Contributor – Page 29 – Modern Creative Life

June 13, 2016

How to Devour the Blues by Pat West

You receive three rejection notices
in one week. Or perhaps you fought
with your lover. And there are still
things to say. Forget the reason.
Toast a baguette, rub with garlic,
grate a tomato, spoon onto bread and eat.
You feel funky covered with crumbs
and sound like a noisy squirrel chewing
his snack, but feel the buzz in your mouth.

Riff off of something like the article
in The New York Times
about Buenos Aires giving pensions
to published writers. Improvise:
roll the idea of moving to Argentina
over your tongue like the R’s
in Spanish class. Imagine the smell
of parrilla in the afternoon, tenderloin
and strip steak, sausages, rows
of vegetables over fresh wood.

Amp things up a notch. Catch a flight to L.A.,
celebrate an unbirthday at the Hollywood Bowl.
Order the Verano picnic basket from Patina:
lemon poached salmon in dill sauce.
After a few sips of merlot, full of piss
and vinegar, tap the guy on the shoulder
next blanket over, ask to sample his potato salad.

Lean back, close your eyes.
When Diana Krall’s smoky voice reaches
the edge of the sky, you will taste
the sweet man and salty tears in her song.

About the Author: Pat West

Pat Phillips West lives in Portland, Oregon. Her poems have appeared in various journals, including Haunted Waters Press, Persimmon Tree, San Pedro River Review, and Slipstream, and some have earned nominations for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net.

June 9, 2016

Studio Tour: Joanna Powell Colbert

My room at the top of the stairs is part art studio, part office, part writing space, part temple. I love every room in this house — it is a straw bale house that my husband and I designed and built 17 years ago — but this room is the heart for me. When we designed the house, we made sure that we each had our own creative space. His is filled with guitars, drums, and recording equipment. Mine is filled with altars, books, and art.

I love the sensual curve of the straw bale walls, painted a warm buttery color that keeps the gray Pacific Northwest winters at bay. I love the terra cotta tiles that remind me of New Mexico. I love the way the light spills in through skylight and windows, indirect in the mornings, full strength in the late afternoons through the southern and western windows. In the winter, I can see sunlight sparkling on the sea through bare tree branches. In the summer, I feel like I’m in a leafy green treehouse.

We begin in the East. On the eastern wall, I have an altar of beloved objects that I’ve collected here and there, as well as art that I’ve created and art that I’ve bought from artists I admire. Underneath the altar are drawers of office supplies, plus two printers (one archival) and a scanner.

In the South we find my 27” iMac, which is my digital art studio and the hub of my business. This is where I create my online courses, do website work, and the initial composition work for art pieces. Above the desk is a framed print of my painting Brigid’s Fire: The Offering (I sold the original). I think of her as my creative muse, fanning the flames of creativity in so many different ways. She also reminds me that every work of art — be it visual art, writing, teaching, or ceremony — is an offering to Her.

There’s a working altar in the South too, that stretches into the 18” straw bale windowsill. Here is where I do my daily practice. I make offerings of rosewater and copal to the Blessed Mother and use one of my rosary necklaces to say nine rounds of a Goddess rosary. I light a candle and pray for those who are suffering. Sometimes I light a piece of piñon incense (there’s New Mexico again!). I ask for daily wisdom and pull a tarot card for the day. I’m currently working with my own Pentimento Tarot as well as the Minoan Tarot by Ellen Lorenzi-Prince.

My art table is found in the West. These days I am working in two main mediums — beeswax collage (encaustic) — and colored pencils. I’m also set up for acrylic painting, but that’s taking a back seat these days. This is also the place I often write on my laptop, and it doubles as the packing and shipping table.

In the North, we find books. Books on art techniques, books about the Goddess, about nature, about tarot, about writing — my favorite themes. There is also a table here that I try to keep clear. It is often stacked with items that need to be shipped, or pieces of art I’m working on, or finished pieces. It’s a constant challenge to keep this table empty, but I love seeing the potential in a cleared table.

In the Center is the dance floor. I love taking dance breaks when I’m doing intense creative work!

Outside the four walls of this studio is the rest of our beloved Heron House. Outside the house, we find my herb garden in the east; the slough where the herons live and the bay where salmon gather, to the south; leafy woods and rocky beach to the west; and the meadow where the wild roses bloom, up the hill to the woods in the north. On a wider scale, the city of Bellingham and the great mountain Komo Kulshan (Mt Baker) lay in the East; the islands of the Salish Sea gather round in the South and the West; and beautiful British Columbia lies to the north.

We lived here for ten years before moving back to town for six years. We’ve been back for nearly two years now and don’t ever intend to leave again. My creativity has flourished in more ways than I can say since moving back. I am rooted here, in this studio, in this house, on this little island. Not a day goes by that I don’t offer up a prayer of thanksgiving for living here. It’s not something I take for granted.

May you also find your heart’s home and be nourished by the creative studio of your dreams. Blessed be.

About the Author: Joanna Powell Colbert

Joanna Powell Colbert is an artist, writer, teacher, and retreat host. Amber Lotus Publishing Co. calls her one of “the most accomplished and well-loved artists in the Goddess-spirit community.” She was named by SageWoman magazine as one of the Wisdom Keepers of the Goddess Spirituality movement. Joanna teaches e-courses and workshops on earth-centered spirituality, the Divine Feminine, and tarot as a tool for inner guidance and self-exploration. A new edition of her first deck, the beloved Gaian Tarot, will be published in late June. She recently released a majors-only art deck, the Pentimento Tarot and her seasonal e-course “30 Days of Midsummer” begins June 13th. She lives on a small island in the Salish Sea near Bellingham, Washington.

