Send Me Stuff

Send me (or post)
1) your best stuff (pictures, essays, stories, criticism of teacher. . . )
2)your design for new 'Want-to-be -writer" top header
3)your impressions of the class
4)any thousand dollar bills you have
5) any gold you have
6) ideas you have (they don't have to be good)

Ch-CH-Changes

The 'Want-to-be-writer' blog will be going through changes as I begin to re-shape it to something fresh and new. If you have any ideas - please post them. As no one is currently posting on this blog - I will be using it as a message board more than anything else.

Keep Writing,

Frank

Maybe There is a God

Sometimes in writing this blog, I wonder if my words are just going out to the universe's garbage dump. To rot or whatever but lately I have noticed things changing. These maybe small trivial changes but they are changes nonetheless. Weeks ago I wrote about Plucky the cigarette smoking duck who seemed to be advocating reading to young people. He was prominately displayed on the Frankfort Public Library website. Last week, the library staff changed the website and poof, no more Plucky. The new website is . . . different. To me, it has a less childish feel to it. I don't know if that is good or bad.
Frankfort Library Website
Point number two - I wrote an essay which stated how uninspired I was by Frankfort's fireworks display of 2008. Well, for people who live in this area, public access channel 6 shows many Frankfort events replayed and I happened to see a replay of the fireworks show. It was surprising to me because the people who made the replay took out the terrible music we the people who showed up had to listen to and replaced it with instrumental traditional tunes such as John Phillip Susa's. Much better. However, the show itself still stunk - this time I counted 15 straight of the same firework. I had only thought there was 10 straight.
Point number three - the evolution of my thinking - which really does not amount to a hill of beans but in terms of the creative writing class - I really have come a long way. When i started the class a year ago, I wanted only one thing - a class that I could use to encourage my wriiting, to get it out from the shell in the closet of the basement of the abandoned building of my mind that it was living in. I also wanted others to get their writing out into the world. I think that we, me and youse guys, have done that well. But I am left feeling that there is more that I can do with this class. It is just that I am not sure what that more is. Do you have any suggestions ? Frank

Haiku of This Day

Always, and again
Morning brings the light to us,
To do what we will.

Writing class and its evolution

I just want to say I am enjoying the evolution of the writing class. It seems to flow in a wonderful way, coinciding with the wishes of the group. I always feel I get something out of being there, though I have to fight with my own resistance. Writing is good for me! The emotions that I release through the written word are often subtle, yet felt. More recently, we've been discussing perhaps meeting to work on reiki and other energy work. This discussion became a storytelling process in itself, all relevant to the writing class. I like that the group feels safe enough to want to share even deeper of ourselves. Each class is an adventure.
Bev

My "L" assignment for class

Lick, lick
Lapping the nectar
I do not hear the sounds
but imagine them in his
tiny ears
The jeweled creature,
decked out in irridescant
cloak of green and gold,
feeds quickly, then moves
to the next trumpet flower
Not picky, the artificial
reds and greens do not
deter him from his
dining pleasure.

His wings
beat quickly,sustaining him
in resting place as his long
bill goes in and out,
in rhythm he soothes
me into meditative
dreams.

He is focused,
in the moment, intent on
fueling himself for the
journey ahead. Drinking,
drinking, filling his tiny
being with nectar.

Stopping at my
feeder, I am honored
he is refueling here.
Like the hummingbird,
I too am on a journey,
and my heart opens
feeling nature’s kinship.
I travel within me,
migrating to a deeper
sense of me, sipping at
spiritual nectar to sustain
my path to enlightenment.

As nectar fills up this tiny creature,
for the long road ahead, I
too need similar
fuels to energize my soul,
quiet time, surrounded by
things I love. Yet, the more
active creative pursuits i so
enjoy also
help my migration south from mind
to heart to soul, where warmth and
compassion welcome me.

I do not have to fly over great
distances, to warm climates, to
escape the cold that looms, and
realize that right here is where
I need to be, with my hungry
soul awaiting me.

