THE STORY of SOKOLOV’s FAREWELL

 

It’s been almost a month since Sokolov died.

 

I want to say “left us” or “crossed the rainbow bridge” or some such, because the word “die” doesn’t seem to suit him. He’d been sick for three years and there were many times when I thought he would not last long. But, like the phoenix, he rose up and bounced back to life. We began to think—hope— he would live forever. Maybe our inclination to deny death was doing a job on us.

 

But— no, he didn’t.

 

In late February, he began his final descent and this time he did not relent and turn back. He stopped eating despite medication that had worked before to stimulate his appetite. He stopped drinking. He became as light as a feather. The vet said he was in complete liver failure.

 

We made the decision to let him go at home, in peace, on his own schedule. This cat, who came to us as a feral rescue, who feared any person that was not us (with the vet being one of his greatest fears) was going to live to the last surrounded by people and cats he loved and in the home he felt safe.

 

His final descent lasted four weeks. He was stoic, affectionate, and maintained himself in a position where he could always see us and his favorite feline friends. Sokolov, who ran into hiding at the slightest suggestion of an approaching stranger, didn’t hide at all at the end. He chose to be close and look at us as his body was evaporating.

I won’t deny that letting him die at home was hard on us. I wouldn’t necessarily make that choice for our other cats. But I knew that for this shy cat who loved us more fiercely than others, this is how it had to be.

 

The last looks we exchanged were on the morning of March 28^th. I was typing and turned to say something to him. He was a foot away, sitting on my bed. He looked serene and blinked slowly. I kept typing. When next I turned to exchange looks, he was lying sprawled on his side. I kept staring to see if he was breathing. He did, one more time.

 

He is buried among the weeds in the backyard, very close to where this photo was taken a few years ago.

THE EYE of AI

 

If you ever purchased from the giants of the Internet retailers, you have run into an AI summary of the reviews the product has accumulated. For the most part, I have found these mechanical summaries to reflect the gist of the individual reviews by verified purchasers.

 

It’s an odd thing for a writer whose books are also sold there to see artificial intelligence’s summation. But I’m not complaining because AI is programmed to give priority to the positive. After all, these are selling sites. I don’t know how many reviews are required to trigger Ms. AI, but it must be more than twenty. I asked, and AI gave a vague answer that didn’t include a number.

 

But did you know there are AI tools that review/give feedback to private images and works of art (not for sale) you are curious about? 

I didn’t, until my post of an embroidery (one I designed and made some years ago) on a chat board for crafts-- elicited one of the people on the board to use this tool and let me know what AI had to say about my one-of-a-kind work.

 

I had mentioned the center is the Hebrew word that begins the Bible, aptly saying “In the beginning.” (BERESHEET / בּראשׁית in Hebrew.)

This is what my colleague on the board posted right after:

“I know little about embroidery but Microsoft's AI Copilot could read it easily.

 It also said "The embroidery surrounding the text is beautifully intricate, featuring colorful geometric patterns that might resemble trees or plants. A meaningful and artistic piece!"

 It always feels weird getting compliments from a machine though, doesn't it? :D

 I think it looks great too!”

 

I haven’t used this tool yet for any of my other works, but I think I might on a day when I’m feeling blue. Even an AI pick-me-up is better than nothing.

JUMPSTARTING TODAY’S WRITING SECTION

 

When writing anything other than a blog post or a short picture book text, as the saying goes— it’s a marathon, not a sprint.

 

Beginnings are easier for me, because they come in as a sort of voice with sentences formed that have wind beneath their wings. Watching a helicopter lift off would be a good analogy to the experience.

 

Endings have their own energy. Everything that came before is adding up, and the reflection of the opening hovers over-- projecting the outline of the runway to landing.

 

It’s the long middle that looms over like a gray cloud every time. The feeling that I have no idea where to go and my mind feels empty. How will I get through today's section? I have nothing.

 

A few years ago, when I knew I’d be writing middle grade novels not as a one-off fluke (my first) but every year after that, I devised a technique that works for me during those seemingly endless middle of the story writing sessions.