Connect with her on Facebook and Instagram.

June 8, 2016

Conversations Over Coffee: Rochelle Vincente Von K

Interacting with talented human beings doing delicious things in the world is one of my greatest joys and pleasures. Add a healthy dose of chocolate and it’s a treat like no other. I remember the first time I encountered Lover Chocolate; I had to know more about the story behind this “shamanic heart food.”

I think you’ll find this Conversation Over Coffee as luscious as the chocolate. Meet Rochelle Vincente Von K.!

Tell us about your background… how your childhood affected your choices, your training, how did you come to choose music (and food) as your profession, etc.

I was born in Austria and grew up in Australia. Even though I was in Australia my parents spoke German at home and I didn’t learn English until I went to school. My parents stayed in touch with all the Austrian traditions so I grew up as an Austrian Australian. Fully immersed in both cultures!

I had an awesome brother, Herbert, who was born healthy, vaccine, injured and became severely brain-damaged and autistic; this all happened before I was born, he was my big brother. We had an amazing relationship and looked after each other, but there was always an incredible amount of pain in watching him suffer so deeply. I still carry that.

When I was nine, I decided I wanted to contribute to the world and suggested to mum I ask the shop down the road if I can dust their shelves!!! My mum suggested if I want to work, then perhaps I could do something where I earn a little more per hour!

I was enrolled in a modelling school as a test to see if I’d like it, and then won Miss Junior Victoria! I started in a kid’s agency but was then accepted as the youngest child model in an adult agency in Australia, and from there I was off and away! … Vogue, Harper’s Bizarre, Elle Magazine, etc.

Through castings, I got acting gigs, and started working as a professional dancer, and then went into singing after Femi Taylor (Oola from Return of the Jedi) wanted me to audition for her band while she was off to England for Christmas. She asked me if I sang, I said ‘Yes, in the shower”. I auditioned and to my surprise got the gig.

It really was just rolling from one thing to another, it kinda chose me, and I never went to school to learn it, I just had great classes and workshops on weekends when I wasn’t working or at school. I studied with the best singing teachers, acting coaches, dance teachers, etc. in my down time.

When I think back now though, I am surprised because it came so naturally. I already knew what to do; they were simply fine tuning me. And even when I was off track, such as working for Virgin Cinemas in Brighton, UK in-between gigs, that popcorn chick job led me to touring with Dubstar and The Lightening Seeds.

Same with the food, coming from an Austrian household it was normal to cook quite extravagant things… so while I was living in England, because it rained so much, the thing to do was experiment with food. I had health issues and I needed to create more interesting things to eat with my limiting diet… and long story short, that is how my raw chocolate company was born.

What fascinates us even more than the any facet of your professional world, how you nourish your craft as a musician and actor….tell us about that.

I try to look after myself. I am deeply inspired by nature, snow, hot springs, but I also love galleries, movies and parties. I try to live as intuitive to my nature as possible.

I got very overwhelmed when I started to realize, in life, that the more you know, the less you actually know, so I stopped beating myself up about that ! I’ve integrated my art into my life and who I am, but then, I did start when I was 9! So in a way it’s all I’ve ever known.

Can you tell us more about your music? How do you produce your unique electronic sound?

I have always been inspired by electronica. I love everything, but English and German electronica spoke to me to my core as a kid. So I moved there and got busy!

It depends on the situation. Sometimes I will program up my own beats, chords and then write the lyrics and melodies over that, give it to a producer and he can work on the music programming side. Or I’ll collaborate with a producer where he gives me music to write over. I prefer to collaborate with people than write on my own. Now I have a band with a guitarist, Nazim Chambi, and drummer, Ryan Carnes, I haven’t worked with a drummer for a long time, so it’ll be really interesting to see how we write together !!! I’m excited to see this new era unfold.

Writing music is another thing I fell into.

My boyfriend in Australia (at the time) and I decided to record some music. I thought he was going to write songs for me to sing, and he turned to me and said ‘no, I am giving you the music, you are doing the rest!’ I nearly fell off my chair, talk about tough love! I asked how he thought I would do that and he said ‘You’ve heard a song right? Go listen to some songs you like!’ I was SO mad at him !!! The funny thing is, the very first song we wrote was chosen by a famous Australian artist for their album, but they wanted to take my name off it and put theirs on, so I’d be a ghost writer. And I said no.

In what way did the beat of the waltz call to you? And how did you shift to your ethereal sound after earlier working with a more “punk” style of music?

It was another case of falling into it… I was working on some songs with the amazing music producer Stephen Hague, and in my down time I started working on this other project. I essentially wrote 2 albums at the same time. So much music was coming out of me that I was literally looping beats in Logic Audio, writing AND recording the lyrics and melodies in real time. Most of the waltz album is first takes as I was discovering the songs myself. It was a magical time, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do that again !

My band with music producer Marc Adamo, Product.01, was song based but thrown into the dance world, so we were quite different to everything else going on at the time, and I’m not sure we ever really fit in but that’s the world that adopted us. It was a fun ride!

My vocals have always been naturally ethereal thou so this feels like the logical next step.

Your music videos are so full of nuance, beauty, and edginess. Tell our readers more about concept of music to recording to creating a video.

Thank you for saying so, it means a lot. We didn’t have a budget for the music video. So we were limited but it was a fun process. For myself personally, the music video process is the same as any other creative process in my life. I wait for the signs and I go with them. I wait for the music to tell me what it wants. Sometimes I’ll have an idea but then as it evolves it’ll lead to a completely different place. Then working with the director Jeff Skeirik was a beautiful process because he’s great at putting a story together.

