Sharing what I tend to think of as “the song of the day.” I get songs, as messages, from the angels. I wake up singing them, or the lyrics pop into my head at random. Usually songs I haven’t heard in a long time or haven’t thought of in a while. And when I look up the lyrics, I find them meaningful to me. They’re usually answers to questions. This song came to me about a week ago, and I’m reminded of it again this morning, though I’m not entirely sure what reminded me of it. It just…popped into my head.
As an aside…if you suddenly find yourself singing a song that’s especially meaningful to you, one where you’re sure the lyrics are being sung right to you personally, it could be a message from your guardian angel.
Here’s the youtube video: Return to Pooh Corner
And the lyrics:
Christopher Robin and I walked along
Under branches lit up by the moon
Posing our questions to Owl and Eeyore
As our days disappeared all too soon
But I've wandered much further today than I should
And I can't seem to find my way back to the Wood
So help me if you can
I've got to get back
To the House at Pooh Corner by one
You'd be surprised
There's so much to be done
Count all the bees in the hive
Chase all the clouds from the sky
Back to the days of Christopher Robin and Pooh
Winnie the Pooh doesn't know what to do
Got a honey jar stuck on his nose
He came to me asking help and advice
And from here no one knows where he goes
So I sent him to ask of the Owl if he's there
How to loosen a jar from the nose of a bear
It's hard to explain how a few precious things
Seem to follow throughout all our lives
After all's said and done I was watching my son
Sleeping there with my bear by his side
So I tucked him in, I kissed him and as I was going
I swear that the old bear whispered "Boy welcome home"
Believe me if you can
I've finally come back
To the House at Pooh Corner by one
What do you know
There's so much to be done
Count all the bees in the hive
Chase all the clouds from the sky
Back to the days of Christopher Robin
Back to the ways of Christopher Robin
Back to the days of Pooh
I love this song. It’s so simple. It always makes me cry, especially at the end, where he’s watching the bear sleeping with his son. I think just because it touches my heart and pulls me back. It makes me remember being six years old. How simple life was back then. Life was about playing with my dolls and my friends. It makes me remember watching Winnie the Pooh. I loved Pooh and Eeyore and Rabbit and Little Roo. They were friends. This song makes me remember an old record I used to have. Winnie the Pooh and The Blustery Day. Lord I can still hear the wind whipping through my room when I played that old record.
It also makes me remember watching my own kids when they were little, of getting to share in the wonderful simplicity of their childish joy and delight as they discover their world. They’re not so little anymore. My oldest is driving and my youngest is at that age where he’s sure mom doesn’t know anything. But oh they were so cute when they were little. So sweet and innocent, and that’s what this song makes me remember—childhood innocence.
This song transports me back in time. It makes me remember the good stuff, the “gold”, as a friend of mine puts it. So I’ve been playing it over and over, because I like how it makes me feel when I listen to it. It soothes the savage beast within and fills my heart with love, love when it’s pure and simple. The angels tell me all the time, to come at the world from the standpoint of love, from the heart, but I’m human, and I find that difficult sometimes. I forget. But this song brings me back there. Which I think is their message. Their way of reminding me once again to come at the world from the standpoint of a six year old--with innocence and joy and pure, untainted, unconditional love.
Anyway, had to share. Any songs that touch you, deep down? That transport you back in time?
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Elusive Characters and Attempts at Plotting!
Ah those elusive characters.
An idea for a book came to me in a dream. Or should I say I had an usual dream. I was a woman whose husband had died and I kept getting phone calls from him on my cell phone. It was another of those so-vivid-you-feel-like-you-were-there dreams, that leave you slightly disoriented upon waking. So I posted about it on my Facebook page, and Brenda Whiteside suggested I turn the dream into a book. Thanks for the suggestion, Brenda! So I've been pondering exactly that. Trying to turn this idea into a book.
I’m in between projects at the moment. Slowly editing my last finished novel, putting it through my critique group, while I wait to hear on another book, which is currently sitting with Susan Litman at Silhouette books and has been for over three months now. The two books are connected, brothers. The book with Susan is the first book, the one I’m editing is it’s sequel. So I can’t do anything with the second story until I hear the verdict on the first.
Which just means that I’ve got a lot of time on my hands and I’m itching to start another story. And this dream book has piqued my interest. I’ve written tidbits, attempting to jog my creativity into finding a plot for this book. It’s a ghost story. My first book with paranormal elements. Here’s the latest snippet:
She was losing her mind. Losing her cotton picking marbles. This couldn’t be happening.
Irena stared at the empty left side of the bed. Stared at the indentation on the pillow where his head would never rest again, hadn’t rested for a year now. And yet there it was. An indentation, as if his head had indeed been there.
