Just Peachy

*****

I love it when virtues collide and something good also happens to be good for me. Writing, for example, is one of those good things. When I don’t write, I feel anxious, depressed, often frustrated. Things bottle up with nowhere to go. But when I do write, my planets align in happy harmony. My life seems easier, my outlook more sunny. Over the years, I’ve discovered that even when the writing goes badly, it’s better than not writing at all.

Besides the writing, I’ve been investing time in improving our diets. Just like with writing, I’m amazed at how much general benevolence comes from this act of eating good, wholesome foods. After a painless transition, we’ve officially converted to a diet of lean meats, whole grains and fresh produce. Just the act of cooking virtuously seems to please my palate.

One of my favorites creations has been fresh peach oatmeal. I’ll share the recipe today. It’s microwavable and comes together in minutes. Best yet, it tastes heavenly, like a big bowl of summer sunshine.

Fresh Peach Oatmeal

1/2 cup old fashioned oats
1-1/4 cups water
pinch sea salt
1/4 tsp. cinnamon (I use Vietnamese)
1 ripe peach, cut into 1/2” cubes*
1 tsp. peach or apricot spreadable fruit preserves
Drizzle maple syrup

Place oatmeal in a 4 cup microwavable bowl or measuring cup. Add water and salt. Microwave, uncovered, until oatmeal reaches desired consistency. (It takes 3 minutes in my microwave.)

Stir in cinnamon, peach, and preserves. Transfer to a serving bowl. Drizzle with maple syrup.

Makes 1 very generous serving.

* This is also excellent with diced strawberries and strawberry spreadable fruit.

Still Kicking, But Quietly

*****

Buddy John Towler dropped me a note, gently reminding me I'd been among the missing. I've been around, for the most part, but just not very productive. Here's an update, for anyone interested.

WRITING: NOT

I admit it. I've been in a funk. Buddy Jane calls them doldrums. Whatever they are, I'm in that period where the tank has been depleted and I need to let it refill before turning on the tap and letting it flow again.

PUBLISHING: YES

I have a new story out at Eclectic Flash right now, titled "After the Rain." Some of you are all too familiar with it, having helped me redesign it from the ground up. It's available in both print and online form here.

SLACKING OFF: YOU BETCHA

I used my not-writing time to take a vacation with my family last week. We enjoyed a fast-paced tour of St. Louis and Hannibal, Missouri. Highlights of St. Louis included: freaking out over getting into the ridiculously tiny tram cart to climb the Arch (nope, I couldn't do it); visiting Cahokia Mounds, a giant archeological site that once was home to a city of 20,000 Native Americans; solving a mystery at The Magic House, St. Louis's uber cool kids' museum; tromping and train riding at the St. Louis Zoo; and my personal favorite, oohing and aaahing over the spring bulbs and flowering trees IN FULL BLOOM at the Missouri Botanical Garden. I could have spent the whole week just basking in the scent and color.

As for Hannibal? Let's just say I'm drained from all that Twain. But the boat ride was pretty darn cool.

NOW WHAT?

Well, that's the question of the hour. I suspect I'll be back into Jamieson's Folly soon. At buddy Stephen's suggestion, I'm reading James Scott Bell's Revision and Self-Editing. And I'm signed up for Jordan Rosenfeld's Revise for Publication class. So I'll need to write something or waste my tuition.

Perhaps putting some good instruction in will bring me out of these darned doldrums.

What the Sam Heck is Going On???

*****

Last night, I sat down to read the latest novel in a mystery series I admire. I was excited. The release had been several months overdue. So I curled up in bed with my copy filled with lofty expectations, ready to be swept away and entertained once again.

I was promptly disappointed.

The first several pages limped through a longish stretch of brackish backstory about a secondary character, told (and I repeat TOLD) from the point of view of the detective. It wasn’t even compelling backstory. A few pages in, the story finally began to move forward.

Which, in my opinion, is where the narrative should have started in the first place.

It wasn’t the first time I’d been disappointed in a book lately. I asked myself: what’s with all the mediocre writing coming from well-established talents lately?

WB Stephen sent me an email on this just yesterday. He’d ordered a recent book written by a former-lawyer-turned-blockbuster-author. Stephen was appalled—and rightly so—because the first paragraph of said book used the verb WAS exclusively, something like a half-dozen times in almost as many sentences. And boy, do I agree. We’re talking about a principle from Writing 101 here. Good writing relies on vigorous verbs, not wimpy, uninspired forms of “to be.”

Which reminded me of a conversation I recently had with another friend. She’s an avid reader and library staffer annoyed with the wave of lousy books coming from her favorite A-listers. Most of her comments were proofreading related—misspelled words, missed punctuation, etc…. But even small mistakes stand out as glaring errors in published books.

Clearly, something’s going on here, something that makes good writers look inept. But I’m not sure the problem lies solely with the writers. Rather, I think this harkens back to recent slashes in editorial staff at the publishing houses. Our favorite writers don’t suddenly suck. They still write great stories. It’s just that I don’t think there are enough editors left to properly edit them.