 

I end each writing session with an evocative sentence. One that charms me. One that hopefully intrigues a reader. One that does the job the very next morning when I sit down feeling I have nothing to say.

 

The same words writers conjure to draw the reader in serve to pull this writer into the next chapter, and off we go.

 

I resolved never to end a day’s session in a static place, and this helped me get to the finish line one section at a time.

 

If your artwork seems to move in starts and stops, perhaps try this way. It takes self-discipline to halt the vehicle just as it moves into a higher gear. But then, it takes self-discipline to write a long story, paint an oil painting, or compose a symphony.

 

It’s all good. Happy navigating the middles to you.

FOOLED YOU!

 

*You’d think that if you opened the link to this post, you’d find yet another high falutin speech on writing, cats, or living life. Fooled you 😏

 

*You’d think you can trust this blog to at least have the presentation of sanity and balance in matters public and private. Fooled you 😜

 

*You would’ve thought that your kindness in at least checking in to see “what she’s up to now” would be treated with the respect and gratitude you deserve. Fooled you 😦

 

Because this is silly day, and not only you, but yours truly get NO RESPECT on the day the fools rule

Now go get some toilet paper to wrap your home, school, or the next-door fool

Don’t be best, be cool 😎

PLOT, Stick to the PLOT

 

There is a ubiquitous how-to writing suggestion to cut any of the text which isn’t serving the plot. This includes description of landscape, weather, and general sideshows.

 

Writers of yore had no such compunctions, and leisurely took us to places where we stopped and smelled the roses before resuming the characters’ journeys to their resolutions. Poor Tolstoy would have been eviscerated by contemporary editors for the almost novella-length chapters that veered off the plot. I know, I read War and Peace, the whole thing.

 

Today, we are told we don’t have the time. Readers don’t have the patience. No one can stand still and wait for the narration when it takes the slightest rest.

 

I had an editor tell me that a half-page section of dialogue, while hilarious, didn’t advance the action. When I suggested it served both as more character revelation and also for comic relief, the editor’s response was that readers, especially young ones, don’t have the time for that. Cut, cut, CUT.

And, for that matter, also cut the view of the countryside as seen by the main character from the moving train window. Never mind that the train is moving fast. The plot is what must move here, so unless there’s a killer on the train who’s looking for our hero, we don’t need to see or hear our hero’s thoughts on the train. Move, move, MOVE.

 

I humbly suggest we should strike a middle ground here. Resting places in novels are precious spaces, and I intend to keep them, because as a reader I need them just as much as the fictional characters do.

THE PITFALLS of BEING PLUGGED IN

 

Where I live, the neighbors and the local news are rife with daily reports of break-ins, car “smash-and-grabs," phone and laptop thefts.

WATCH OUT! 😦

 

Speaking of phones and laptops, the local news and video sharing sites are full of warnings about how hackers have gotten into them, stolen our data, and are running wild with our accounts.

WATCH OUT! 😧

 

And while we have hackers taking space on our frontal lobes, apparently our government is not immune to them. Our electric grids, defense apparatus and voting rolls, not to speak of the social security numbers of all of us, have been infiltrated by hostile entities.

WATCH OUT! 😨

 

As if this isn’t enough and you may be thinking that you can always leave your country for a better protected one, from all directions the media is blasting that our whole planet is close to dying because we will toast on account of Global Warming, something we are told is happening ever faster than anyone predicted.

WATCH OUT! 😱

 

Wait a minute--- I have a better suggestion. Stop watching. At least pull the plug on media that is dependent on us staying plugged in and is counting on the fear factor to keep us there.

 

This isn’t a call to put one’s head in the sand. I sure don’t. But I suggest that taking breaks from being plugged in is a cure that most are long overdue.

 

I take regular internet/computer/phone breaks. Not long ones, just enough to look around, appreciate my reality and good fortune of being alive, and restore healthy breathing.

 

I come up for air now and then. It makes a better and even more alert me, more able to cope with all the above.