My brain explodes off in a zillion directions. I love music videos that don’t necessarily make sense as I’m a very visual person and I fall in love with the little things…And Jeff would help me reel it in. I have never in my life lacked creativity in any area, but I do wait for the impulse and then it’s more about pulling it back.

When I first moved to LA I was taken to the Day Of The Dead festival at Hollywood Forever and it had a deeper impact. I love the way Mexicans celebrate rebirth. Jeff was with me that day, which is interesting, as at the time we had no idea that some years later we would be making this video! (Here’s a link to the video for Blazing, Directed by Jeff Skeirik)

With my next single Deal Me In, I hadn’t even thought about the music video for it, but this week it started speaking to me, life started putting things in my path for it, and I’m listening!

And how is it recording VS live gigs?

I love both. I find studio work more inner, and live is very outer. Studio is a quiet process for me and live is loud! I have never liked being on stage to be honest. What I love is connecting with the band and going into that place together, and then the audience feels that and joins us. Music creates a remarkable energetic connection, especially when you are playing at a music festival surrounded by nature. You have nature, sunset or stars, music and people all vibing together. Magic!

You are a singer, a songwriter, an actress, a dancer. How/when did you find yourself entering the world of Lover Raw Chocolate?

It’s a challenge. I had a car accident and had to pull back from everything in order to heal from a brain injury, and it forced me to restructure everything, because I couldn’t do anything! I am in talks with a manufacturer regarding taking Lover to the next level. It’s physically impossible for 1 person to do everything … the chocolate started as band merchandise, instead of t-shirts, super food chocolate! I never imagined it would take off as it has!

Tell us about your Reiki work.

Another accident I stumbled upon! My band way back when was in the countryside in England at a friend’s cottage, and his mum happened to be teaching a Japanese Reiki Level 1 course. It was already full but we crashed the course! I was very skeptical at first, and almost sarcastic about it… but it very quickly showed me whose boss, I was whipped into place! As it turns out I was lucky to learn from one of the best Reiki Masters in England, who knew?!

Then I figured since it’s free energy, and you can’t put the toothpaste back into the tube, you can’t unlearn what you learn, so since that weekend I have done my daily practice and never skipped a day since 1999… and let’s just say, it’s accumulative ! Additionally I certainly never planned to be a Reiki Master Teacher, have clients and students around the world, and a Reiki App called 97 Reiki Tips! (Which is for entry-level students, before they begin).

I was actually a closet Reiki person for many years but after some unquestionable life saving miracles I knew I had to share it. So, it’s been quite the unexpected journey!

How does your Reiki work influence your music? And how has it influenced your Lover Chocolate recipe. Be as detailed as you like here. I think our readers will eat this up!

I do my daily practice so that keeps me healthy and energized, and clears out anything that shouldn’t be there, but also I have had rare situations where I have been sick and needed to sing that evening. I remember one particular time Product.01 had a live performance on a TV show in Manchester and my throat was so sore I could barely swallow. We caught the train up from London and I was terrified! I kept my hands on my throat and did a treatment all the way up and by the time we got there it had cleared and I was so much better, and could sing!

Since everything I do tends to dovetail somehow, I formulated the Lover recipe based on the hara energy points (from the traditional Japanese Reiki system), known as The Three Diamonds! The Three Diamonds correspond to the energies of Earth; our base hara – Maca, Heaven; our Pineal Gland – Purple Corn Extract, and Oneness of Heart – Raw Chocolate!

What are your personal chocolate eating habits?

Gosh! My chocolate habits have always been pretty crazy. Ask my mum about having to hide chocolate from my brother and I in all corners of the house, hiding it so well she didn’t know where she’d hid it, and we’d still find it. Or it’d end up dripping out from under a deck chair she forgot about and was sitting on. I would be able to inform my friends which shops were selling the freshest chocolate that week! So nothing has changed, it’s just now I eat wild heirloom stoneground super food chocolate with no refined sugar or dairy. My breakfast consists of a green juice and raw chocolate. Always!

Would you like to tell us about your music and how that intersects with your love of chocolate?

It doesn’t really come together like that. I was having serious health problems in England and had to get creative, as I am a foodie to the core. So when I needed a break from the studio I’d be in the kitchen doing some raw chocolate wizardry. It was also great for touring because often you arrive in a new city and shops are closed, there’s nothing to eat, so it would keep me going. In that sense I guess the raw chocolate would fuel my ability to perform on the road.

You have a lot of chocolate accolades on your site. What are you most proud of?

Doing the Academy Awards dressing rooms and green room year after year has been exciting. Especially when you hear of certain actors calling The Academy specifically requesting they have my chocolate in their dressing room again! I make this chocolate for everyone; the success it’s had has been an organic process (pardon the pun)! But any acknowledgement from someone who has positively influenced my life means a lot.

Will you tell us about your production process for your chocolates (and where is it made)?

I currently make the chocolate myself, yes really, it’s artisan madness! But that’s changing, because otherwise it can’t reach all the people constantly complaining that they can’t access it easily, so I’m really excited about that. The rest will have to remain a mystery for now!

How about the name? I think our readers would love to know more about “the lover”!

So many reasons! Raw chocolate is a shamanic heart food, abundant in nutrients; vitamins & antioxidants, with over 300 compound minerals. I joke about eating it a lot but I actually don’t advise that for most people. I have always been able to eat large amounts of it as I had a magnesium and iron deficiency and it healed that amongst other things. Most people should only really have 2-3 hearts of Lover Raw Chocolate a day. It’s raw, it doesn’t have fillers, it’s infused with other super foods, and it’s potent.