Personally, I’m going to take this as an opportunity. This is my chance to see such writers’ work somewhat au naturel, rather like seeing celebrities without makeup. This new age of stories comes to us in a different pristine state—a state with many of the flaws still intact. In the past, when I read those beautiful books, I felt intimidated by writing that jumped off the page, effortless. Now I see I can adopt a different mindset. In some ways, these adolescent books are just as pimply and gauche as mine are. Which means there’s hope that success isn’t as far off as I feared.

The Slow Simmer

*****

I’ve been in simmer mode lately. Lots of input and things to think about. Also, some good, creative output. This week, I finished draft one of The Blue Hills, my NaNoWriMo project for 2009. During November, I managed to complete my 50K words, making me an official winner, but my story arc wasn’t quite complete. As of Monday, the arc was closed and I wrote those magical words, THE END.

Ahhhh, the feeling is so bittersweet.

Now that Blue Hills ripens on my hard drive, my attention turns to other matters. While I was tied up in drafting, a few issues came my way. In no particular order, they include:

1) I’ve noticed a trend amongst authors to publish excerpts of their novels or even self-publish their novels as Kindle books, in an effort to land a contract and net readers. This intrigues me, since it seems to fly in the face of conventional wisdom that any kind of publishing, even on a writer’s personal blog, constitutes publication. Now, since the folks I know who are doing this are smart women who do their homework, I can only assume that some powerful force in the industry wobbles in a state of flux. And it’s very likely I’ve been too nose-to-the-grindstone to notice it. If you know something I don’t about this, please post it in the comments. I’d love to learn something new today.

2) Not for the first time, I find myself wondering just how important networking is. As many of you know, I was fortunate enough to build some terrific writing friendships via writing forums. I’m a big fan of forums. I think they’re great places to meet talented, emerging writers and also perfect places to toughen your editing pencil and your tender writerly hide. But in the past months, I’ve found the only way to move forward on my novel is to put my head down and ignore other distractions, which means jettisoning a lot of the more social aspects of writing.

Clearly, there’s a benefit to networking. By giving, you receive so much in return. I know lots of generous folks who spend a TON of time critiquing others’ work, surfing blogs, reading others’ published stories, tweeting, facebooking, and otherwise investing themselves in building relationships, all of which builds good writing juju and an encouraging support network full of warm fuzzies. But I’ve also seen writers take the networking too far and implode by hyperactively hyping their own work. Pretty obviously, there needs to be a balance.My main concern, as always, lies in the cost to benefit ratio. I still haven’t figured out the right formula. Critiquing, etc… all takes time, time that isn’t spent writing. And you can’t succeed as a writer if you don’t write. I’ll bastardize Descartes here: I’m a writer; therefore, I write.

There are others, but I’ll stop right there. Now that the flurry of drafting is finally complete, I find I’m enjoying the slow, winter simmer. It’s fun thinking about something besides what new miseries Monica will heap on Carrie. But I won’t be on simmer for long. Jamieson’s Folly beckons. I began mapping scene intentions for my next two chapters yesterday. I learned how to up the ante while working on Hills. I can’t wait to torture Nick, my Folly protag, with all I’ve learned.

And, as you would expect, I’m thinking about all this at the stove. It’s ridiculously cold here, which means soup and lots of it. I made a big batch of minestrone this week. I’ll share the recipe for your enjoyment. Don’t be put off by the long list of ingredients and the amount of chopping. It’s worth every minute spent at the cutting board.

Minestrone

2 lbs. cabbage, preferably savoy or napa
3 Tbsp. olive oil
1 lb. lean Italian sausage, crumbled (bulk or “links” with casing removed)
1 very large yellow onion (1 – lb.), chopped
3 – 14 oz. cans diced tomatoes, undrained
2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. cracked or ground black pepper
2 tsp. sugar
1 Tbsp. crumbled dried basil (or 2 – 3 Tbsp. minced fresh basil)
1 lb. carrots, peeled and sliced
8 lg. ribs of celery, sliced
2 ½ quarts chicken broth
½ cup Arborio rice or ¾ cup small pasta shapes (orzo is nice)
1 – 20 oz. can cannelini beans (great northern), rinsed and drained
1 – 20 oz. can kidney beans, rinsed and drained

Freshly grated parmesan or romano cheese for serving

Discard any bruised outer leaves from cabbage. Wash cabbage and blot dry with paper toweling. Quarter cabbage and remove center core. Shred each quarter on the large holes of a grater of in a food processor fitted with a shredding disc. Set aside.

In an 8 – qt. stock pot, heat olive oil over medium hear until haze forms. Add crumbled sausage, reduce heat to medium-low and sauté just until sausage loses its pinkness, about 3 minutes. Add onion and sauté until soft, but not browned, about 5 minutes. Add tomatoes, salt, pepper, sugar and basil. Cook sauce uncovered, stirring frequently, for 15 minutes.

