. My body appreciated my turning away from the gut-churning negative emotions to the zen-inducing creative thoughts. I am certain my blood pressure dropped several points while writing.

So there you have it. Redirect your anger or angst. Get writing. Lower your blood pressure. And, if need be, kill the bugger!

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When Life Throws You a Curve Ball


It’s crazy. Just when I have plotted out my life for the next umpteen months and settled back to work the plan, Life throws me a curve ball. It shouldn’t surprise me.

Enough seasons have passed through my earth-bound existence that I should know better than to think any long-term plan will play out exactly as I have envisioned it. It must be the optimist in me, for I keep planning.

Or maybe it’s my insanity. You know the old definition of lunacy: doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting a different outcome.

However, my recent roadblocks are just that–little obstacles. The unanticipated hiccups don’t really change my plans. My destination is still the same: write books. Now, I will have a few detours through unfamiliar neighborhoods. That can be a good thing, right? It adds color, dimensions, flavor to my collection of life experience.

I’ll stop rambling and be more concrete.

I make my living by farming. I make hay, cut wood, and grow vegetables for selling. This year I planned to add the sale of landscaping stone to my product line. Due to another hiccup in my life plan, my way of making a living was to be more important than ever in 2013. But. . . .

Karma has other plans. I have torn my rotator cuff. I am scheduled for surgery soon and will be convalescing for six months afterward. No farming this season. No farming means no income.

Thankfully, there is nothing wrong with my brain. So I have to ask myself, is the Universe clearing a path for me to write?

From Dream to Reality


Dates don’t stick in my brain. That’s why I always disliked history classes. The tests seemed to focus on memorization of lots of dates. I was at an instant disadvantage. I would have preferred that the instructors focused on the lessons we can learn from history. If that had been the case, I likely would have majored in history. I love to learn. I hate memorization.

But I digress.

I was saying dates don’t stick in my brain. I can’t remember when I first decided that I would start a writers group. If I were to guess, I would say it was two years ago. About that time, I started attending writing workshops by mystery author Lauren Carr, hosted by different local libraries. In fact, it happened after the first Carr workshop, but before the second. At the second workshop is where I asked for anyone interested to give me his or her contact information.

It took a bit of time to find a meeting place. I had a list of 25 names. I had no idea how many would actually show up. Rose Harris, owner of a local coffee-house in historic Williamsport, MD, was willing to let the group use her back room free of charge two times per month. The local library also had a meeting room, but it was in high demand. The writers group may have to compete for meeting dates. That was no good. Plus, the library felt sterile. The vibe at the Desert Rose Cafe was nurturing, creative, friendly. As an added bonus, “the eats” were good and inexpensive.

Desert Rose Cafe TL

It was the vibe that made the decision for me.

Over time the group whittled down to a dozen, then ten regulars. The group was very diverse, from writing styles to personalities to topical interests. Yet we jelled. We shared work by reading aloud. We criticized (in a constructive way) and guided each other in developing our craft. We encouraged and inspired each other.

The restaurant hosted a writing contest, posting short works from the group in the dining room, asking diners to read and vote on a winner.

We all were winners, because, after the contest, we decided to put together the Anthology. We had faith we could create a collection of short works, edit them, compile them, then publish them in a period of about six months.

With the professional assistance  and coaching of Acorn Book Services in Harpers Ferry, WV, by December, 2012, the humble writers group–Writers of the Desert Rose Cafe–released its first e-book. The members range in age from 30 to 80-plus and live in a three state area.

One member with Asperger’s Syndrome remarked that the release date of the e-book was one of the greatest days in his life. During the course of writing for the Anthology, he made a decision to move out of his parents’ home and into his own apartment, so he could enroll in college. He is currently working on a solo writing project.

An administrator in the local library system called me a couple of days ago to express her surprise and joy that Writers of the Desert Rose Cafe had achieved its goal. She offered to help arrange publicity for the book through the local newspaper. In turn, I offered to promote the library workshops as wellsprings of creativity. Without the library’s workshop, the Anthology would never have been written.

An idea led to a call to action and resulted in the creation and e-printing of a publication. A young man’s life changed. Others came to see that setting a goal and working on it faithfully yielded results. Several are working on new solo projects.

Dreams do come true.

Writers of the Desert Rose Cafe, An Anthology, available from Amazon.com or Barnes & Noble

Here

http://www.amazon.com/Writers-Desert-Cafe–Anthology-ebook/dp/B00ARYTOYC/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1357500066&sr=1-1&keywords=writers+of+the+desert+rose+cafe

or here

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/writers-of-the-desert-rose-cafe-an-anthology-fay-moore/1114018983

A Series of Thoughts on the Power of the Mind, Part 3


“Our life is the creation of our mind.”

–Buddha

To close out this series, I am using the words of others to point out truisms–about the power of the mind–that have spanned all time. Look back to Part 1 and review the psychological laws. My hope is that you become aware of what you are attracting to yourself and that you use that awareness to improve your situation.

Through the power of your mind.

 The Law of Attraction is a universal law that says all your thoughts, positive and negative, vibrate at a certain frequency and like attracts like.  In other words, you get what you ask for – the frequency of your thoughts attract things to your life vibrating at the same frequency.  This happens whether you are conscious of it or not.

–Life-changing-mind-power.com

“Inaction breeds doubt and fear. Action breeds confidence and courage. If you want to conquer fear,  do not sit home and think about it. Get out and get busy.”

–Dale Carnegie

“If you change your thoughts, words, actions, and your attitudes, your mind will update its rules according to the data it has gathered.”