Raw chocolate opens the heart due to the magnesium (back in the day doctors used to inject a property of it into heart attack patients to revive them!), it releases bliss chemicals in the brain.. also vanilla (which is cooling when consumed) wraps itself around cacao trees (which is warming when consumed) in the rainforest, so they are literally lovers.. Cacao trees sustain rainforests and the wildlife within it, plus the more trees the more oxygen for us, so the more consciously sourced chocolate we eat the better it is for our planet. And I wanted to see the word love on billboards around the world.

We all need more love. It’s just one big LOVE fest.

We certainly loved our conversation with Rochelle Vincente Von K! Connect with Rochelle on her website. You’ll also find her on YouTube | Instagram | Twitter . Learn more about Lover Raw Chocolate here.

Photos by Alex Huggan

About the Interview: Sue Ann Gleason

Nourishment guide, SoulCollage® Facilitator, and ‘wise business’ strategist, Sue Ann Gleason is a lover of words, a strong believer in the power of imagination, and a champion for women who want to live a more delicious, fully expressed life. She has been featured in Oprah and Runner’s World magazines and numerous online publications.

When not working with private clients or delivering online programs, Sue Ann can be found sampling exotic chocolates or building broccoli forests in her mashed potatoes.

You can connect with her in a few different places. Delicious freebies await you!
nourished living | wise business | instagram

June 6, 2016

The Ambition of Brides – by Patricia Wellingham-Jones

New boss from Santa Fe, young husband,
and me determined to help him shine.
I refused the council of wiser heads,
planned the whole meal myself,
took a day that was no utopian dream
to cook the feast.

I mixed batter for chile rellenos,
dipped and deep-fried the soggy mess.
Rolled out tortillas the way my mother-
in-law taught, they looked like road maps.
I made New Mexico chile for our New Mexico-
style stacked enchiladas with egg on top,
enough for a legion of invaders.
Beans bubbled on the stove all day
until they turned to tasty sludge.

Just before the boss was due
I washed the sweat off my face,
combed my frazzled hair, settled
my invisible coronet on my aching head
and sallied forth to graciously greet
our taken-aback guest.

About the Author: Patricia Wellingham-Jones

Patricia Wellingham-Jones is a widely published former psychology researcher and writer/editor. She has a special interest in healing writing, with poems recently in The Widow’s Handbook (Kent State University Press). Chapbooks include Don’t Turn Away: poems about breast cancer, End-Cycle: poems about caregiving, Apple Blossoms at Eye Level, Voices on the Land and Hormone Stew.

June 1, 2016

Dear Diary by Krista Davis

Dear Diary,

Made mixed blueberry and strawberry scones for MysteryLoversKitchen.com yesterday. Dough worried me because it seemed so dry. OMG. Best things in the world. So flaky. Ate one for breakfast without cream but didn’t share with dogs. They didn’t appear to notice that I gave them dog cookies instead. Except maybe for Baron who sniffed my fingers. I fear that he’s onto me. Must eat treats in the bathroom. Who am I kidding? He follows me there, too.

Fully intended to start diet this morning. Scone is not a setback. Won’t eat lunch. It will all equal out.

Wrote two blogs this morning. Have finally come to understand why they’re so hard for me to write. They’re supposed to be about me! Ugh. Maybe I should take on an interesting persona. Aha. Am CIA spy. Why would a CIA spy live in a rural area? Aha. Have suspicious neighbors. That won’t work. What kind of CIA spy would admit to being CIA spy on blogs? Interviewed once with CIA. No one would believe that! When asked how I felt about being undercover in covert operations, I asked if they had a nice desk job. Interview terminated. Might have made persistent detective but would have been lousy spy.

Cooked lunch for dogs. Leftover hamburger, steak, and chicken fingers with rice and green beans. I ate salad without dressing. Good for me! Now hungry.

Outline due for next book in two days. Must concentrate on that. No, must finish writing blogs first. Why am I so boring? Oh look! The first review of The Diva Serves High Tea is in. Holding breath while I read it. Aww. Lisa Kelley said, “an excellent plot!” Yay! I have earned the remaining scone, with cream.

Sound of fridge opening woke Baron. Forced to share with him. Other dogs still sleeping. Back at computer, I check GoodReads for early reviews. None. That’s okay. Am riding high on Lisa’s kind words. But someone gave it one star. Oh no! Now afraid of reviews. Wait a minute!!! Book isn’t out yet. Only a few people have copies, and I’m pretty sure she’s not one of them. Bang head on desk. Ow. Mistake. Head now matches leg with bruise of unknown origin. Need another scone but have eaten all. Chocolate. There must be chocolate.

Found chocolate in pantry. Diet officially starts tomorrow. Baron looked at me with those eyes again. Gave him an Itty Bitty Buddy Biscuit. It smells like bacon. Maybe he doesn’t care that I didn’t share chocolate?

Am now obsessed with one-star rating. Complained to author friends about one star. Has happened to them, too. Sigh. Thankful for writer friends. Feel better. Why would anyone do that? Has person developed dislike of me? Don’t recognize name. First name only. Is probably undercover in covert operation.

Walked Baron to clear head. Watched tiny sparrow chase crow from nest. Even in world of birds, there’s murder. Checked veggie garden planted yesterday. Weeds have grown nicely. No veggie sprouts yet. Red pepper plants happy. Came up with fun idea for new book while walking. No ideas for blog. Potatoes and ribs cooking for dinner. Glad I postponed diet.