Add cabbage and cook, stirring frequently, until limp, about 5 minutes. Add carrots and celery. Continue to cook, stirring frequently, for an additional 5 minutes. Pour in chicken broth and bring to a boil over high heat. As soon as soup reaches a boil, reduce heat to low. Cover pot and simmer, stirring frequently, until all vegetables are cooked, about 35 - 45 minutes.

Stir in rice or pasta, cover pot and cook undisturbed over low heat for 10 minutes. Stir in both cans of beans; cook covered for an additional five minutes. Remove pot from heat and let soup rest at least 2 hours before serving so all flavors meld together.

If sausage is not lean, skim off any fat that has accumulated on the surface. When ready to serve, reheat over low heat. Ladle into individual serving bowls and serve with freshly grated parmesan or romano cheese.

Soup is better the next (and subsequent) day(s). Soup freezes very well—just be sure not to overcook pasta or it will dissolve when frozen. Makes 7 quarts.

The Old Mixed Bag Bit

*****

It's been a bit good news / bad news here lately. On the bad front, I've had the flu since October 16th. But the good news is I'm slowly getting better. Bad news: my daughter has had it, too. Really good news: she's getting better, too.

For all our battles with congestion and fevers, the writing front has been a source of much good news. In the spirit of glass-half-full, I share my bounty with you.

GREAT NEWS: The 3o Days, 30 Writes chapbook is on the brink of being released. Stephen and I are hammering out the final details. Expect to see it available at the end of the week.

UNEXPECTED GOOD NEWS: I had an email from Every Day Fiction this morning telling me my flash fiction, "Free," was selected for their annual anthology. I was part of last year's anthology and was so pleased with how the project came out. Plus, there's nothing like an acceptance for something you didn't even know you had out there.

GOOD NEWS ON THE HORIZON: NaNoWriMo is just a few days away. Already, I feel myself getting excited about it. The last NaNo I did (2007) brought me Jamieson's Folly. I believe this year's project, The Blue Hills, has every bit as much potential. I'm not as prepared as I'd like, but NaNoWriMo is about the leap of faith. The Blue Hills has bones enough to warrant that leap.

So, mainly good news, indeed. I'm losing the Vicks Vaporub and gaining a lot of ground. I can't wait to see what else waits on the horizon. Just no more flu, I hope. I'm ready to run. Or will be when I finally stop coughing.

Same Old -- #fridayflash

*****

When Amanda was a baby, Carrie yearned for routine, for knowing when to wake and when to sleep. In the chaos of new motherhood, she longed for a slot to cook dinner, to exercise, to breathe, to make love.

The routine came all too soon, the daily activities that varied little from week to week: Mondays, the park; Tuesday, play at home; Wednesday, story hour; Thursday, lunch at Grandma’s; Friday, playdate. And in each of those days, their own aching subroutines, the three meals a day with the handful of tolerated menus, the same three movies, two books, one cry.

Mommy.

She returned: to her friends, her hobbies, her work, to some semblance of the girl she’d been before Amanda, but always with the understanding that everything must fit, no matter how large and unwieldy, inside the tight buckets of routine—a time to play blocks, a time to read books, and even a tiny golden sliver to remember her freedom.

*****

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story appears in the 30 Days, 30 Writes 2009 chapbook, to be released at the end of October. The chapbook features more stories by Greta Igl, as well as stories by Jane Banning, Stephen Book and JC Towler. Please check the 30 Days, 30 Writes blog for more details and an invitation to participate in next year's writing challenge.

Almost done!

*******

After much work, 30 Days, 30 Writes 2009 is nearly ready for publication. This anthology is a compilation of the 30 best stories written during the MySixWriMo event hosted here on this blog last April.

For those of you new to my blog, a little background:

MySixWriMo was a writing event where I posted two prompts here on my blog each day. Participating writers wrote a six (or more) sentence story based on one of them. Jane Banning, Stephen Book, and JC Towler all rose to the challenge.

After months of selecting, editing and laying the publication out, the chapbook is nearly ready. I've received much invaluable help from Stephen in creating a pdf version. We expect to launch it by the end of the month.

For more information on the project, please visit the 30 Days, 30 Writes blog. And plan to join us next April for the 2010 30 Days.

Into the Woods

I have a rule when we go on our annual northwoods camping vacation: NO COOKING.

As you all know, I love to cook at home. But cooking in a pop-up is torturous. Let’s face it: cooking without running water, electricity, refrigeration, or an oven just ain’t fun. Bottom line: I’m on vacation. I shouldn’t have to work that hard.

Writing while camping, on the other hand, is a different story. Something about the smell of pines and breeze off the lake makes me desperate to write. This year, my husband chipped in to augment my writing proceeds from the year so I could buy one of those handy Neo word processors. And what a great investment it was. I found an empty campsite, dubbed it my office, and wrote for several happy, productive hours. I sneaked in hours of work on seemingly limitless AA batteries. I came home with a good idea for this year’s NaNoWriMo project and a solid idea for a flash.

This year’s camping trip was very good to me.