–Susan Gray, author of the book Turn Your Thoughts into Money

Watch your thoughts; they become words.

Watch your words; they become actions.

Watch your actions; they become habits.

Watch your habits; they become character.

Watch your character; it becomes your destiny.

–Frank Outlaw, Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/805263

The laws of psychology teach, if you want to change your world, change your mind set.

The Quote for 11-16-2012 Is Courtesy of Asklotta


 I can explain it to you, but I can’t understand it for you.

Thanks, Asklotta, for giving me a “nice” remark to replace my old, impolite saying: “There’s no help for stupid.”  Your words are much kinder. Since kindness, even in the face of self-selected ignorance, is my goal, I appreciate the help. Hugs.

Response to Song Prompt “Calling All Angels”


Here’s my sudden fiction piece generated by Train’s “Calling All Angels.” If you’ve ever experienced a personal moment of desperation, you may identify with Hannah. Sometimes things intervene that cannot be explained away.

Angels

by Fay Moore © 2012

Hannah’s thirty. She has a two-year-old and a husband. There are no money problems in the home that any other young married couple isn’t facing. Everyone in the family has good health.

But Hannah is tired, so tired. And with a baby to chase after and a business to run, she doesn’t get caught up on her rest before the daily grind discharges her batteries again.

She shuts herself in the bathroom and cries. She has thirty seconds to herself before there is an intrusion. The baby gets down on his knees outside the door, puts his tiny mouth to the gap between the bottom of it and the floor, and starts calling through the crack, “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy.”

Hannah sits on the closed toilet lid, her face in her hands. Her crying turns to head shaking.

I can’t even go to the bathroom and have five minutes alone,” she laments.

Hannah gets up and unlocks the door. Her toddler scoots in and wraps his arms around her legs.

Where you are, Mommy? I look for you,” he murmurs.

I’m right here,” she answers, scooping him up in her arms. She forces herself to smile at him.

Honey,” her husband calls from the kitchen. “Where are the hamburger rolls?” He’s shoving things around inside the refrigerator.

Hannah carries the child with her to the kitchen.

There aren’t any. We used the last ones the day before yesterday. We’re out of milk and eggs, too. You watch your son,” she says as she hands the toddler off to her husband, “and I’ll make a grocery run. I’ll be back in 30 minutes. That’ll give the two of you time to make the burgers and salad. Need anything else?”

Yeah. A package of razors and a gallon of iced tea. Oh, and some pickles. Those sweet ones.”

Bread and butters?”

Yeah,” he says, as he puts their son in the high chair, placing a plastic bowl half full of Cheerios on the tray.

Hannah blows kisses. Her boy catches them, but her husband has already turned his back and buried his head in the refrigerator, rummaging for dinner ingredients.

Half an hour later, it’s dark outside. Hanna starts home with the groceries. She revisits the feelings she had while in the bathroom at home. She feels grim, then melancholy, then depressed. She begins to think dark thoughts. She grips the wheel with both hands, holding the car to the center of her lane.

She doesn’t know if it is her imagination, but she swears she hears conversation in her head. She is being urged to run the car off the road. She grips the wheel tighter.

I’m tired. I’m worn out. That’s all. I don’t want to die,” she says aloud, half praying, half trying to convince herself to ignore whatever fiend is messing with her thoughts. She’s crying again. Her shoulders begin to slump as her grip relaxes on the steering wheel. The car edges to the right.

At that moment, Hannah’s mind lets go. Though she sees nothing visible, she senses a presence, no, two beings, one at each forward fender. She is driving, but the sensation is that the invisible beings have control and keep her car on the road. She travels about a quarter of a mile with this impression.

Then, it is as if she has returned to herself and shaken off whatever it was that possessed her thoughts. She doesn’t understand exactly what just happened. Her mind tries to reason that she imagined the whole episode. But in her heart, she knows she nearly died by her own hand. Something, or someone, intervened to move the vehicle back onto the roadway. She holds fast to the steering wheel and leans forward, eyes riveted to the road.

Hannah is shaken, but determined to get home safely. She wonders what she will tell her husband. How will she describe what happened?

Angels?” she asks herself.

What Do You Think?


This morning I have had my first negative thoughts about the anthology project of the local writers group.

My WordPress galpal Crubin calls her negative self-talk Mr. Nasty Pants.  Apparently he is visiting me this morning. He is suggesting that my writing micro-fiction for the anthology is a bad thing because I am trying to be a novelist. I am sending a wrong message to readers by introducing them to me through micro-fiction.

I say, “Nonsense.” He is persisting in his argument.

My view is  I am new at this writing game. I have made a conscious choice to write a novel: that is the genre in which I believe I want to work. However, blogging has taught me that I like writing short pieces just as much. Then I discovered micro-fiction. It’s the haiku of story-telling. It’s fun and challenging to me.  It improves my self- editing skills. Yes, the flavor is different than the novel. But is it really a bad thing to write in more than one genre?

When I get an ice cream cone, I mix up the flavors. Each scoop is different. I eat one flavor at a time, with an occasional drip-catching lick to the others. I like variety. I like sampling. It’s my bad.

Remember. I have stated, “I am not a Hemingway.” What I mean is I have no illusion of producing classic literature that will be studied through the ages. I want to entertain, amuse, calm, nurture, persuade, tickle my reader. My works are meant to be read, mulled over for a brief duration, then shared or shelved.

If I aspired to create literature, then I would understand perfecting my craft in a single genre. As it is, I just want to be read, then read again.

What do you think? Give me your point-of-view.