Looked up murder of crows. Hmm, origin of phrase appears to be lost. Maybe sparrows invented it.

Ribs and skin-on mashed potatoes big success. All dogs behaved but settled around the table in case anyone shared. Worked for two hours on outline for new book. Still blocked on blog.

PS – Hope folks like the Virtual Tea Party to celebrate the new book!

About the Author: Krista Davis

New York Times Bestselling author Krista Davis writes the Domestic Diva Mysteries. Her 10th Domestic Diva Mystery is The Diva Serves High Tea, which releases on June 7th. Krista also writes the Paws & Claws Mysteries for animal lovers that debuted with Murder, She Barked.

Like her characters, Krista has a soft spot for cats, dogs, and sweets. She lives in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia with three dogs and two cats.

Connect with Krista: Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

May 27, 2016

Notes and Words: Finding the Rhythm by Robin Meloy Goldsby

My father plays the drums. He also tells stories. When I was a child, he entertained our family at dinnertime with colorful observations about playing in symphony orchestras, jazz clubs, and burlesque theaters, mesmerizing us with pitch-perfect tales about fall-down drunks, stuck-up divas, and exotic dancers with names like Irma the Body. Fantasizing about my future as a performer, I listened to the rhythm of my father’s words and dreamed that someday I’d be seasoned enough to tell a few stories of my own. But first, I had to learn a bit of piano playing, memorize hundreds of songs, and spend years negotiating the touchy social situations familiar to most musicians.

The idea for Piano Girl: A Memoir came to me after decades of working as a solo pianist in roadside dives, plush Manhattan hotels, and European castles. Playing pleasant background music for listeners and non-listeners alike, I kept my sanity by monitoring the human comedies, tragedies, and mundane miracles drifting past the Steinway. After thirty years of scribbling notes on cocktail napkins and in journals, I began writing my book.

With a dose of cautious optimism, I sent a Piano Girl proposal to Richard Johnston, then the senior editor at Backbeat Books. Richard, who shared my musician’s sense of humor, surprised me with a contract, an advance, and a six-month deadline.

Piano Girl received a Publishers Weekly starred review, an endorsement from BookSense, and landed feature interviews for me on All Things Considered, The Leonard Lopate Show, and NPR’s Piano Jazz with Marian McPartland. Henry Steinway sponsored a Piano Girl reading and concert at Steinway Hall; attended by the esteemed William Zinsser, whose wonderful book On Writing Well had been my desktop bible while working on Piano Girl. His hopeful smile in the audience that night cast a magic spell over the evening and soothed my jangled nerves.

Backbeat Books coordinated a book-launch cocktail party at the Waldorf Astoria. NPR taped the event, which attracted friends, industry professionals, and booksellers from all over the country. I wore an over-the-top red evening gown, played “Night and Day” on Cole Porter’s piano, and signed books. Sipping champagne, I checked out the stylish crowd swirling around the piano, stunned that my childhood fantasy had evolved into a book that people seemed to like. I never thought I would be published, much less with my first submission. But sometimes in the writing business, as in the music business, just showing up for the gig—ready and willing to give 100% —reaps huge rewards. The rosy glow of the Waldorf spotlight faded quickly, but I can still feel its warmth.

What I Learned: Memoirists suffer from the curse of too much material. Constructing a solid outline eased the selection process for me. Before I started writing, I knew exactly which stories I wanted to tell.
As a lyricist, I’ve studied the craft of setting words to music. As a memoirist, I’ve learned to work from the opposite direction, by stringing words together and finding a musical flow. Good music features well-placed moments of silence. The same can be said for writing. By revising constantly, I learned to hear the subtle rhythm of my sentences as I arranged the peculiar themes of my life into beautiful or ugly melodies that made sense. Whenever I got a phrase just right, I experienced a whoosh of elation.

The media hoopla surrounding Piano Girl stoked my ego, but it couldn’t compete with the contentment I had experienced while writing—the bliss of finding the lore of a story or discovering the musical threads connecting the chapters of my life.

Advice: Writing presents the same challenges as learning a musical instrument. There aren’t any shortcuts. You need passion, patience, and long hours of practice—every single day— until you get it right. Savor the tiny victories as they’re happening, and you win the artist’s race one step at a time. Don’t wait for the book-launch party to break out the champagne. Instead, revel in the honest victory of each well-crafted sentence. Celebrate! Remember that the joy of writing reveals itself when you make your story sing. Practice as much as you can, and you’ll find the music in your words. It’s there.

About the Author: Robin Meloy Goldsby

Robin Meloy Goldsby is the author of Piano Girl: A Memoir; Rhythm: A Novel; and Waltz of the Asparagus People: The Further Adventures of Piano Girl. Her newest book, Manhattan Road Trip offers a collection of short stories about musicians.

Goldsby’s career as a musician has taken her from roadside dives to posh New York City venues and exclusive resorts, and on to the European castles and concert stages where she now performs. Robin has six solo piano recordings to her name—Twilight; Somewhere in Time; Songs from the Castle; Waltz of the Asparagus People; Magnolia; December; and Piano del Sol—and has appeared in the USA on National Public Radio’s All Things Considered and Piano Jazz with Marian McPartland. Robin is a Steinway Artist. Connect with her at her website.

May 26, 2016

Rite of Farewell – by Patricia Wellingham-Jones

We choose Indian Break
where the mountains
cup a stream-fed valley
to say a belated farewell.
Evocative of an ancient rite
we try to cauterize
long-seeping spirit-wounds.
We stand in waterfall spray,
let our tears rain
before walking
on separate paths.