Surely she was imagining it? Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Ever since the anniversary of his death, she hadn’t been sleeping well. Had been plagued by dreams of him. Every night he came to her, would stand right in front of her and call her name, reach out to her, the images and sensations so real she often woke with a start, checking the bed beside her, half expecting to find him there.
Tonight had been no different. Having awoken from such a dream, she’d been lying on her other side, trying to go back to sleep, when the bed beside her had shifted. It depressed, as it would were someone to climb into it.
And then came the eerie sense that she was no longer alone. The sense that another person had entered the room with her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and unease crawled like goose bumps along her skin. Sensations she’d quickly dismissed. Surely, she’d told herself, her imagination was working overtime?
Until the hand had settled on her hip.
For a split second, when that hand slid over his hip, in her groggy, sleep induced mind, she’d forgotten the here and now. Had been transported, momentarily, back in time. She’d smiled to herself and wiggled backward on the bed, attempting to snuggle back into his warmth. Only to remember, in a split second of stunning vibrant clarity, that his warmth wasn’t there, would never be there again. Because he wasn’t there.
And hadn’t been in over a year.
Her heart had jumped into her throat then and she’d leapt from the bed clear across the room, her mind going a million miles an hour. But she found nobody on the bed.
She’d grabbed the bat she kept beside the bed, tiptoed to the light switch and flipped it on. Checked under the bed, in the corner by the wall that she couldn’t see. Checked the closet and the attached bathroom. Then padded out into the living room to check the front door. Checked all the windows. All the while she held the bat poised, ready to bash someone over the head should they pop out from somewhere.
Except the house was as secure as it had been when she’d gone to bed. No open windows, no unlocked doors.
So here she was, staring at that indent on the pillow. Mark hadn’t slept on that side of the bed in over a year. Nobody had. She kept the pillow there because it made her feel better. Had kept it there in the beginning, when his death had been fresh, because it made her feel closer to him. His scent had been imbedded in it, and if she cuddled it close, she could almost imagine his arms around her.
Now she kept the pillow because it made her feel not quite so alone. Had gotten the cat for the exact same reason.
She regularly washed the pillow case, and, on occasion, the pillow itself. The indent of his head had long since been fluffed out of the downy cushion.
So how could it be that there was one there now?
How was it that if she closed her eyes she could smell him in the room with her? Feel the sense of him standing behind her?
It stops because of course my creativity ran out. The problem is these characters are being elusive. They’re not revealing themselves to me. Dillon’s story (the one at Silhouette) was easy. It jumped out there and said, “here you go!”. Logan’s story (the sequel) I had a bit of help from a CP, who helped me brainstorm a few missing bits and pieces, (thanks, Staci), but most of that story dropped itself into my lap as well. But is this one doing the same?
Nope. So, until they do, I’m sitting here twiddling my thumbs and wracking my brain and otherwise driving myself crazy trying to figure this book out. It’s like that word that's caught on the tip of your tongue. You just can’t quite remember what it is? Yeah, like that. *sigh*
So I couldn’t help but ask my fellow writers… how do you plot? Where do your ideas come from? How you do get to know your characters? When your characters are being elusive, what do you do to coax them out of hiding?
An idea for a book came to me in a dream. Or should I say I had an usual dream. I was a woman whose husband had died and I kept getting phone calls from him on my cell phone. It was another of those so-vivid-you-feel-like-you-were-there dreams, that leave you slightly disoriented upon waking. So I posted about it on my Facebook page, and Brenda Whiteside suggested I turn the dream into a book. Thanks for the suggestion, Brenda! So I've been pondering exactly that. Trying to turn this idea into a book.
I’m in between projects at the moment. Slowly editing my last finished novel, putting it through my critique group, while I wait to hear on another book, which is currently sitting with Susan Litman at Silhouette books and has been for over three months now. The two books are connected, brothers. The book with Susan is the first book, the one I’m editing is it’s sequel. So I can’t do anything with the second story until I hear the verdict on the first.
Which just means that I’ve got a lot of time on my hands and I’m itching to start another story. And this dream book has piqued my interest. I’ve written tidbits, attempting to jog my creativity into finding a plot for this book. It’s a ghost story. My first book with paranormal elements. Here’s the latest snippet:
She was losing her mind. Losing her cotton picking marbles. This couldn’t be happening.
Irena stared at the empty left side of the bed. Stared at the indentation on the pillow where his head would never rest again, hadn’t rested for a year now. And yet there it was. An indentation, as if his head had indeed been there.
Surely she was imagining it? Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Ever since the anniversary of his death, she hadn’t been sleeping well. Had been plagued by dreams of him. Every night he came to her, would stand right in front of her and call her name, reach out to her, the images and sensations so real she often woke with a start, checking the bed beside her, half expecting to find him there.