I did manage some cooking, but of the most perfunctory type. One morning, the neighbors stoked up their grill and it had me wondering: what breakfast food could you cook on a grill? Here’s what I came up with:

ANY TIME GRILL PACKETS

Per packet serving:

1/2 can diced potatoes, well drained
2 Tbsp. diced onion
2 Tbsp. diced green pepper
1 serving FULLY COOKED meat of choice: bacon bits, sliced breakfast sausages, cubed ham, smoked sausage (I used smoked sausage and it was YUMMY!)
Seasoned salt, to taste
Freshly cracked pepper, to taste
Nonstick cooking spray

Heat grill to high heat. For each serving, lay out a double layer of aluminum foil—12” lengths. Spray foil liberally with nonstick spray.

Place ingredients on foil. Fold foil over lengthwise, creating a durable seam. Fold in ends several times to make packets leak proof.

Place packets on grill. Cook 15 - 20 minutes, turning as needed, until heated through and veggies are tender. Open packets and dump on paper plates. After eating, discard mess and do something FUN.

Hump day prompt #1

****

I thought it might be fun to try something new: a series of Wednesday prompts to keep the creative juices flowing.

As anyone who knows me will attest, I love to eavesdrop on strangers. Here’s something I overheard on my daily walk. Almost made me turn around and stalk the speaker.

“It wasn’t any planned deal, but we ended up spending the night together. And that opened up a whole new bunch of weird stuff.”

To the great, white page, friends. May the muse be with you.

Platform, Schmatform

*****

I admit it: I bought into platform hype as much as the next struggling writer. I’ve blogged. I’ve facebooked. I’ve even considered tweeting. And with each new trend, I’ve sacrificed a smidge of my precious writing time. As mommy to a preschooler, quality writing time is as rare as a flawless pearl. There are times I’ve wondered if building a platform is really worth it.

Then I happened on Donald Maass’s Writing the Breakout Novel. I heard about the book from two writer friends, who raved enough to entice me into buying a copy. The book was published in 2001—practically prehistoric in the world of publishing-- but I think much of what it tells us is timeless. According to Maass, the best thing a writer can do to promote himself is to write a spectacular book. It’s not so much about promotion, advances and book tours that sends a book onto the top of the bestseller lists; it’s gushing word of mouth. One reader gets excited about a book and tells her friends. Her friends tell their friends, etc…Enthusiastic word of mouth can make a book’s sales skyrocket. And what brings this serendipitous, grass roots promotion? Maass beats no bushes; it’s great storytelling from writers who keep getting better, writers who take their work to the next level.

Publishing has changed dramatically since 2001, but I think what Maass says still holds true. Lately, it seems I’m reading more articles telling newbie writers to focus on craft, then worry about promotion. In other words, learn how to write, to tell great stories. It bears shades of the bipolar nutritional and parenting trends that have us spinning in circles. We eat eggs/eschew eggs/don’t use the word no to our kids/show them tough love/write/market/blog/tweet/stand on our heads.

I’m a writer. Bottom line, that means I should be writing.

On a final note, I do believe writers should promote their own work. After all, if you don’t toot your own horn, who will? But, I don’t think establishing platform should take precedence over time spent writing. First and foremost, writers write, then we sell.

An Ever-Changing Landscape

*****

Last weekend, my daughter’s best friend slept over for the first time. We’d worried about how it would go. Lisa didn’t have much experience spending the night away from her parents. And the girls were so young—my daughter soon to be 4, Lisa just 4 1/2. We’d worked up to it, though, having Lisa come over to visit without her parents. I talked to my daughter about being sensitive to Lisa’s feelings.

When the big sleepover came, things went well. The girls spent the evening playing and watching Beauty and the Beast. We set up our tiny pup tent in the living room. The girls played inside and wrestled. At bedtime, Lisa told us she was afraid of the dark. We turned the end table lamp on low. The girls drifted off for a peaceful night’s sleep.

I thought we had this sleepover in the bag.

The next morning, the immensity of the change finally hit. As I made pancakes for breakfast, I could tell both girls were tired. They could no longer work out differences themselves. They both wanted to play quietly on their own. When I slid the pancakes onto their plates, Lisa didn’t like hers because they weren’t like the ones her dad makes. I wondered how I’d keep the peace until she went home. After breakfast, Lisa got her backpack and sat in the living room, where she promptly burst into tears. She missed her mom, she said, and she wanted to go home. She’d reached the edge of her four-year-old’s capacity for change. We packed her things and returned her to her parents.

Like Lisa, I’m facing my own battle with change. My writing has grown in the last year to the point it’s a whole new entity. I feel this inner unrest because I’m stretching beyond what’s painless. I need more: more connections, more training, more substance. I need different. I need better. I just need.

It hurts.

I visited with pal Jane on Sunday. She took me to a quiet, transcendental park where we walked amongst the wildflowers and talked. The sun draped over us in golden benevolence. My anxiety seeped out my pores. We climbed a winding path up a huge, rounded hill. Black eyed susans and daisies peeked over the top of the prairie grass. At one point, we could look both down over the fields and the stream or up to see the flowers brush the clouds. The landscape changed as we walked and talked. We traipsed through a damp, cool deciduous forest. We sat by a little pond teeming with minnows. We talked about change and growth and phases. It helped. I came home not wholly restored, but in a better place. Given the immensity of what’s going on with me right now, I’m content with standing in this better place.

