Writing

Switched at Birth & Writing for Children

/ Janna Hill / 14 Comments

Have you considered writing for children?

 

That is a question I have heard more than once and the answer is always yes. Yes indeed I have considered it but considering is a far cry from accomplishing.

I wrote a poem last year for my grandson when our fancy goldfish died because (as I explained to him) this sort of thing gets the creative juices flowing and writing can be very therapeutic.

Shubunkin

(From Interior Verse PLUS Pose Prose & Poems)

Little shubunkin all silver and pumpkin

with calico dotted on scales

You streak through the water

no teeter or totter fanning your cute tiny tale

You race and you turn but the water don’t churn

never so much as a swish

I’ll miss you shubunkin, your dashin’ and dunkin’

but oh what a sweet taco dish

I thought he would find it entertaining instead he cried and said “that’s not funny Nana and I don’t feel better.” Oops, my bad.

This same grandson loves the Skippyjon books by Judith Schachner so when he had finished mourning the goldfish he asked, “Can you write something like Skippyjon Jones and make him be a pirate?” I of course wanted to rectify the damage I had done so I quickly penned him another little poem.

Skippy Red

(From Short Stories& Such)

In the house where he lived void of laughter and kisses

In the room where he smoked and the little dog pisses

Where the ghost of a bloke stirs a foul reminiscence

Lies the frame of a maimed Skippy Red

…

Go down, go down poor Skippy Red

Alas, alas no water to tread

No ropes, no planks, no breaking of bread

In your world of endless abysses

…

Go on, go on let sleeping dogs lie

A new crib for you, twas a good day to die

Hoist a fresh cup, here’s spit in your eye

Abaddon is better off dead

…

Farewell, farewell Skippy Red

Well… Dang it!! I struck out again! Being scolded by a seven year old for saying piss is a shameful experience but at least he didn’t cry.

I wanted to impress him with my literary accomplishments be a good grandmother so I scribbled a few more verses. Judging from the look on his face each one was worse than the one before so after a few hours I untied him. He rubbed his little wrists, shook his head and walked away. At that point I had to be honest with myself and admit …

My grandson may have been switched at birth.

A Look Inside: Bookfest

/ Janna Hill / 4 Comments

This weeks photo challenge correlated fabulously with a post I had planned for My Indie Adventures.

As a few of you may know I attended the East Texas Bookfest this past Saturday. What you may not know is that it was my first.  Of course I marched up in there like an old crow pro because I refuse to be intimidated.

The event started Friday evening with a reception for the authors at the Potpourri House in Tyler. I had a glass of Chardonnay with a little fruit, cheese and artichoke dip.  The chicken and meat balls looked very appealing but I’m pretty sure I would have choked on them so I had another glass of wine when my handler wasn’t looking.  The receptionThe dip was delicious by the way.

Saturday morning we arrived on time (yay!!) and within minutes our table was set up.

Inside the Bookfest (1)

With all of that out of the way (thank you Kim) I’m like what am I supposed to do now?

What do I do now?

What do I do now?

Thank goodness I just happen to have a camera hanging around my neck so I roamed around taking pictures.

Bill Keith poses with The Commisssioner
An interesting display
Look, Don takes Mastercard and Visa
Oh she has T- shirts
Pst, the cake is made of paper. It tastes like cardboard.
Signing is a serious business
Sorry [lady on the left] erotica is prohibited
Hmm, is that a real interview…

Maybe taking pictures was not exactly what I was supposed to be doing and I probably shouldn’t have let people think I was with the press…  Oh well it was another funtastic indie adventure and a chance to see the inside working of a book festival.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Escape

/ Janna Hill / 18 Comments

I have no photo of my head in the sand, which would be appropriate while admitting I do not want to deal with my current reality. My mother is ill… critically ill and I am a “mama’s girl” which I admit without shame.

She is/has always been my touchstone, my constant reminder to move forward despite obstacles, my assurance that ‘this too shall pass’… Tonight she lays in an Intensive care unit fighting for her life  and I long for a quiet place in a green meadow beneath a sunrise to remind me how marvelous nature is even as life takes its course . Pleading to the heavens not now… not now. Let me sit on the green meadow and meditate on the rising sun of hope. Let me find the courage to endure whatever the future holds. I can hear her gentle whisper,”Keep your obligations. Move on and do not look back except for a glimpse and a smile.”