About the Author: Patricia Wellingham-Jones

May 23, 2016

Tinderbox by A.R. Hadley

He stood at the lectern, dressed to the nines.

Who does this guy think he is … Matthew Soren PhD?

“Fundamentally, faith in a higher power, a creator, is rooted in deceit. I will walk you through what led me to this belief. Because you see, I was not always an atheist…”

His words belie his stellar suit. More like a suit of armor. What are you protecting yourself from, Mr. Soren?

When his speech ended twenty minutes later, the room burst into applause. I looked at the pacified crowd of college students. I watched them disperse and waited until they finished congratulating the handsome man.

Handsome?

I went right up to the knight in his armor, ready to put a chink in it. “What convinces you that you are right?”

“Excuse me?” He turned. His blue eyes traced the contours of my face.

Jesus Christ.

I snickered. Out loud. Because after all, he didn’t believe in Jesus Christ.

“Are you a student here?”

“No.” Do I look that young? You look naïve. And you are still laughing. Like. A. School. Girl. Hush.

“Um, excuse me.” I straightened my jacket and my face. “I said, what convinces you that you are right?”

He continued examining me with a subtle sensual scrutiny. “Did you listen to my speech, Miss…?”

“Ms. Carmichael.” I extended my hand, and as we touched, the hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention. Military attention. “And, yes, I did listen. I took notes.”

Arching an eyebrow, he smirked.

“I heard you were lecturing. I wanted to hear your speech. I teach literature, but I’m also a minister.” Ah, there’s the pity, over his face like a wet blanket.

“If you took notes, you should know I already answered that question in—”

“—in your speech.” I finished his sentence. I can play this game. “You don’t do personal interviews then?” I peered at him, pretending he didn’t intimidate me. But he did. Unexpectedly so. It was his eyes. Blue like my favorite pair of jeans. Confident and blue. A perfect complement to his jet black hair.

I want to slide my fingers through it and… Stop it!

“How personal do you mean?”

Argh! He didn’t miss a beat and the inflection in his voice only meant one thing. He caught me ogling. Those denim eyes studied every inch of my body with the precision of a stealth flier. “Mr. Soren…”

“It’s Matt.”

“Matthew, I would really like to ask you some questions.”

“To disprove my beliefs?”

“Your theories.”

“Beliefs, Ms. Carmichael.”

“It’s Tracey.”

“Would you like to prove me wrong over coffee, Tracey?”

Smooth, Matthew.

No wonder he convinces students to abandon any shred of spiritual curiosity. “Have you ever studied the cell, Mr. Soren?”

He smiled and cleared his throat. “Do you think there is a Christian argument I am not familiar with, Ms. Carmichael?”

“I’m not arguing.”

“Indeed. What is your motivation then?”

“The cell has…” He interrupted the start of my sermon merely by standing taller, if possible, because he already had a good six inches over me, and I wore heels, but nevertheless, he stood taller and he inched forward. His smile spread, and that obnoxious grin coupled with the yummy smell of him, probably Temptation or Obsession or some other aptly named cologne, all of him, rendered me practically speechless. I. am. Never. Speechless.

“Have coffee with me.” He brushed my bangs away from my eyes. “I’m not asking.”

Ahem. Neck hair. Prickle. Tickle. “What is your motivation?” Was that my voice? A mousy squeak?

“To kiss you.”

“To kiss me?” I fumbled. The entire length of a football field.

“Yes. Would you like me to demonstrate my motivation, here?” He looked around. “In the classroom?”

I recovered. “The brain—” Almost.

“What?” He laughed.

The brain. You have one. Speak.

“In the time it took for you to look at me like that—”

“Like what?” He managed to press closer to me. Space didn’t exist between us.

None.

“In the time it took for you to look at me, to suggest kissing me, to step forward, not to mention the blood that’s probably rushing to your lower extremities, not to mention the fact that you are continuously breathing.” He cupped the nape of my neck. “And that…” I stammered. “…all of it — a million little synapses are occurring in your brain. Right now. Instantly. Doing things you don’t even have to think about. You just do—”

His lips fell against mine.

You just do. You just do. You just do.

I opened my mouth. His tongue slipped in, swirling, tasting and silencing me. Synapses on fire.

Brain… No. No thinking. Think. Think. Think.

I pulled away. Dizzy. Discombobulated.

Why is he having such an effect on me? An atheist. Jesus. That’s right, Tracey, only Jesus can save you from the sin of wanting to bed an…

He took my hand. “There’s a great little cafe on 8th.” He jingled the keys in his pocket. “I’ll meet you there.”

“You brought your car?”

“Yes.”

“And it was made at a factory, by hardworking men and women, as well as the parts?”

“Yes.”

“And have you met them, those people?”

“No.”

He knows I’m baiting him. He’s allowing it. Because he wants to silence me with his prowess. “Then your car, it must have come about by chance. No one created it, correct?”

The handsome devil smiled and shook his head. “Oh, we will have fun together.”

My face flushed. The last time I turned the color of a rose bush I was probably fifteen, with a crush.

This is insane.

“Fun?” I tilted my flaming red head to the side.

“You can spend all night trying to convince me.” His irises’ danced, wining and dining me. “I am very motivated.”

The suit and the promise of what was underneath of it left me out of my mind.

My brain.

I’m a goner. He put a chink in my armor. Lord help me. Save me. Forgive me of my sins.

“All night, huh?” I grinned.

I’ll have you calling out the Lords name, Mr. Atheist Matthew Soren PhD, before the night is over.

About the Author: A.R. Hadley

A.R. Hadley has been a creative writer since elementary school, however, she all but gave it up after her children were born, devoting herself to the lovely little creatures, forgetting the pleasure and happiness derived from being imaginative.