I’m going to share my mom’s recipe for those buttermilk pancakes, originally from kitchen diva Martha Stewart. Don’t let the little kid’s bad opinion of them discourage you. These are the lightest pancakes I’ve ever had. They practically float off your plate. We like them studded with mixed berries (this was what Lisa objected to) but they’re fantastic just plain with maple syrup.

Mom’s Buttermilk Pancakes

2 cups all-purpose flour
2 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
3 Tbsp. sugar
2 large eggs
3 cups lowfat buttermilk (worth the trip to the store to use the real thing)
1/4 cup melted butter
canola oil for pan or griddle

Sift together dry ingredients into a medium bowl. Set aside. In a small bowl, mix together eggs, buttermilk and butter. Make a well in the dry ingredients. Pour wet in and stir until just mixed, being careful not to overmix. (it’s okay if some lumps remain) Let batter stand 10 – 15 minutes before using.

Heat large pan or griddle to medium high heat. (I set griddle to 375 degrees). When griddle is hot, place a small amount of oil on surface. Pour 1/4 cupfuls of batter onto griddle* Fry until bubbles form on top of pancake and bottom is brown. Flip and cook until pancakes are browned on both sides and cooked through.

Makes 12 – 15 pancakes.

* If you want to add berries, place them on the pancakes now. I use frozen mixed berry blend. Just put them on frozen. They’ll thaw as the pancake cooks.

A Matter of Taste

*****

I wasn’t thrilled when my husband told me he wanted Hamburger Helper for Father’s Day dinner. I’m not a big fan of chemicals and salty, prefab food. I like herbs and fresh vegetables, preferably stuff just picked from the garden. I like to shop a couple times a week. I avoid the middle aisles of the grocery store and build meals around the fresh foods at the perimeter. I believe in building layers of flavor and that good technique brings out the best in food.

But I also understand that everyone has different tastes. Even though I’m no fan of convenience foods, I respect that my husband likes them. In turn, he respects my predilection for homemade pesto using imported olive oil and garden-warm basil.

Just like with food, there are a million different style of writing. And I admit there are styles I just don’t like. Extreme minimalism doesn’t do it for me. I like writing with mystery and music in the language. I don’t like being spoon-fed stories. But (and I believe this is important) I still respect talented, hard-working writers who write stories outside my particular preferences.

Last week, I ran into someone who tore apart a piece of my writing because he didn’t like my style. I’ve been around the block enough that I’m not devastated when someone doesn’t like my stuff. I need the feedback. Growth comes from seeing what went wrong. I know I have a lot to learn.

But here’s what I don’t have to learn: to treat others with respect and to evaluate their writing gently even if the piece isn’t tailor fit to my interests. Everyone is different and that’s a good thing. If we were all the same, we’d never sell a story.

I won’t share the Hamburger Helper recipe. A monkey with the box and some hamburger could do that. But here’s what I’m simmering for dinner. It isn’t a favorite of my husband’s, but I adore it. It’s good served hot, cold, or room temperature. A little dishful, on the side, tastes great with a sandwich. I LOVE it spooned, cold, over a cheese omelet or scrambled eggs. It’s also great spooned on toasted pita bread or with grilled fish or chicken. And it's diet friendly and packed full of nutrition, so what's not to love?

BEST EVER RATATOUILLE

1 medium eggplant, peeled and sliced into 1/2” slices
2 Tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
1 tsp. sea salt, divided
1 large onion, chopped
1 large stalk celery, sliced
1/2 red bell pepper, chopped
1/2 green pepper, chopped
1 large clove garlic, pressed
1 medium zucchini, quartered lengthwise and sliced
1 – 28 oz can stewed tomatoes
1 Tbsp. fresh basil, minced (or 1 tsp.dried)
fresh cracked pepper, to taste

Sprinkle eggplant slices with salt and layer in a colander. Place a heavy plate and the can of tomatoes on top to add weight. Let sit 15 – 30 minutes. Rinse eggplant. (This removes the bitterness) Blot eggplant dry and cut into cubes.

While eggplant is in colander, heat olive oil in a Dutch oven over medium low heat. Add onion, celery and peppers. Sauté 10 minutes to lightly caramelize vegetables. Add garlic. Sauté 1 minute longer. Add remaining ingredients. Bring to boil. Cover and reduce heat. Simmer 30 – 40 minutes, until vegetables are tender, but not mushy. Add basil and salt and pepper to taste. Turn off heat and let pot sit on stove, covered, for 1 hour to let flavors blend. Serves 8.



.

Salad Days

*****

This morning, as I was making celery seed dressing for tonight’s salad, it occurred to me that writing is a lot like salad. You can serve a good salad with no dressing at all. The unadulterated ingredients taste good all in their own right. But a little dressing can bring the whole thing together and make the dish shine.