Escape

Longing for serenity

I am trying  mother. And here is my submission for this weeks photo challenge : Escape.

Dabbling & Dibbles

/ Janna Hill / 9 Comments

Dabble: to fiddle, putter, experiment

Did you know that a significant number of the population does not consider writing a real job? You did? You knew that already? Well color me shocked and bubble busted when a sweet little old lady accused me of dabbling. Writing is real work by golly. True I have never broken a sweat over a keyboard but dabbling?

Admittedly it is easier than sorting sheets for a laundry company that services nursing homes. Yeah I did that for three whole days. That was a long time ago (a really, really long time ago) when the unemployment office would actually put you to work. I suppose in comparison it does look like I am dabbling.

Thinking back on those three days of sorting fecal stained linens I’ll take being called a dabbler. Heck. I will embrace it and laugh at it like a real country boy laughs at Earl Dibbles Jr.

The Last Man Standing

/ Janna Hill / 10 Comments

We went for the annual camp-out this past weekend. I expected a small crowd and a somber mood considering it was our first gathering on the lake since my dear aunt left this world last June and this was her thing, she loved it.

Only thirty five or forty of us were in attendance so the crowd was small but the mood was far from somber. I should have known better than to think that.

We do not dwell on sorrow. No, we mustn’t… we cannot.  And we did not. Instead we laughed and reminisced about our rambunctious youth spent on the shores of Navarro Mills.  A time when our numbers were more, a time when strength and stamina ran hard through our veins, a time when we were too confident to recognize the gift.

Remembering makes us aware of our weakness but we remember anyway because it also brings us comfort. These are my memories:

I remember tents dotting the landscape, fried eggs on an open campfire, horse shoes clanking, blankets of bluebonnets, chasing birds along the banks and walking for miles in the sweltering heat. Swimming in the murky water, boat rides, the smell of roasted marshmallows and fishing along the shoreline. I remember crystal clear nights and counting stars until we fell asleep, long walks to the toilet, frigid dawns stealing slumber, and anxiously awaiting the next sunrise so we could do it all again.

With nostalgia I watch our children and grandchildren between sneaking stares at the last man standing (my father’s baby brother) and hope they understand what this gathering silently implies, these things you must remember.

Navarro Mills Lake at Day Break

Weekly Photo Challenge: Culture

/ Janna Hill / 11 Comments

The word culture can conjure so many images it boggles the mind. Defining it as beliefs, principles, arts, ethnicity and (may I add) bacteria that reside in yogurt and petri dishes. That doesn’t make choosing a photograph any easier for me.  I can’t zoom in close enough on the yogurt to get a shot of live cultures and petri dishes… well they are just plain nasty.

This week’s challenge is hosted by Aaron Joel Santos.

How’s That Rx Workin’ for Ya?

/ Janna Hill / 4 Comments
Promotion Turned Rant

Anyone that’s read my puny little bio knows that I spent my prime working in the medical field as a licensed nurse. One necessary evil in said profession is staying current on medications. I still tend to do that. Old habits die hard. Maybe they don’t die–they just get flaccid and crusty along with our aging bodies but anywho.

Has anyone had to fill a prescription for Doxycycline lately? Were you totally blown away by the price increase? I mean, my lord that drug was approved by the FDA before I started first grade. Seriously it was over 45 years ago. The last time I checked (February 2012) it was $10 for 30 capsules/tabs without insurance. That was 33¢ per dose. Today it is sixty eight bucks for twenty tablets at Wal Mart! Yes, $68. That’s what… $3.40 a dose?Doxycycline (1024x688)

It is a fabulous drug with a wide range of benefits but it is old. Remember once upon a time when the cost of a drug went down after the pharmaceutical company recouped their research costs. So why the heck has this one (and there are others) skyrocketed?

This was the very argument I had with the pharmacist at one of the drug stores I called searching for a better price. Just FYI I was trying to help an uninsured individual get the medication they needed.

The professional behind the counter explained there was apparently a shortage of said drug, maybe a matter of supply and demand. I don’t believe that. The next explanation was that they were possibly losing money, to that I feigned a BS cough.