MARCH 11TH IN HISTORY

 

1861 Confederate states adopt new constitution

In Montgomery, Alabama, delegates from South Carolina, Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, and Texas adopt the Permanent Constitution of the Confederate States of America.

 

When grumblings about “we need Civil war” enter your sphere, please re-consider. We came too close to duplicate the fractious abyss that is Europe, and because the Union prevailed, we remained a large continent where citizens move freely between territories and states. It seems normal to Americans, but it is not the norm as far as the rest of the world is concerned.

 

The reference link concludes with—

Although Britain and France both briefly considered entering the Civil War on the side of the South, the Confederate States of America, which survived until April 1865, never won foreign recognition as an independent government.

Phew, that was close. Too close. A hundred and sixty-four years of endless “hot” wars between states were averted, but not before a tenth of Americans paid with their lives.

 

Especially because if this, if you’re tempted to go yell at or slap someone for advocating war, consider baking them a pie or inviting them over for tea and cookies. Resolve not to allow conflict into the conversation.

^ Me, wearing a Peace Corps T-shirt, inviting you for coffee^

 

Blessed are the peacemakers.

INTUITION is not a FEELING

 

A few months ago, I read an excellent post about intuition and its place in the writing process. See it here.

 

It wasn’t news to me that good writing is intuitive even as it uses the cloak of logical and systematic exposition.

 

The most precious nugget the post gave me is the articulation that intuition shouldn’t be confused with a feeling or an emotion.

 

Instead, think of intuition as the mind processing information so fast and connecting the dots before we have the words, or articulation, to explain it rationally.  

 

Intuition is an awareness of a high order. Creating without it yields something akin to assembly manuals of the sort that come with various gizmos. That’s “technical writing,” and writers of poetry or prose aren’t doing that.

 

Good writing connects the dots before we have the words to name them.

More CAT INDULGENCES

 

Once every few months, I just feel compelled to share snippets of the joy that are my cats.

 

No, I’m not a “childless cat lady,” but a child-full one. 😸 

 

No, I’m not a “crazy cat woman,” but a sane one. 😹

 

What I am is an unapologetic feline fancier. 😻

 

These marvels of nature are graceful beauties who do us a favor by allowing us near them.

 

Lucky plucky me, I have three such wonders close by.

 

Here, have some:

{{{TO MY FABOULOUS FANCY FELINE FRIENDS 🍻}}}

🙏Please think good thoughts for Sokolov, 🙏

🙏our black cat, who is very ill 🙏

P.S. Edited to add: Our Sokolov, the furry black cat, passed away March 28th, 2025 😿

The Advantage of the KNOW-NOTHINGS

 

Conventional wisdom, CW for short, is that there are the right times and the wrong times to query agents and editors. The month of December, especially the week between Christmas and New Year’s, is the very wrong time.

 

I got the attention of my second agent, a consummate experienced professional, during that very “wrong” time. Before being agented, I got a request for the full manuscript of my eventually acquired and published novel during that (very) wrong time, also.

 

I wasn’t breaking the rules, I just didn’t know them.

 

I also got the best job I ever had back in my pre-motherhood life by breaking a few rules because I didn’t know them. Not going into details here, but trust me. I learned later that, innocently, I stepped over a few faux-pax.

 

I write this as a reminder to self and also a public service to share, so that fear of standing out mustn’t paralyze, and could also be recognized as a possible advantage.

 

The same goes for writing and constructing stories. Distinctiveness for its own sake is a vice when it’s a pathology. But innocence of conventions is not, and it’s more than all right.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY to Thomas Edison

 

Thomas Edison should be the lodestar to every person who ever heard the victimization narrative and fell for it.

Don’t.

Just don’t buy it. Because if you do, you will have victimized yourself times ten.

 

 

Thomas Edison was almost deaf.

He had only a few months of formal schooling.

He started working at age 12.

He was viewed as “odd.”

He didn’t come from any ruling elite or so-called “right families.”

 

 

He went on to be the holder of (arguably) more patents than anyone, and we owe him much of what is fueling the engines of modern technology, not least of which is what is driving this blog I am typing on right now.