This is the dilemma I’ve been facing with my Flash 40 contest entry. “Mirror, Mirror” was a departure for me because I wrote it without my usual bag of tricks. I tend to use setting as a character in my stories. In this case, the setting was barely addressed. It felt a lot like that undressed salad and I wondered if the story suffered without it. But, after a lot of thought, I wanted the story as bare bones as possible, feeling it was a better match for my narrator’s overwhelmed state of mind.

Since the ranking process began, I’ve been keeping close tabs on my entry. So far, “Mirror, Mirror” is faring well. I’m neck in neck with good friends, all of whom I’d be proud to lose to. It appears my gamble paid off.

As for the salad, I’m going to share the recipe. This one’s a summer favorite here. For the salad itself, use leafy greens of your choice. Something tender is usually best. Top them with sliced nectarines and blueberries or strawberries. A little thinly sliced red onion adds a pleasant punch.

Celery Seed Dressing

Whisk together in a microwave safe bowl:

1/4 cup sugar
2 Tbsp cider vinegar
2 Tbsp honey
1-1/4 tsp lemon juice
1/2 tsp Hungarian paprika
1/2 tsp dry mustard
1 tsp finely grated onion
1/2 tsp celery seed
generous pinch of salt

Cook on high for 1-1/2 mins.

Whisk in:

1/3 cup canola oil

Chill until serving. Served with greens and fruit.

Are We Having Fun Yet?

*****

Lately, my attention has been hijacked by the Editor Unleashed / Smashwords Flash Fiction 40 Contest. It’s a great contest with a simple premise: write a short story under 1000 words and post it in the Editor Unleashed Forum. Forum members will vote, the editors will make their choices, and the top 40 stories will be published in an e-book by Smashwords. Simple, right?

Well, not really.

Let me explain: This week, I posted my entry, “Mirror, Mirror.” I felt good about it and figured I had a strong chance of making it into the top 40. I’d been reading other entries in preparation for voting. My “no” list was miles long, my “yeses” and “maybes” tallied in the scraggly handfuls. Many of the stories were laden with fundamental errors. Starting the story in the wrong place, errors in syntax, weak or nonexistent character arcs, stilted dialogue, you name it.

During this first phase of reading, I’d describe my experience as enlightening and affirming. I was learning a lot about life with the slush pile. I felt positive about my work.

Lately, my feelings have shifted. I’ve been fortunate to read several truly exceptional entries. With each, I’ve seen my chances dwindle. I’ve been forced to look at my work honestly and I can see there’s need for growth.

I don’t know why exactly that bothers me. I already know I have lots to learn. I already know I’m the sort who makes progress through hard work rather than by possessing literary genius. And I know there are MANY non-geniuses who make six and seven figures as writers. They find their niche and they know how to work it.

But it still brings to mind many questions. Should I push myself as hard as I do? Am I being distracted by platform and market positioning? Where can I best fit into the publishing hierarchy? Am I doing a good job of balancing writing with my life? But the biggest question I don’t have an answer for: am I still having fun?

Big questions, and no easy answers. Seems to me there’s a fine line between getting somewhere and enjoying the journey. One little contest sure has given me a lot to think about.

Sharp as a Knife

*****

Last night, as I stood at the counter chopping veggies for stuffed shells, I lamented how dull my knives are. I have a couple decent knives, but I'm not easy on them. I do make the occasional effort to sharpen them. But I use them naughtily, cutting apples on paper plates, using those plastic cutting boards that can go in the dishwasher. Even the knives go in the dishwasher. As I struggled with cutting a carrot into decent matchsticks, I knew I had no right to complain. It’s my own fault my knives are so dull.

It reminded me of a conversation I had with an artist friend awhile back. One morning, as our children played together, we got talking about how upsetting it is when we don’t have time to follow our respective muses. I told her that, not only does not writing give me an unsettled, cranky feeling, but I know my skills grow dull if I don’t write daily.

She surprised me by being surprised.

Maybe painting is different that way. You can clean the house and garden for a few months, then come back and pick up where you left off. But I can testify that writing requires regular practice. Otherwise my writing muscles grow lax and stiff, which is destined to show up in my writing. So I write. Every day. Even if it’s only a few lines.

Lately, things have been going well. I have several stories nearly ready to send out into the cosmos. Folly still molders, but I’m working on it. Chapter Three needs a complete revamp. I’m reshaping it on the back burner. I’m pleased with my progress. The ideas come fast and hard. I just need more time to execute.

Now back to the stuffed shells. They came out terrific, in spite of lousy knife edges. That’s encouraging, because it means we can get satisfying results, even when things aren’t perfectly sharp. But I have to admit, I noticed the clunky carrot strips. Time to sharpen the knives and make them even better.