No more.

She rediscovered her passion in 2014, and has not stopped since — writing essays, poetry, and fiction. A.R is currently working on a set of novels as part of a romantic trilogy, and also dabbles in penning short stories.

Day or night, words float around inside her brain. She hears dialogue when awakening from sleep. She is the one who has been awakened. Writing is her oxygen.

Connect on Twitter and Facebook.

May 20, 2016

Don’t Assume the ‘Good Death’ by Sue Ann Gleason

I am awakened from a dream. In it I can’t stop scratching. I look at my arms, my legs, my hands. They’re fine. There’s nothing there. I have these dreams occasionally. I call them death residue, unfinished business. I know this one is about the time I found him scratching, scratching, scratching and when I pulled up his pajama leg to see what was wrong I found that he had scratched his skin until it bled. There were scabs up and down his legs and no one from the nursing home had noticed. Or, if they had noticed, they hadn’t done anything about it. Until I took photos of those legs and sent them to the nursing home doctor. After that, “lubricate” became a doctor’s order.

Mostly my dad shows up in my dreams as his younger, more vibrant self and we’re sharing a meal or he’s cutting slices of an apple and handing them to us. He loved to feed us. In another dream I’m looking around the table at my family trying to communicate to them with nods, no words, that they should be taking this in. We’re a family again. Like somehow I know this dream is really a ‘visitation’ but they don’t know that. And I want them to know what a gift this is: Dad, alive and luminous and laughing, if even for a moment. If even in another dimension entirely.

My dad died. Twice.

One day he was larger than life, a laughing, loving, effusive man who talked so much you could hardly get a word in. And the next? Flat. No affect. Silent. A stent surgery opened his valves and shut down parts of his brain. The doctors thought it was depression. They tried all kinds of antidepressants to shake him out of the abyss. One drug did just that for a short period of time but it made him manic. On one occasion he purchased a camera, a carpet and a new car. All in one night.

During the manic episode he called me every night for two weeks while my mother escaped to the patio to commune with her Red Hat Ladies. He would talk and talk and talk. Nonstop. I stayed on the phone with him night after night caught in a tangle of grief and gratitude because even though I knew his behavior was extreme, I was grateful to hear the lift in his voice again. I wanted to believe he was back.

It didn’t last.

Pretty soon my dad fell back into the abyss. He lost more and more weight. The spring in his step became a shuffle. Never a very nurturing woman to begin with my mother grew more and more agitated with him, “Pick up your feet when you walk.” “Sit up.” “Drink some water.” “Eat. For God’s sake, eat.”

The Homestead, an adult day care center, provided her with daily support and the most competent, loving group of caregivers one could hope for. But after six years she could no longer bear the burden of his care. I’ll never forget the day she decided to place my dad in an assisted living facility. My sister called me on Skype. Her eyes were swollen; I could see that she had been crying. My father’s words were still ringing in her ears, “She’s kicking me out.” Even in his current state of cognitive decline, with limited capacity to feel and express emotion, my dad still understood abandonment.

I flash back to my very first job. I’m a waitress in a lovely retirement home called Beechwood. The residents there enjoy spacious rooms overlooking gardens. They eat beautiful meals served in an elegant dining room with rosewood tables and candlesticks. I have my own row of tables and I know everyone in my charge by name and by diet.

Ma and Pa Smith are my favorites.  

They walk into the dining room every night like lovers on their first date. I imagine I will one day have a relationship just like that. My sixteen-year-old self has no idea how rare that kind of longstanding love truly is.

At Beechwood, birthdays are celebrated once a month at a big long table placed grandly in front of the dining room, much like the bridal table at a wedding. Steak and cake. Pa Smith waves to Ma from his place at the head table throughout the meal and Ma waves back, a huge smile crossing her lips. Then, Pa carefully wraps his cake in a paper napkin to share with her later in the quiet of their suite. We call their room the honeymoon suite.

Beechwood has two separate units, the retirement home and E-wing. E-wing is where the residents move when they can no longer care for themselves independently. They don’t dine on rosewood tables with candlesticks in E-wing. Mostly, they have trays delivered to their rooms, and on occasion, they are wheeled to the communal dining room where they eat with fellow residents. Meals on wheels.

My dad took up residence in an assisted living facility called The Peaks. It was nothing like Beechwood. Not even E-wing.

I walk into the front lobby and I feel comforted by the giant birdcage and the pleasant arrangement of magazines that adorn the contemporary stone table between two cozy chairs. I fail to notice that the magazines are outdated copies of Runner’s World. It’s been a very long time since any of the residents here needed to know how to prepare for the next big race.

The marketing director ushers me into her office, heels clicking. She assures me that my dad will be well cared for here. “The staff is warm and dedicated.” She doesn’t tell me they are overworked, underpaid, and for the most part, completely ignorant of the specialized needs of the aged.

Next comes the tour.

I see a great big white board, the activity schedule. “We like to keep our residents stimulated!” she chirps. Supposedly there are activities throughout the day. Some are in the assisted living wing. Others are in long-term care.   We spend almost two hours crafting my father’s care plan. “How many showers would you like him to have each week? Three? No problem. We can’t guarantee the days you request, but we’ll do our best to fit him into the schedule.”

“What were his interests? Did he have any hobbies? Oh, he was a watercolor painter? We’ll be sure to make time each day for Sam to draw in his sketchpad. What are his favorite foods? He likes pork tenderloin? Spaghetti? Chicken? Great, we’ll make a note of that.”