And then, like the hummingbird
who flies to tree branches,
to rest, to digest,
I settle into the cozy chair
embracing peace,
enfolding love, letting
it settle into my being
for too much, too fast
leaves
me little time to appreciate
its subtle impact.

The hummingbird’s bill allows
him to drink deep into the flower
center, I too must tap into
the deepest realms of me
to access all of me,
where complete
nourishment lies.

Quickly, so quickly the bird’s
wings move
in rhythm with my excited
heartbeats,as he moves up and down,
backwards and forwards, an
acrobat in flight,
dazzling my eyes with
magical maneuvers,
so too do I
need to be flexible, to move
in all directions, to fully explore
who I am, leaving nothing
uncovered.

The hummingbird feeds from
hundreds of flowers in a day,
to sustain him in his long journey,
I too must tap into all offerings
of life, accepting each being encountered
unveiling the
mysteries of who I am.

Perhaps I will not find the
truth of me, the hummingbird
does not always survive,
predators like cats, and
pesticides and electric fences
claim its demise
Perhaps my own truth
will not be found, for
fears lurk in hidden recesses,
ready to pounce

The hummingbird does
not seem bothered by
what lies ahead,
only taking care of himself,
right now
His life is a lesson for me
and with gratitude,
I accept his teachings.

Beverly Bronson 2008

L Words- the rest of the story

The L Words

“Shut your damn mouth.” She thrust her hands palms toward him for emphasis. Tim’s mouth was stuck in limbo. The words he was going to say were in the process of being abandoned but the words replacing them had not yet been formed. This produced an idiotic look on Tim’s face somewhat like one of total surprise. Dumbfounded. To say the least, he had not expected her to say what she had just said.
“Just keep quiet.” she commanded, putting one finger to his lips. She watched his face, looking for signs of acceptance. He sighed and looked away.
“It’s just that . . .I “ He stopped short as she put up her hands again.
“No. Tim, you promised. WE promised,” She looked him in the eye. “Remember - our pact: No L words. Not now, not ever.” He flinched as she said the last few words. The pact, that damn pact. If only he had not made that promise. But that was the only way she would agree to go out with him. He remembers that moment as if it was happening right in front of him.
* * * * *
She was beautiful but not too beautiful, I mean, there was no one thing dazzling about her and yet there she was talking to him, holding his hand, gazing into his eyes. She had approached him and asked him to sit with her at a table far from the bar.
‘Might as well,’ he thought, ‘I know I don’t have anything else going.’ It all felt so surreal to him. He was not the type of guy who went to bars and he was not the type of guy who went out looking to pick up women. He had been walking home when he heard his favorite song coming from this bar. He felt it was a sign or an omen of good things to come. So he sat down at the bar and ordered a drink, a Long Island ice tea - something big so he could take his time and something strong enough to wipe away his pain, at least for that night. He never finished it.
“Hi there,” she had come up behind him and tapped him on his shoulder. “I was wondering if you would like to sit with me. I have a table over there.” She pointed. The bartender gave her an orangish red drink. Her eyes, they seemed sad yet they seemed happy too. A mystery. He was a sucker for mysteries especially if they involved women. A no brainer. He nodded yes and she grabbed his hand and led the way. She was a very forward woman. This she proved when they sat down.
“Look I can tell you are wounded. I know the look well. I am too.” She locked on to him with her eyes. “Lets spare ourselves the heartache of rehashing went wrong. Lets talk about us and what we can do together.”
He had not been expecting her to be strong but he liked strong women. That was his problem - sooner or later they grew tired with his lack of strength. At least, that is what they said. Well, at least that is what Cathy, his latest ex had said. “You are so whimpy. Take a stand for once in your life. Live your life. Don’t let it live you.” “I’ll think about that.” was his answer, which in hindsight might not have been the right thing to say. She walked out screaming under her breath. That was yesterday. Today it had sunk in on him that she was gone. He had been thinking about her when he got off the bus, which is why he did not notice that he had gotten off at the wrong stop. A quick look around to set his bearings, told him he was only a block or two from his regular stop. He would walk the rest of the way home. It was a nice pleasant evening, in the high sixties tempwise and there were no clouds in sight. And then there was that song.