Veggie Stuffed Shells

2 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil
1 onion, chopped
1/2 cup shredded or diced carrots
1 cup mushrooms, chopped
1 medium zucchini, chopped
1 cup chopped broccoli
6 ozs. spinach
2 lg cloves garlic, minced
2 - 3 Tbsp minced fresh basil
sea salt and fresh cracked black pepper, to taste
1 egg
1 cup cottage or ricotta cheese (Drain in colander if using cottage)
1 - 1/2 cups shredded mozzarella cheese
24 jumbo pasta shells, cooked and drained
1 - 26 oz jar marinara sauce (I use Prego Traditional)
1/3 cup fresh grated parmesan

Heat oil in large sauté pan over med-low heat. Add onion; sauté over low heat until onions begin to caramelize, about 10 minutes. Add carrots; sauté 2 – 3 minutes longer. Add mushrooms, zucchini and broccoli; sauté 3 minutes. Add spinach and garlic and sauté until garlic is tender and spinach wilts, about 2 minutes. Stir in fresh basil. Add salt and pepper to taste. Remove pan from heat and place vegetables on a plate lined with several layers of paper towel to drain excess moisture.

When drained and cooled, place vegetables in a large bowl with egg, cottage or ricotta cheese, and mozzarella cheese. Stir until combined.

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Spray a 9 x 13” pan with non stick spray.

Pour 1 cup marinara sauce in bottom of pan. Stuff shells with veggie and cheese mixture. Lay in pan over sauce. Pour remaining sauce over shells. Cover pan with foil. Bake 45 minutes, or until sauce is bubbling and shells are heated through. Remove foil. Sprinkle parmesan over shells. Return to oven 5 minutes longer. Remove from oven. Let stand 5 minutes before serving.

5 – 6 servings

Lunch and Lessons

*****

Friend Jane came over for lunch and a visit on Saturday. Jane brought an amazing sun dried tomato and brie appetizer. I did up my usual down home – upscale fusion. As we slathered garlicky brie onto crackers and munched hot beef sandwiches, we chatted optimistically about our writing.

Let me say: it’s amazing how much we writers can learn from one another. Not just about our craft, but about how writing exists as part of our lives. As she always does, Jane gave me a lot to think about. About embracing our roots and using them as a creative force for the future. About finite time and how to be a responsible steward of it. About learning everything we can from the resources around us. And about moving on when we’ve grown beyond them.

After she left, I sat in the quiet space she left behind and considered my situation. It’s clear I have some choices to make. Up until now, I’ve done a rather scattered approach to my writing: throw seeds of myself at every opportunity and see if anything viable takes root. The problem is I now have seedlings growing everywhere. Some are dying. Some are neglected, some overgrown. I’m not doing anything well, because I’m trying to do it all.

Clearly, it’s time to prune.

I spent the rest of the weekend considering options. I have too many things that distract me from my writing, too many things that drain my energy. There are things I invest effort in, but receive only nominal return. And one or two things that are just plain more than I can handle. But they’re choices, which means I don’t have to keep saying yes to them.

So thanks, to Jane, for friendship and good advice. You didn’t know you were giving it, but I’d be smart to take it. And just for the fun of it, I’m going to post my hot beef recipe. Now you can have lunch and Jane's good advice, too :)

Shredded Roast Beef for Sandwiches

2 -1/2 - 3 lbs. boneless beef chuck roast
1 sweet onion, chopped
1/4 – 1/2 tsp. garlic powder
1/2 cup water
1 tsp. beef base or 1 beef bouillon cube
1/2 tsp. dried thyme
1 bay leaf
fresh cracked black pepper, to taste
seasoned salt, to taste

Place roast in slow cooker with onion, garlic powder, water, beef base, thyme, bay leaf and pepper. Cook on high for 5- 6 hours, or until tender and meat pulls apart easily.

Remove meat from slow cooker and set aside to cool slightly. Leave juices in slow cooker. Pull meat apart with two forks. Remove any fat or gristle and discard it.

Return shredded meat to cooker with juices. Add seasoning salt to taste. If too juicy, sift 1 - 2 Tbsp. of flour over the meat and stir. Turn slow cooker to low until serving. Serve hot on rolls.

Serves 6 – 8.

Sisterhood of the Pen

*****

WB Linda Wastila tapped me, and a great honor it is. She's a talented writer who makes it seem effortless, but I know she works her butt off to make it happen. Her insightful reading keeps me on my toes.

In the spirit of sisterhood, I pass the tap on. For friendship, encouragement, great advice, and commiseration, I'm lucky to count these fine writers as friends:

Brenda
Linda B
Gail
Daphne
Jane B

Most of you don’t blog, but you deserve the kudos anyway. You’re great friends, generous with your knowledge and companionship. It's a joy to share my journey with you.

Monologue in Cyberspace

*****

I Googled myself today. I know, it’s kinda weird, but I find it interesting to see how cyberspace reports me. I found out I’m a writer and chick with a lot of published recipes. Already knew that. But today, I discovered something new. I’m also a reviewed writer. I was so tickled, I had to share.

Here’s what Molly Tolsky had to say about “In Limbo” in her report on Word Riot magazine:

"In Limbo by Greta Igl is a plainspoken, realistic story in a domestic setting. Nora has been a waitress at Jimmy's Corner Café for 17 years. One day, she waits on a nicely dressed couple, and though they are being perfectly friendly to her, she can't help but get frustrated with these kinds of people—the kind that are much [better] off than her. When the couple notices the for-sale sign in front of the diner, the woman asks Nora where she'll go once the place is gone. While she doesn't say it, Nora knows she'll probably go to a place that's just like this one and keep doing the same thing over and over again.