 

Which is a good reason to celebrate his birthday, February 11^th, not with gratitude for Edison's inventions but as a reminder not to focus on the obstacles life deals us. Instead, let's celebrate the amazing opportunities that being alive presents.

POINT OF VIEW (aka POV)

 

The voice of a story comes to me in the form of a line. For me, it’s usually the first sentence/paragraph.

 

This line also contains the point of view. I don’t recall ever “choosing” it, it chose itself.

 

This post explains how pivotal the POV is to the rest of the story. It is more important than plot points or list of characters or even theme. The first two evolve and change as one drafts and later revises, the last emerges on its own if the story is worth its salt and pepper.

 

But the POV determines almost everything, and if (unlike me) you aren’t seeing it clearly and wonder whose it is, consider how much difference it would make if the narrative thread is seen from, say, Aunt Olga’s vantage point or Cousin Vladimir’s. It makes all the difference.

 

There is also the so-called omniscient POV, less humbly called G-d’s. I don’t write this all-seeing POV because 1. I don’t know how to do it justice, and 2. The remove feel of it doesn’t drive my writerly engine.

Long ago, a writing friend asked me to read part of a novel she was working on and asked if the POV was omniscient.

“Actually, it isn’t. It’s ‘head hopping’,” I said.

Head hopping is moving from different characters inner most awareness without so much as taking a breath, which causes a jumble and disjointed state in a reader. Omniscience requires some remove. A lot of novice writers confuse the two.

My friend resolved to pick one character’s vantage point and stick with it.

 

When writing in first person, it’s clear whose POV it is. When writing in third person, it’s important not to stray from what the character could know or see or even overhear. If more than one POV is needed, there are good novels that alternate different chapters clearly marked for changing the POV. A classic example of multiple POV is The View from Saturday by E.L. Konigsburg.

 

I will continue to let my stories choose, because it works for the way I work.

POV^

Need a Break from DYSFUNCTION?

 

A few months ago, I realized that between the news (wars, crimes, the latest pathogens and some petty pointless bit—ing about others), and the sort of movies and TV shows I was watching, which were mostly about dysfunction (wars, crime stories, pandemics and plenty bi---ing), it was taking a negative toll on my psyche.

 

Sure, it was compelling, and it is an aspect of the human story. But I needed some medicine to balance this out.

 

And so, I have been making the effort to pay attention to basically good people doing or trying to do good things. Flawed people, (is there any other kind?) but decent and with a conscience that is alive and serves to guide.

 

I like THIS IS US (now all seasons streaming on Netflix) and novels like ASK AGAIN, YES by Mary Beth Keane. If you have recommendations for some such, I am as wide open as ever.

 

Let the light of humanity pour in~

©Art by Shelagh Duffett

EVOCATIVE

 

The very word, “evocative,” is evocative.

 

The dictionary definition, “Serving to bring to mind. Making you remember or imagine something,” brings up feelings of hazy memories one can’t quite place or anchor.

 

Good poetry is supremely evocative. Good prose is subtly so. Good music evokes on the most sensual level, as do smells and even certain qualities of light.

 

I was mulling over a Leonard Cohen song, AVALANCHE, whose words I find evocative. But— blimey— if I know what they mean. I just know that the many attempts to analyze it fall flat. From the literal to the highfalutin theses I read, none touch what this song evokes in me, which is dread and impending doom.

 

This is but one example. I find James Joyce’s Ulysses evocative, but also unreadable. I wonder if, on some level, he meant it to be. A sort of hiding in plain sight.

 

I’m not this sort of writer, but I am intrigued by evocative writing.   

“IF YOU COULD MEET ANYONE FROM HISTORY…”

 

There’s a well-known trope/parlor game/interview question that asks which long-dead persons you’d like to meet, have dinner with, interview, etc.

 

It’s fun to think about, and the answer supposedly reveals something pertinent about us.

 

About a month ago, someone put this question to me and I realized my older answers didn’t hold for me anymore. My old answers were Shakespeare (did he really author what is attributed to him?), Jesus (what was the historic flesh-and-blood person really like?), and Abraham (Is he in fact one actual person, or a myth?).