“I am ready for anything,” the strong woman said, “long term, short term, even something just for tonight. What about you ?” Her eyes grabbed his attention and held it. There was something special about her, something magical. He had forgotten about Cathy. He had forgotten about his heartbreak at losing her. All he could think of was this strange mystery woman.
“Um,” he said, “this is awkward, um, could you tell me your name ?”
“Marla,” she said. “and yours?”
“Tim,” he replied, “Tim Weeks. I’m a . . .” She put her hand up and stopped him.
“Names are all we need to know right now. Lets just leave it at that. I am currently known as Marla Starsinger but that will change after I sign the divorce papers. Don’t worry, its not being contested and there are no children involved. There was another woman and he is living with her right now. I even like her too. So everyone is happy.”
“Hey, I thought you said we weren’t going to talk about our past.”
“Oh did I, hmm.” she laughed, “well okay no more of that - I just didn’t want you to worry.”
“Aren’t you worried about me ?” he asked. “ Don’t you want to know what my story is ?”
“No.” she laughed again, took a sip of her drink, looked at him, and laughed even louder. “Don’t look so wounded. I am a woman. I trust my intuition. I know you are what I want and what I need in a man.” She giggled and took a quick sip. “At least for tonight.”
He wondered about that last remark. Did she mean he would be a one night stand ? He had never been a one night stand before, expect for a couple of terrible first dates but they did not end in sex or begin with sex or even get anywhere near sex.
“I hate to say this,” he said as he looked in her eyes, “but I’m not that type of guy.” He watched her reaction.
“Oh really,” she said mockingly, “we’ll just see about that.” She stood up and took a large gulp of her drink, nearly draining it. She grabbed Tim by his tie. “Let’s go big boy.” Surprisingly, Tim did not resist. She was a strong woman.
She lead him like that for blocks, past various onlookers who either commented on this ridiculous sight or pretended not to notice. She never once veered from her goal which it turns out was her apartment. When she got to her door, she let go of his tie and turned around to face him. He was half a foot taller than her even with heels so she stood on a step higher than him and looked him in the face, nose to nose and said:
“This is where our journey ends, big boy, ” she paused to watch his face, “unless of course you promise me something.” Tim was a more than a bit confused and when he was confused, he usually did nothing. He never acted rashly, that is, without considering consequences. He was a patient person content to let the world present what it will before choosing his actions.
“What ?” he asked. There was a brief pause so he added more words. “What do you want me to promise ?” She moved a bit on her stair to gain more room between them.
“I want you to promise me that no matter what happens between us, you will never use the L word to me.” Tim was even more confused now.
“The L word ? What L word ?”
“You know, “ she looked up at the ceiling as if it were written there. “the L word. The word people use to say that they are very attracted to each other. I L word you.” She looked at him defiantly. “Understand ?” He nodded yes but that confused her. So she once again stared nose to nose at him. “I’ll say it once again.” There was a hardness in her voice. “It is goodbye forever unless you agree never to say the L word to me. So tell me yes or no - do you agree ?”
Tim caught himself from uttering his catchphrase (I’ll have to think about that.) He knew this woman meant business. He knew the events of this evening had been quite strange and even a little scary but there was something about her, something unexplainable, something that felt right. He looked at her one more time and there it was - that sparkle in her eyes and he knew he would agree to almost anything at that moment.
And the rest, they say, is history. Marla was now known as Marla Weeks and has been that way for twelve years. Tim was hopelessly in L word with her but never had been able to tell her so. Tonight on their anniversary, he tried again and again she held him to his promise.
“Could you at least tell why I can’t use the L word with you ?” he asked.
“I will, “ she said with a wink as she turned out the lights and pulled up the covers, “but not tonight. Come to bed dear.”