The pace of this story is very slow and steady, which immediately wraps you up into the atmosphere of this “piece of crap diner,” where people move slowly and nothing ever happens. The only problem is that nothing ever happens in the story, either, so as a reader, I was less than engaged. There are some nice gestures here and there, such as,“Nora picks a fleck of dried egg yolk from one of the chrome jelly stackers,” but for the most part, all we get is Nora's internal monologue about her frustrations with going nowhere in life. This created too much internal, not enough external."

Cool, hey? Now, I have no idea who Molly Tolsky is. My guess is she’s a writer like me, struggling to get her footing. But isn’t it interesting to think that, during the time she read “In Limbo” and wrote her school report on it, our lives were somehow intersecting. I put an idea out there; she built on it to create her own interpretation. That fact intrigues me so much that I’m not even bugged that she was “less than engaged” by my story.

I like that. Less than engaged. Molly doesn’t know it, but I’ve had fun unpacking that enigmatic statement. Did she mean bored shitless? Or perhaps mildly entertained? She wrote about my story; I’m returning the favor and writing about her report. Perhaps one day she'll Google herself and trip across this post. Then she can write about me writing about her writing about me. Freaky.

It just goes to show: all this writing we do is merely a monologue into cyberspace. We write and never know who might be reading. Our words can take on their own life. Perhaps they'll germinate, root, and bloom into something else. I'm humbled by the beautiful divinity in never knowing where my words might land.

Take it Slow

*****

It’s been a rough couple weeks here. (Hence, no posts.) First, darling daughter came down with some strange virus. Within days, my husband and I had it, too. I won’t bore you with the details. But suffice to say we’re still recuperating. We’re moving slowly here. But then, I’ve never thought slow was bad.

The older I get, the more I like slow. There’s beauty in slow, a kind of gentle reverence. Like taking long walks with my husband under the waning autumn sun. Or spaghetti sauce that bubbles noisily on the stove all day. I like how daffodils are slow to uncurl their fists in spring. I like the unhurried way snowflakes drift to the ground.

But perhaps the nicest thing about how slowly we’re moving lately is the time it’s given me to savor some recent successes. This week, for all its frustrations, has brought exciting news.

“Twenty Years Later” has been selected for The Best of Boston Literary Magazine chapbook. That news makes me happy. The story, a drabble, was originally published by BLM last summer. Now, like so many of my works, it seems to be finding a second chance at life. I like second chances, with its connotation of both past and present. A chance at redemption for those of us who don’t always get things right the first time.

Just as exciting, I had good news from On the Premises. “The Market” has been awarded an Honorable Mention in their recent Again-themed short fiction contest. I win on multiple levels here: a cash prize and the publication of a story that cuts close to my heart. I’m not sure when it will be published, but safe to say, you’ll see the news posted here.

So I sniffle and celebrate, sip tea and ruminate. (illness has left me tritely poetic) Things are good now, even if they aren’t perfect. But the sniffles will pass and the successes remain. For now I bask in them and watch for what’s next.

The Middle of Nowhere

*****

I’ve turned my attention to a little nonfiction project. My workshop instructor, Gail, is encouraging us to enter The Sun’s Readers Write contests. So I’m plugging away at the March 1 deadline theme: The Middle of Nowhere.

This theme screams to me for so many reasons. The middle of nowhere is my childhood encapsulated. I am an only child. I grew up on a farm that had been allowed to return to prairie. I spent my ‘tween years making long, lonely bike rides into town, my bike whizzing through the middle of nowhere. And there’s an avalanche of sharp emotional stuff that’s hard to share.

A favorite memory is walking home from the middle school I attended. On nice days, I’d get this wild need in me to be free the moment the final bell rang. The buses sat parked, waiting in front of the building. All the kids streamed like lemmings toward them. But I’d sneak out the back and hike across the playground, across the baseball diamond and the long expanse of purposeless grass. I’d feel that yoke of peer pressure and school garbage melt off me as the schoolyard melted into the woods. I’d walk along the edge of the woods, forest on one side, tall grass on the other, for a mile or more until the woods faded away into a patchwork quilt of muddy corn fields. In Spring I was careful to stick to the rutted tractor path, picking my way across the matted bleached grass. Eventually, the path led to a small brook. There were a few well placed stones that even I (never graceful, no matter how I tried) could cross without getting my feet wet. A little further along the cornfield and I’d clamber up the ditch onto the road in front of my house. Sometimes the bus whooshed past me in a gush of gray exhaust as I stood on the tractor path, waiting to cross to home.

For the most part, it’s nice revisiting those memories. As for my contest entry, I don’t have any cohesive thesis. My plan is to write and write and write. Eventually, I suspect I’ll find a focus. I guess the middle of nowhere is where I am right now, wandering through my memories, trying to find my way.