Tonight had been no different. Having awoken from such a dream, she’d been lying on her other side, trying to go back to sleep, when the bed beside her had shifted. It depressed, as it would were someone to climb into it.
And then came the eerie sense that she was no longer alone. The sense that another person had entered the room with her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and unease crawled like goose bumps along her skin. Sensations she’d quickly dismissed. Surely, she’d told herself, her imagination was working overtime?
Until the hand had settled on her hip.
For a split second, when that hand slid over his hip, in her groggy, sleep induced mind, she’d forgotten the here and now. Had been transported, momentarily, back in time. She’d smiled to herself and wiggled backward on the bed, attempting to snuggle back into his warmth. Only to remember, in a split second of stunning vibrant clarity, that his warmth wasn’t there, would never be there again. Because he wasn’t there.
And hadn’t been in over a year.
Her heart had jumped into her throat then and she’d leapt from the bed clear across the room, her mind going a million miles an hour. But she found nobody on the bed.
She’d grabbed the bat she kept beside the bed, tiptoed to the light switch and flipped it on. Checked under the bed, in the corner by the wall that she couldn’t see. Checked the closet and the attached bathroom. Then padded out into the living room to check the front door. Checked all the windows. All the while she held the bat poised, ready to bash someone over the head should they pop out from somewhere.
Except the house was as secure as it had been when she’d gone to bed. No open windows, no unlocked doors.
So here she was, staring at that indent on the pillow. Mark hadn’t slept on that side of the bed in over a year. Nobody had. She kept the pillow there because it made her feel better. Had kept it there in the beginning, when his death had been fresh, because it made her feel closer to him. His scent had been imbedded in it, and if she cuddled it close, she could almost imagine his arms around her.
Now she kept the pillow because it made her feel not quite so alone. Had gotten the cat for the exact same reason.
She regularly washed the pillow case, and, on occasion, the pillow itself. The indent of his head had long since been fluffed out of the downy cushion.
So how could it be that there was one there now?
How was it that if she closed her eyes she could smell him in the room with her? Feel the sense of him standing behind her?
It stops because of course my creativity ran out. The problem is these characters are being elusive. They’re not revealing themselves to me. Dillon’s story (the one at Silhouette) was easy. It jumped out there and said, “here you go!”. Logan’s story (the sequel) I had a bit of help from a CP, who helped me brainstorm a few missing bits and pieces, (thanks, Staci), but most of that story dropped itself into my lap as well. But is this one doing the same?
Nope. So, until they do, I’m sitting here twiddling my thumbs and wracking my brain and otherwise driving myself crazy trying to figure this book out. It’s like that word that's caught on the tip of your tongue. You just can’t quite remember what it is? Yeah, like that. *sigh*
So I couldn’t help but ask my fellow writers… how do you plot? Where do your ideas come from? How you do get to know your characters? When your characters are being elusive, what do you do to coax them out of hiding?
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Reviewing Beth Trissel's Somewhere My Lass
Welp, I haven’t blogged in forever. I flat out ran out of things to talk about. I’m one of those people who only talks when she has something to say. So apparently it is with my blog. Lol Actually, to be brutally honest, some of the things I'm want to share are things I'm not certain belong on this blog. Such as some of the messages I tend to receive from the angels. My "weirdness", as I refer to it. I figure nobody really wants to read about that except maybe me, so I tend to put those particular bits on my myspace blog, where I'm positive nobody reads it. lol.
So, I figured maybe for this one, I’ll start blogging about the books I read. Aren't we all looking for a good book to read? Not very original, but when I find one I really like (or don't like), I tend to want to share it. And so it is with the book I've just finished.
Just finished Beth Trissel’s Somewhere My Lass. Seeing her on the TWRP loops is how I first became aware of her writing and I’d visited her website enough to know that every single one of her books caught my attention. The first one I read happened to be Somewhere My Love, which I loved. So when she had a contest recently, giving away free copies of books to those who’d purchased her books before, I admit I jumped very greedily at the chance to read Somewhere My Lass (Thanks, Beth!). Here’s the blurb:
Neil MacKenzie's well ordered life turns to chaos when Mora Campbell shows up claiming he's her fiance from 1602 Scotland. Her avowal that she was chased to the future by clan chieftain, Red MacDonald, is utter nonsense, and Neil must convince her that she is just addled from a blow to her head--or so he believes until the MacDonald himself shows up wanting blood.
Mora knows the Neil of the future is truly her beloved Niall who disappeared from the past. Although her kinsmen believe he's dead, and she is now destined to marry Niall's brother, she's convinced that if she and Neil return to the past, all will be right. The only problem is how to get back to 1602 before it's too late.
