Tag Archives: renewal

Banana Curried Cauliflower


This morning I was perusing my collection of recipes clipped in the past for use someday. Someday is tonight.

I spotted a recipe card for Banana Curried Cauliflower that I have had in my possession for more than ten years, yet never used. For the average American, this dish sounds exotic. It certainly isn’t meat and potatoes. Mention to a friend in casual conversation that dinner includes Banana Curried Cauliflower and watch for the dumbfounded look on the friend’s face.

The point is an author needs to serve up the literary equivalent of Banana Curried Cauliflower once in a while. It shakes up writing rituals and creative habits one has acquired. Further, it pushes an author’s limits outside the comfort zone.

This is what I have been doing with my sudden fiction stories (using the song prompts) on this blog. I am trying out new characters, topics,  voices, and writing styles. I want to see if any of it fits me as an author.

Tonight, after eating my interpretation of the cauliflower recipe, I may chuck the recipe card in the trash, or I will write personal remarks on the card before placing it into the permanent recipe file.  An author will act similarly with a newly concocted exotic-for-him work.

By venturing beyond the commonplace, both diner and author  expand personal experience upon which to call in the future.

For Troy Stover, My Friend in Words, and Vera, My Girl


Adapted Lyrics from “The Stolen Child” as sung by the Waterboys

Songwriters: Simon Fowler, Dan Sealy, Mike McNamara, W. B. Yeats

(To comply with Fair Use, please allow me a teaching moment: it is brilliant when one can take a classic–whether words or melody–and adapt it to modern use. Hence, the following example.

This particular piece also serves a therapeutic purpose for the wounded spirit in need of escape, rest and refreshing. It describes that process so poetically.)

Come away, human child, to the water.

Come away, human child, to the water and the wild

With a fairy, hand-in-hand,

For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where dips the rocky highland of Sleuth Wood in the lake,

There lies a leafy island where flapping herons wake

The drowsy water rats. There we’ve hid our fairy vats

Full of berries and of the reddest stolen cherries.

Come away, human child, to the water.

Come away, human child, to the water and the wild

With a fairy, hand-in-hand,

For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses the dim gray sands with light,

Far off by furthest Rosses, we foot it all the night,

Weaving olden dances, mingling hands and mingling glances,

Till the moon has taken flight; to and fro we leap

And chase the frothy bubbles, while the world is full of troubles

And is anxious in its sleep.

There, the wandering water gushes from the hills above Glen-Car.

In pools among the rushes, where scarce could bathe a star,

We seek for slumbering trout and whisper in their ears.

We give them unquiet dreams.

Leaning softly out from ferns, that drop their tears

Over the young streams.

Away with us, he’s going, the solemn-eyed.

He’ll hear no more the lowing of the calves on the warm hillside;

Or the kettle on the hob, singing peace into his breast;

Or see the brown mice bob around and around the oatmeal chest.

For he comes, the human child, to the water.

He comes, the human child, to the water and the wild

With a fairy, hand-in-hand,

For the world’s more full of weeping than he can understand.