Sis(sy), (no)Boom, Bah (humbug)

There are certain things that don’t seem to go together no matter how hard we try to make them: peanut butter and liverwurst, kids and quiet, politicians and selflessness, and my wife’s idea of good fireworks and my idea of good fireworks. I believe fireworks should be loud, colorful and stimulating. My wife likes the colorful and stimulating but could do without the loud. Sissy!
So after years of watching the fireworks show in Oak Forest (part of the week-long OakFest featuring some good but loud bands), we decided to try something new, the fireworks in Frankfort. Frankfort is a wonderful place to raise your kids - the town is constantly trying to make life wonderful for them by offering various programs and celebrations. The fireworks show however is not one of them. The show was short (thankfully), punctuated by patriotic music (the kind only John Melloncamp, Willie Nelson, Steve Miller, and various country artists can do). I am proud to be an American but I like my fireworks sans people singing about being proud to be an American. Why? Because with the music blaring, there is no ahhing and wowing at the visual show. How loud was the music ? I could not hear what my wife sitting next to me was saying.
Was that a bad thing ? I’d better say yes. (Sissy!)
The music was distracting but the worst part of the fireworks show was the lack of booms. Not one of many explosions in the sky had the big echoing boom I have come to expect from a fireworks display. It was as if someone had put an anti-boom chip on this year’s event.
I have seen louder fireworks on TV. Walking back to our car, we heard fireworks from the next town over - yes, Mokena had booms. For me and the rest of the Frankfort faithful, no booms.
And now comes the bah humbug part of my review. I go to fireworks shows to be ooded and awed, to be wowed and blown away, to be dazzled by what is happening all around me. Frankfort’s fireworks did none of that. They had nothing I had not seen before but worse than that they had no imagination. For instance, they shot a big firework with red ,white, and blue parts - pretty cool - again and again and again. Over ten times in a row. Then it was time to shoot the red and yellow firework, you guess it, over ten times in a row. And then the golden rain firework ten times in a row. And on and on. The only break in this structure was the grand finale. When it was over there was no mass applause, just a mass exit (which was far more entertaining than the show itself).
I guess I have been spoiled by the fireworks in Oak Forest. The fireworks there are exciting, as in dangerously exciting. And loud as in you can’t hear for five minutes after the show. And unpredictable as in you never know when or where the next rocket to the sky will explode. For me, Oak Forest is fireworks heaven,
Because of my attraction to loud fireworks, we steadily sat closer and closer to the guys shooting up the fireworks. Last year we were about as close as one could get (50 meters or so away, 47 meters of which were behind a chain link fence - the other three meters were patrolled by teenagers in uniform swinging nightsticks and saying things ‘like you have to get back for your own safety’. They were, of course, members of the traffic control squad and as such they had the authority to yell at you. “I told you to get back.’ More frightening than them were the little kids 7 and under running blindly back and forth with sparklers - they will burn you and burn you a lot as they run back in forth in the aforementioned three meters, so you do not really want to be in their way unless of course you like getting burned by cute little 3 year old future arsonists.
So last year we were sitting close to the fireworks, watching them explode and ooing and awwing, when a gentle little wind began to blow toward us. It was at that point that the fireworkers decided to shoot their ‘golden rain’ fireworks. Normally, these fireworks explode and gracefully maintain their golden glow as they fall to the earth, burning out at say 100 or so feet. This causes people to wonder what would happen if these sparks alit upon the earth. It is a question with out an answer because they never do - until last year that is. Ten or so tiny sparks found their way onto the heads and hands of various people, one of whom happened to be my wife. For whole next year, I have had to listen to her story as it grew larger and larger in scope due to daily embellishment. Currently, it stands as a red hot piece of napalm burning half her head of hair away. (Sissy!)
Now I have my comeback story in which Frankfort’s fine display of color in the sky will degrade into a show of such un-delight that some patrons are still asleep, a coma induced of boredom and homogenized patriotism. Super-(bah humbug).
Frank

Back from the dead

Sorry for the long delay between posts. I have been sick and I have been dealing with some . . . stuff. Internal stuff - enough said about that. I will start posting soon - maybe tomorrow and maybe tonight. I want all people in the class to keep writing no matter what so I guess I will follow my own doctrine. I am ready to rise from the dead so to speak and I hope all you guys are too. Lets get writing again.
Frank