“You are a writer, right?” he asked. Damn small towns everybody knows your business.

“Right. What does that have to do with price gouging or hoarding if that is the case?” I replied.

“After you have recouped what you think your time and effort is worth on a particular book do you systematically lower the price?”

“A person’s health is not affected one way or another by my practices”. I argued.

“I’m sure their budget is. Why don’t you apply that same philosophy to your business?”

“I have!”

“How’s that prescription workin’ for ya?” By the looks of his crooked little grin I don’t think he believed me.

“It is too early to tell but I will let you know.”

We exchanged the usual pleasantries and I hurried home and got busy just in case he checked my story. It wasn’t a lie really; I (like many Indies) have cut prices before and offered a free title from time to time but has fiction or poetry ever healed bronchitis? Has an antibiotic ever offered a leisurely break from the stresses of reality?

I believe his comparison is ludicrous but a stiff necked redneck with Irish ire tends to take everything as a challenge. Of course we also celebrate the smallest victories. Just this morning I found 75¢ in the dryer. Woo-hoo. I love me some shiny quarters- it’s gonna be a good day.

So anyway I cut prices, made a couple of titles free at Smashwords and I am off to track down the real reason behind the astronomical increase in this drug and then I shall rant elsewhere.

Aside: I have a (paranoid?) suspicion the government is stock piling Doxycycline in the event of germ warfare or an anthrax attack. Maybe the pharmacy should start loading up on e-readers and books. If you can’t afford the medication or cure what ails you by reading you may be up a thick smelly creek without a means of propelling yourself.

Crazy Conversations (Genres)

/ Janna Hill / 8 Comments

Cotton, peas, your friends, your seat, your nose… There are a lot of things you can pick. Family isn’t one of them. Disclaimer: Life is crazy, people are crazier and my family… well they get the crazy award if there is one. This is a work of ‘true fiction’ inspired by family. The names have been changed to protect the guilty. CAUTION: They cuss.

I have had genre issues concerning one title in particular so a couple of weeks ago I (finally) asked my eldest sister for an opinion. Be careful what you ask for. And the category Is…

Sister: Hey, I just called to thank you for the book.

Me: Oh you’re quite welcome. So do you have an opinion on the genre?

Sister: Well I have to tell you it started off a little staggery. You know what I mean?

Me: As in slow and unsteady, I agree.  So what genre did you decide?

Sister: Clara seemed sort of dull at the beginning. I wasn’t sure what to make of her, you know?  She’s rather meek and reserved.

Me: True. But what category-

Sister: Thank goodness she shines further into the story. You need to show that in the first few pages. You might omit chapter one all together or incorporate one and two. I see what you were doing there and I’m all about character development but step it up a little.

Me: The book is already out. My current problem is the specific genre. What do you-

Sister: Well no need crying over spilled milk, right? Maggie is likable. I like Maggie, she’s spunky. No wonder Linda has issues. With a name like Mucalinda and a mother who runs a voodoo shop in New Orleans. Geez!

Me: Thanks. Other than fiction would you consider it –

Sister: I hated that Lafont character! Hate is a strong word I know but I absolutely hate him. He didn’t suffer near enough in my opinion but Levi isn’t the type to torture people. He just done what needed to be done. Taking care of business, I loved that about him. So is he really a-

Me: Speaking of business I need your opinion on the genre. Remember I asked for-

Sister: Oh it’s definitely romance. It almost verges on soft porn at times if you ask me. Your brother in law couldn’t believe you wrote that. He had a time with it. Were your ears burning?

Me: You let him read it?!The Rage Trilogy Cover for B&N

Sister: Sure. He agrees with me – it’s romance.

Me: No, I don’t think so.

Sister: Yes it is! I am a seasoned noveller, you asked for my opinion now don’t argue. With the relationships and intimacy throughout you have to know it’s a romance.

Me: I really didn’t think it was. I categorized it under paranormal fiction.

Sister: Maybe as a subcategory.  Now back to Levi, is he or is he not a-

Me: I’m not sure I should classify it as romance. One reader said-

Sister: I don’t give a damn what one reader said or one hundred for that matter. Do you know how many books I read a week? Sure you do that’s why you asked for my opinion. It’s a freaking romance.