The balance of the present and future are in peril if she marries another, and the Neil of the present will cease to exist. An ancient relic and a few good friends in the future help pave the way back to the past, but will Mora and Neil be too late to save a love that began centuries before?
I have to admit the beginning threw me for a loop. Beth quite literally dumps you into the middle of the action and the first chapter confused me a bit. But it very quickly smoothed out and picked up when Mora enters the equation in chapter two, and the story takes you on a ride. It was like reading an adventure and it swept me away, because Beth managed to give just enough details to let you know what was going on, but not enough to give everything away, which kept me reading. (yup, I’m taking notes!) I personally loved how Beth hinted at the ending, enough that I could pretty much see what it was, but even I didn’t quite see all the pieces as they fell together. Which I love. Being a writer, I usually am not surprised by the ending of books and movies, and Beth managed to surprise me.
All in all, I liked this story a lot. It was a very sweet love story that warmed my heart and had me falling in love with the characters. I found they grew on me through the course of the book. Fergus, I have to admit, was a favorite. He was a fabulous secondary.
In the end, this story quite honestly tugged a few tears out of me. It was (spoiler alert) Mother Mary’s appearance that threw me over the edge. I hadn’t anticipated that and it only seemed to add to the wonderfulness of that particular moment and had me almost whooping with joy. Making me cry just means that the author managed to touch me, which quite honestly is a rare thing. It means that without my knowledge, she managed to tug me into this world she’d created and pull at all my emotions.
And that gets two thumbs up from this writer.
So. Now to decide which of Beth’s novels I want to read next. It was Red Bird’s song that caught my attention first on her website, so I might just read that one next, but I can’t imagine I’ll be disappointed in anything she writes.
So, I figured maybe for this one, I’ll start blogging about the books I read. Aren't we all looking for a good book to read? Not very original, but when I find one I really like (or don't like), I tend to want to share it. And so it is with the book I've just finished.
Just finished Beth Trissel’s Somewhere My Lass. Seeing her on the TWRP loops is how I first became aware of her writing and I’d visited her website enough to know that every single one of her books caught my attention. The first one I read happened to be Somewhere My Love, which I loved. So when she had a contest recently, giving away free copies of books to those who’d purchased her books before, I admit I jumped very greedily at the chance to read Somewhere My Lass (Thanks, Beth!). Here’s the blurb:
Neil MacKenzie's well ordered life turns to chaos when Mora Campbell shows up claiming he's her fiance from 1602 Scotland. Her avowal that she was chased to the future by clan chieftain, Red MacDonald, is utter nonsense, and Neil must convince her that she is just addled from a blow to her head--or so he believes until the MacDonald himself shows up wanting blood.
Mora knows the Neil of the future is truly her beloved Niall who disappeared from the past. Although her kinsmen believe he's dead, and she is now destined to marry Niall's brother, she's convinced that if she and Neil return to the past, all will be right. The only problem is how to get back to 1602 before it's too late.
The balance of the present and future are in peril if she marries another, and the Neil of the present will cease to exist. An ancient relic and a few good friends in the future help pave the way back to the past, but will Mora and Neil be too late to save a love that began centuries before?
I have to admit the beginning threw me for a loop. Beth quite literally dumps you into the middle of the action and the first chapter confused me a bit. But it very quickly smoothed out and picked up when Mora enters the equation in chapter two, and the story takes you on a ride. It was like reading an adventure and it swept me away, because Beth managed to give just enough details to let you know what was going on, but not enough to give everything away, which kept me reading. (yup, I’m taking notes!) I personally loved how Beth hinted at the ending, enough that I could pretty much see what it was, but even I didn’t quite see all the pieces as they fell together. Which I love. Being a writer, I usually am not surprised by the ending of books and movies, and Beth managed to surprise me.
All in all, I liked this story a lot. It was a very sweet love story that warmed my heart and had me falling in love with the characters. I found they grew on me through the course of the book. Fergus, I have to admit, was a favorite. He was a fabulous secondary.
In the end, this story quite honestly tugged a few tears out of me. It was (spoiler alert) Mother Mary’s appearance that threw me over the edge. I hadn’t anticipated that and it only seemed to add to the wonderfulness of that particular moment and had me almost whooping with joy. Making me cry just means that the author managed to touch me, which quite honestly is a rare thing. It means that without my knowledge, she managed to tug me into this world she’d created and pull at all my emotions.
And that gets two thumbs up from this writer.
So. Now to decide which of Beth’s novels I want to read next. It was Red Bird’s song that caught my attention first on her website, so I might just read that one next, but I can’t imagine I’ll be disappointed in anything she writes.
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