Author: Maria Johnson

Thank you, Veterans

Today in the United States we celebrate Veterans Day, our British brothers and sisters call it Remembrance Day, but it’s all the same … commemorating the sacrifices made by soldiers. The following poem was written during World War I upon the death of the author’s friend. It explains why veterans organizations distribute poppies today.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

John McCrae

Let us not break faith with those men and women who have served us. Thank you.

brother, can you spare a word? or 36K?

The problem with NaNoWriMo is not the challenge of writing the 50,000 words (what? I didn’t really say that); it’s what writing 50,000 words does to my other writing. For starters, it’s a different  genre.  I’m so long-winded it’s probably a good fit for me … but right now I’m hitting that wall that comes in the second week.  Seasoned NaNoWriters say that getting past this hump is the hardest part, and then it’s smooth sailing.

Okay. Sure. Easier said than done.

Let me wallow in my little pity party a minute, and then I’ll get back to the novel. Because, you know, I’m gonna do it. I just thought I’d take a little break from it and use up some words on the ole blog – you know, where I got crazy and decided that I wasn’t going to die if I actually shared what I wrote every once in a while.

So the big challenge is the word count. Finding the words that count. Add up. Tell a story. Oh, you say, is that all?

Well, yes, that is all. That’s a lot. For writers, that’s what we have to work with, and most of us have this little love affair with words that maybe only we understand. But sometimes, there’s more than words – the stuff that’s abstract and floating around in our heads, our hearts, maybe our souls. Those are the things that we write about, but we need to find the words to articulate it first.

Sometimes, though, words are not enough. Or maybe, the right train of thought here is that words are not necessary. It’s okay to just feel it. Ha! And then, inevitably, write about it. But first we feel.

Let me tell you I’m feeling a lot right now. Scared is probably at the top of that list, followed by its best friend, insecure. I’m taking the GRE this Friday morning and applying for a doctoral program in English and Communications. This is just the beginning of the process, so I don’t have anything to add but a simple request for prayers. You decide what you want to pray about – I certainly don’t know.

Well, hold on. How about prayers that I remember the math I took THIRTY YEARS AGO. Sheesh, that’s a sobering number. Anyway, there you have it. You heard it here, first.  Suddenly my little experiment with 50,000 words isn’t so daunting, even if I did just give away 411 words.

today’s avoidance post brought to you by Pop

Well, it’s that time. I’ve hit the wall at NaNoWriMo. Time to do something different…get some fresh air. Do the laundry. (there’s always laundry). Phone a friend.

My dad, he of the million and one email forwards of ridiculous and painfully obnoxious email FORWARDS has struck again. Only this time, it’s funny. Or maybe not and I’m just in that place of desperation. In either case, I’m sharing it here. Because that way I don’t have to think. Thanks, Pop!

A first grade girl handed in the drawing below for her homework assignment.



The teacher graded it and the child brought it home.

She returned to school the next day with the following note:

Dear Ms. Davis,

I want to be perfectly clear on my child’s homework illustration.
It is NOT of me on a dance pole on a stage in a strip joint surrounded by male customers with money.
I work at Home Depot and had commented to my daughter how much money we made in the recent snowstorm.
This drawing is of me selling a shovel.

Sincerely,

Mrs. Harrington

 

love’s austere and lonely offices

Every morning I get up around 5 am, sometimes before, sometimes after, and walk the dog. More often than not, I do it with some annoyance. My bed is warm, and it’s cold outside. On mornings like today, the rain adds a particularly annoying edge to the chill. During that walk, though, I catch glimpses of my world, and it often turns into a moment of prayer….I admit that it is fleeting — a flash of the bright stars against the still night — the rustle of leaves as a small breeze blows by. The sky caught on the surface of the lake so still that it reflects, perfectly, what I don’t look up to see. The beauty in the tranquility at that hour, which is truly darkest before the dawn.

The morning is the presence of God all around me, found in symbols I know and speak to me unconsciously. The light of the stars, candles burning brightly to Light the way. The Holy Spirit blowing through. The Hand of creation in the animals beginning to stir. And then suddenly, as a dragonfly  skates across the surface of the lake and breaks the reflection, I go inside and return to the chores and morning routine.

Like the father in Robert Hayden’s poem, “Those Winter Sundays,” I find myself channeling the truth I felt in that moment into “love’s austere and lonely offices.” Putting into action the labor and duty that accompanies sacrifice and love.