Memoirous

I have a confession to make: I’m a news junkie. Or rather a new confession: I used to be a news junkie. Growing up my mother rarely watched the news. It embarrassed me how uninformed my mother was. It made me wonder—her lack of curiosity. She could care less what was going on in the world as she went about her daily life. If I ever tried to engage her in the broader meaning of life she might answer me with what we were having for dinner. It’s not that she didn’t have opinions; she did; they just lacked any sort of basis in the real world. I probably gave her less credit than was due. This is probably the case with most mothers. Lurch forward thirty to forty years later. It is so much easier today to be a news junkie. You don’t have to try very hard. Headlines are constantly shouting at me. There are 2 newspapers in Chicago and the commuter rag, The Redeye . That’s print, and I seldom see a real newspaper these days. But, also, there’s the ubiquitous Internet where

On the eve of WWII Louise Keller and her family moved to the Philippine Islands. When the war broke out her father was away picking up the missionary school teacher in Manila and ended up separated from his family. Louise and her mother are eventually rounded up by the Japanese and placed into Allied internment camps for civilians. They are in one such camp—at a former university St. Tomas in Manila where this excerpt takes place. Louise has not seen her father for two years —since the war started—and has no idea where he is. Peter a young man the family met on the boat coming over is also interned at St. Tomas and is in possession of an illegal radio. Thanksgiving in St. Tomas I’ve heard it said that when a cup is mended it is actually strongest where the glue holds it together. Mother was like that—strong, but still fragile in places. We learned to lean on each other. Peter brought us news of victories in the Solomon Islands. Little by little, island-hopping, the A

He was in denial. She was being optimistic. He was living in the moment. She wanted to stay real. The doctors said it was terminal. His friends fixed up the room. Her friends walked the dog. His mother got the kids breakfast. Her mother kept the kids after school. The doctors said it may be a matter of months. They lived each day as if it were the last. They all pitched in to stand together. They made hay while the sun shined. This, they said, is all we have.

"That thing I was looking for back then is the same thing I’m looking for today. Affirmation, fitting in, fulfillment. A calling. Daily, I’m reminded that I’m still walking, still chasing, still swimming through unknown waters, still grappling with large, looming questions." Read more of my guest post by CLICKING HERE . Plus only 14 more days until 365 Affirmations for the Writer. Isn't it great to be affirmed--

Out soon, just in time for Christmas:   I'll put up links at Amazon and other Ebook distributors BEFORE THANKSGIVING

The 11th Annual Literal Literary Postcard Story Contest This is a micro-fiction writing contest. Here's how it works: 1) Send us a story and a postcard—the relationship can be as strong or as tangential as you like, so long as there is a clear connection between the story and the image. 2) If you don't have a postcard, just search on-line. 3) The story can be fiction or non-fiction; maximum length is 500 words. Prizes:   First Prize: $500   Second Prize: $250   Third Prize: $150 All winning entries will be published in Geist and on geist.com - See more at: http://www.geist.com/contests/postcard-contest/#sthash.ASTdmPgc.dpuf

·          Microfiction Monday Magazine Call For Submissions Online submissions accepted year-round. Microfiction Monday Magazine is seeking exceptional stories told in 100 words or less for publication every Monday. There are no restrictions on genre or content, just punch us in the chest with characters we can feel, images we can't get out of our heads, and stories that are complete despite their brevity. Artwork submissions are also welcome. For more information and how to submit visit microfictionmondaymagazine.com .

A million years ago I wrote a book. I send the manuscript to an editor. It was pulled from the slush pile and said editor called me. She liked it! There were changes. First it needed to go from a diary format to a prose narrative. That took re-working. After that I waited. Then MY editor sent a 10-page editorial letter with all kinds of comments and suggestions. Of course. I re-worked the novel. Then there were more changes. I waited. Finally, we had a book. I was so excited when I saw the cover. Then I saw galleys. Then there were advanced copies! After that I got a carton of books shipped to me. I was an author! Reviews came in. They were pretty good. I did readings and signed copies at bookstores. Then a bigger publishing house bought my publisher, and 6 months after the book was launched it was remaindered. But for some reason the house never optioned electronic rights and those reverted to me. Here is an excerpt from my historical YA novel. It is the story of a young

Things I’ve Collected Rocks (of course) Seashells (ditto) Buttons found on my walks State maps Empty Skoal cans Ruby red wine bottles Cobalt blue wine bottles Rusty license plates Whimsically-shaped candles (particularly ears of corn or cows) Odd light bulbs Old keys (I’m afraid to throw them away!) Thimbles (who uses these anymore?) Vintage books with the name Jane in the title If I look closely at my shelves littered with these random objects, I will find myself.