I leave the office feeling hopeful, clutching the care plan, a promise that my dad will be nurtured in his new home. The room is ready. It’s time to get him settled in. I imagine this is what it feels like to send your child off to his first day of school. Only this isn’t kindergarten. This isn’t a room full of frolicking children dancing around a loving teacher, cheery music playing in the background. This is a lonely little room with a tired armchair, a threadbare carpet, and a hospital-like bed with a mattress that is a foot too short for its frame. The heat is blasting from the radiator. There is no thermostat in the room. It’s April.

I leave the room to get some air.

The silence in the corridors is deafening—no sign of life anywhere—certainly no sign of the activities that are plastered all over the bulletin board.

As I walk through the long-term care wing I find myself praying my father doesn’t live long enough to enter these rooms. The long-term care wing looks like a war torn hospital. Curtains between beds provide the only privacy for the residents there. White spindly legs peek out from under the covers. It’s 3:00 in the afternoon but it may as well be midnight.

My dad spent thirteen grueling months at the Peaks before I could get him moved to a more appropriate setting.

Ten years is an awfully long time to linger in this in between place. Death before death. Yet linger he did.   It’s a sunny afternoon. I’m sitting with my husband in an outdoor café. We have just come from his father’s hospital room where we are making plans to move yet another beloved dad into an assisted living center, albeit this one much lovelier than The Peaks. The hospital is releasing my husband’s father to hospice the very next day. The vibration of my cell phone jars me. In the deluge of details we are sorting through to be sure his dad’s transition is smooth if not seamless, I forget that I have a phone conference scheduled with my own dad’s hospice team this very afternoon.  The setting isn’t ideal but at least there is cell reception. And wine. This is supposed to be a ‘routine’ care conference. The hospice nurse tells me later that they had been prepared to release my dad from their care because he had, once again, reached a plateau. But this afternoon they are seeing a serious decline. This time it appears to be his last downward spiral.

“Come.”  

My suitcase was still packed. It had made its way from California to Annapolis and now, Colorado. I remember ordering dinner at that cafe and not tasting a thing on my plate. I just wanted to be on that plane which wasn’t leaving until early the next morning. “Eat,” my husband urged, but food was the last thing on my mind. I called the night nurse in my father’s skilled nursing home three times that night. I needed to know he was tending my dad with a wide-open heart and loving hands. I felt pretty helpless actually, but somehow just hearing a voice at the other end of the line and remembering this nurse from my last visit gave me peace enough to sleep, though fitfully, until we could make our way to the airport.

He waited.

As much as I thought I’d be ready for my dad’s passing, I wasn’t fully prepared to say goodbye. He was my anchor, the one I could count on to show me the brighter side of anything and everything. He didn’t die the way I hoped he’d die—the way I hope I’ll cross that threshold—in the comfort of my own home, in my own bed, warm and cozy and cognizant. The reality was that as much as I cared for my dad and fought for his dignity, it was never enough. Even with well-meaning caretakers, so many things fall through the cracks. Those are the dreams that still haunt me.

I had never before had the privilege of holding someone close as they passed.

Dying is, indeed, a sacred act.

My little family gathered together in this liminal space sharing slices of my dad’s life as he took his last breath. Somehow I know he was listening.

About the Author: Sue Ann Gleason

When not working with private clients or delivering online programs, Sue Ann can be found sampling exotic chocolates or building broccoli forests in her mashed potatoes.

You can connect with her in a few different places. Delicious freebies await you!
nourished living | wise business | instagram

May 19, 2016

Everything I Never Knew I Always Wanted by Julie M Terrill

Most of us tend to want our blessings to be wrapped in pretty packaging, leaving little doubt that what has been received is, indeed, a gift. I have found that many of my blessings come in the guise of old crumpled up newspaper wrapped around a stinky fish. My initial reaction might be, “Ugh! I don’t want that!”, but somewhere, buried deep inside, there is a blessing waiting to be discovered.

I recently developed a visual impairment due to the side effects of a medication. Surgeries have restored my vision, but for several months I was unable to drive, read, and, most disappointingly, work on my photography.

Photography is part of my “ness”, a term my kids use to describe the essence of one’s soul. Photography is part of my Mommyness, my Julieness; without it I wasn’t quite me.

I decided still attend an upcoming class in alcohol inks,

discovering a beautiful and vibrant way to express my creativity that did not require visual acuity. Ink paintings are supposed to be abstract or impressionistic. Perfect! Not only was it therapeutic to acquire a new set of creative skills, I’m incorporating alcohol inks into my photographic work, rendering hand-embellished images with a unique dreamscape quality.

Even though I resisted this particular newspaper-wrapped, stinky, dead fish—my temporary visual impairment—it brought gifts I never even knew I always wanted.

Thank goodness I didn’t throw it away.

About the Author: Julie Terrill

Julie Terrill is a photographer and writer with a passion for photojournalism. For ten years, she’s told stories of empowerment through the lens of her camera in an array of unique landscapes, environments, and projects – from a shelter for children rescued from trafficking Thailand to Faces of Courage, complimentary portrait sessions she offers to cancer patients in her community. She has been a photographer and facilitator at Beautiful You and has experience with commercial architectural photography, portraiture, and travel photography.

In addition to her professional experience behind the camera, Julie is the parent of seven young adult children, four of whom have special needs. With collaborative projects and thematic field trips, she has used her love of photography to help gain an understanding of their view of the world.

Julie is currently planning for a trip to Ireland, where she is looking forward to capturing the details of Ireland’s thin places and applying for Artist-in-Residence programs with the National Park Service.

Connect with her at: JMTerrillImages.com