 

But I realized that Shakespeare would almost certainly be a disappointment. The works are far greater than the author, as is almost always the case. Jesus of Nazareth is also far greater as spiritual residues present to this day. As to Abraham, I would likely not like him at all and he not like me. Anyone who would sacrifice his beloved son Isaac and lie to his boy while climbing to the place of the intended killing (all to prove his complete obedience to G-d) is the sort of fanatic I avoid like the plague today.

 

Then, they came to me like figures emerging out of a thick fog. The people I would most like to meet and spend a day with, the people I would like to get to know and be known by, are my father’s mother and father. They perished in the Holocaust and the Nazis wouldn’t allow my father, still a boy himself, to keep even the locket he wore with his mother’s photograph.

 

What I know of them are the memories of a boy. When I asked my late father to describe them physically, he gave such a vague description that I couldn’t conjure their faces. Years later, when my father returned for a visit to Poland and found a neighbor he remembered from his childhood still living in the old building, the neighbor angrily snapped at him saying, “What Jews? There were never any Jews here.” He had hoped someone had photos of his family, but instead found complete erasure.  

 

If you believe in the afterlife, you might be telling me that I will meet my grandparents some day. You might be telling me that they are watching over me right now. I won’t argue. It’s a mystery, as far as I’m concerned.

 

But today I would choose to meet them while I’m still part of this world of action, because I sense it would inform the rest of my time here in a meaningful way.

AH-HA! MOMENTS

 

One of the powerful tools in storytelling is the Ah-Ha! Moment.

 

It’s a character recognizing their fault, or not their fault, and how to carry on doing better.

 

These are powerful moments in real life, also. For reflective people, these recognitions are numerous, and not nearly as dramatic. But in the context of story, they are crescendos that lead to the stories’ climax resolutions.

 

Just this morning, a stranger who had parked their car in front of our driveway (blocking my ability to use my car) said I was “impatient” when I asked him to move. I did what I always do, covering up my frustration with a smile and asking how long it would be before he would, you know, pretty please, free our driveway. He said, “not long,” and I walked away.

 

But I was seething. Underneath my practiced non-confrontational smile, I thought--- The nerve of him. Not for blocking my driveway, but for calling me “impatient.”

 

But even before he did move on, twenty minutes later, I realized he was right. I was impatient. I didn’t need to use my car right then, I could wait. If I had an appointment to get to, I’d explain, and he (probably, hopefully) would have moved. Going to the store this morning was not an urgent matter, and I was simply being impatient.

 

This complete stranger called it. If patience is virtue, (and I believe it is) I need to work on it.

 

This tiny lightbulb moment got me thinking about my fictional characters, and their moments of illumination.

Let there be light~

HAPPY TO BE READ

 

Back to answering another from Karen Jones’s blog post list:

Are you excited about the idea of people reading your work…?

I have always had “people” reading my writing, whether they were my teachers or family members or friends. I know what Karen means, though. She means people I never met and likely never will-- except as readers.

 

My first published essay was in eighth grade. It was, as we used to say, a “heady experience.” Many years later, I began blogging. The few strangers who responded to my early posts quickly became on-line acquaintances.

 

But the first review I got to my published novel, The Voice of Thunder, brought people who were strangers to this day. This, like my eighth-grade essay, was “heady”. I imagine that multi-published writers who have wide readership have a more nonchalant feelings for the experience of complete strangers reading what they wrote. We humans adjust to most things that are not common and then become a new normal for us.

 

Few in the human family, which numbers in the many billions, become so-called famous. But for the famous (“celebrities,” how I dislike the word) it is just what is. Fame itself feels undesirable an existence to me. For the famous who don’t crash and burn, it is just the way it is.

 

So, the answer to the question is two-pronged: I find a reaction to my writing from a total stranger to quicken my heartbeats, but only for a bit, and then I adjust and it is how it is, part of the package of writing for publication.

 

Excitement is an ephemeral thing. It happens, and then it’s gone.