Me: Okay. Don’t get your panties in a wad. So you want to know more about Levi but what about Vivian?

Sister: Vivian Cature? That wench has no redeeming qualities. I despise her.

Me: But she came from a troubled background. Aren’t you the least bit empathetic?

Sister: So what. That is an excuse! Everyone has junk in their past. No, she was looking out for number one and the way she treated her own daughter- not just the way she treated her friend but her own daughter! I don’t forgive her and I have no sympathy for her. Nope, I cannot abide such. She is a sociopath. She and that worthless man-whore deserved one another.

Me: You know they aren’t real people, right?

Sister: Well of course I know that but girl I cried twice. Oh, when Mr. O’Bromley was in the emergency room I had to get a tissue and blow my nose that just tore me up. — What are you laughing about?

Me: Nothing.

Sister: You wanted my opinion. You should be flattered that I liked it.

Me: I am. I totally am. But I really just needed help with the genre thing.

Sister: It is a blasted romance. Let’s not go over that again. Now tell me will Levi be showing up in the next book?

Me: I don’t think so.

Sister: He could. There is ample leeway for another story, maybe bring him in to the lead, I would like to see that and why on earth did you kill off-

Me: You’re positive on the genre?

Sister: Damn it girl do I have to spell it for you? Would you rather ask mother?

Me: No! Romance it is. Thank you.

Sister: Anytime. Can you at least try to expound on the Duffy character.  What exactly is he? And I don’t see why you couldn’t do more with Levi.

Me: I’ll work on it.

Sister: Do that and by the way you’re not getting the book back,

Me: That’s fine, consider it a gift.

Sister:  I did.

Of Poetry (Resident of Insanity)

/ Janna Hill / 3 Comments

Of Poetry

Be it good, bad or indifferent I suppose I will always be a poet at heart.

One might think “real” writing (you know things like novels, short stories and blogs) would dissuade poetic tendencies but it doesn’t… and it shouldn’t.

Someone once said of poetry, “I honestly don’t know why it flies through my head but it’s like an energy that must be loosed and the only way I know to let it go is to jot it down.” Okay that someone was me but we’ve already established that authors and poets are insane a peculiar lot. At least that’s what I keep hearing from the voices living outside of my head.

Admittedly I tend to write disturbing prose. Why? I have no freaking idea other than the above explanation and this one just flew in.

Resident of Insanity

 

He gnashed and smashed his teeth to bits

Hissing shards of peppermint

On face and lace chipped molars lit

While gums and tongue did chide

~

The air like mud was thick with scent

Red with dread and white with grit

Dentin mixed with blood and spit

Where insanity did reside

~

He snatched and scratched at lights not lit

Held cries in eyes seen through slits

Pleading, “Someone give a shit

And plump this crumpled pride”

~

But none could hear his broken mouth

Or see the lights had all gone out

With hand on heart he faced the south

And they say that’s where he died

 

*Here’s this year’s first reminder that April is National Poetry Month so you have plenty of time to be thinking about it. Whether you read my poetry or that of someone else plan on expanding your horizons.

P.S. My works are not always of such unsettling nature. They’re worse when I’m happy 😉

Weekly Photo Challenge: Lost in the Details

/ Janna Hill / 7 Comments

I have been busy – I mean crazy busy! Or maybe I’m feeling lazy and every little thing feels like a huge undertaking?  No, I’m going with the crazy busy but that doesn’t relieve me from commitments. I made a commitment (if only to myself and my mother) to participate in the weekly photo challenge and by golly the show must go on! Besides, these challenges give me a reason to take a break from the mundane and enjoy what others have to offer. As I a writer I’m prone to get so involved in writing and research and blah blah blah that I forget life’s fundamentals. Not just the bathing and eating, I forget to do that all the time. Sometimes I literally forget to breathe… to get up and take a walk… to look outside the scenes inside my head. That’s when Honey (aka my husband) steps in and performs CPR.

My chaos is no more trying than the next persons and probably less than many. The world is spinning faster for everyone and we hamsters must pick up the pace. We must also admit when it’s just a tad too much and relinquish the wheel or the camera in this case.

So, without further ado I present Honey’s take on this week’s photo challenge: Lost in the Details.

Finding Myself lost in the details.

Finding Myself lost in the details.