Christmas

Christmas.

The mere mention of the holiday often lightens one's heart. Cheery decorations brighten winter's gloom. Friends and family gather to feast (cookies!) and bestow presents.

I don't mean to blow the fuse on your Christmas light strings, but there's another side. I thought this letter a worthy reminder that Yuletide is the season for giving:

Dear Santa,

My family is one of the thousands who have lost their homes this year. A declining job market, soaring prices... We didnt live beyond our means unless hot dogs are now considered a luxury. I'm trying hard to count my blessings as my family is luckier than some. We're together, living under a decent roof---for now.

Our Christmas club funds paid for rent and heating oil. If we decorate a tree, there won't be many presents underneath, but we'll share the greatest gift of all---love.

They say Christmas is a time for miracles, Santa, and we really need some...

Faith---It's so very hard to believe that an Almighty exists, much less that He knows what He's doing. War. Hunger. Homelessness. How can a loving God let so many suffer?

Charity---Greed and fear have deterred many "haves" from sharing even a little with the "have-nots." Part of me can't blame them. Rather than asking them to open their wallets, couldn't they open their hearts? (Or better yet, squeeze one more onto the payroll?)

Hope---Without faith and charity, it's nearly impossible to expect circumstances to improve.Yet my greatest hope is that people will look over their fences and put themselves in their neighbors' shoes. Misfortune isn't contagious, but it might be a breath away.

Wishing you a joyful holiday filled with love,
Mom

WIN Every Heart Has Its Day

To celebrate the e-release of my historical novel as well as my new website, I'm giving away one digital copy of Every Heart Has Its Day in an easy---and I think unique---contest:

When I told my family that The Wild Rose Press contracted my novel, one of my daughters' friends designed a book cover.

Visit http://www.lyndalukow.com/contest.htm to see the creation, then email your guess of the designer's age to lyndalukow@lyndalukow.com . I'll throw all correct answers into a hat and draw a winner on October 10, 2008.

Good luck!

Lynda

Ain't Life Grand?!

(Get comfortable. Grab your favorite beverage. This is gonna be a long one.)

Have you ever had one of those days when you just didn’t want to get out of bed?

Yesterday, like every other morning, my husband slipped his arm under my neck and snuggled against my back. (Sure beats a blaring alarm clock, huh?) The kids hadn’t yet woken. The sun hadn’t yet risen. I begged, “Can we stay here all day? Please?” Since it was too late for him to call off work, I dragged my butt down the stairs.

My blood pressure shot through the roof. Baron, my cinnamon Siberian husky, apparently didn’t appreciate my lethargy. I stumbled through his puddle after I cleaned up the garbage he had ripped from the kitchen can. When my husband tied him out, the furry brat didn’t look one bit contrite.

Within moments, the stench of burning sneakers permeated the house. I flung open the door to a noxious cloud. (Okay, maybe my vision blurred.) The fog followed Baron as he zipped into the living room and rubbed his snout all over the couch. One son ran gagging into the playroom. My daughter flew back upstairs and slammed her door. My hubby grabbed the dog’s collar and dragged him to the back door while my youngest son retrieved the dog’s leash from the porch. (I still wonder if the skunk unclasped him.)

I spent the rest of the day de-skunking the dog and house.

For those who find themselves in similar circumstances, I found the perfect home remedy: Mix one quart of hydrogen peroxide, 1/4 cup baking soda, and a dash of Dawn dishwashing detergent. Apply, avoiding eyes. Let stand 3 minutes. Rinse thoroughly. WARNING: This solution bleaches hair. (However, if your dog is as dumb as the proverbial blond, too---as in plays with black and white kitties with big, fluffy tails TWICE in the same year---you might be willing to risk it.) Woolite Pet Oxygen Stain and Odor Remover followed by Febreze Air Effects Pet Odor Eliminator cleaned and deodorized my couch.

So today…

…other than overusing ellipses…

…I celebrate fresh air…

…and---drum roll, please…

…the e-release of Every Heart Has Its Day!

Please visit my author page and/or The Wild Rose Press to buy your copy!

Thanks,
Lynda

Hibernating in August

Q: What do you get when two sons receive concussions in just under a week?

A: Three head cases.

My 16-year-old son's injury concerned, but didn't upset me too much. He plays football, and we both accept the game's inherent risks. Maybe next time he gets chop blocked---undoubtedly there will be a next time since he has healed and returned to the field---he won't land on his helmet.

My 14-year-old son, who visited the ER a week before his brother, is still sidelined. The circumstances surrounding his injuries, which include a broken nose that required surgery, differ vastly. Mama Bear (that's me) might have hidden her fangs if the boy who assaulted her son from behind had accepted responsibility and sincerely apologized. However, I'm not yet able to forgive Mr. Macho Wannabe or the coach who failed to show up for or cancel practice.

In the past month, I've seen more hospitals, doctors, and medical personnel than a Grey's Anatomy-aholic. Something other than my sanity had to give, so writing hibernated.

Anyway, if my cross country freshman doesn't strain her ankle, my collegians don't develop hernias from their books, and my gridiron giants continue recovery, I'll sheathe my claws and my fingers will once again lumber over the keyboard.

Should you wish to read my latest finished piece, please visit www.longandshortreviews.com and click on the "Free Short Story" button. Marriage on the Menu is currently the featured short, and will be available in the archives for the next six months (or so). I'd love to hear your comments!

Thanks,
Lynda

WHIP the WIP BLIP

Many writers refer to their current project as a WIP – Work In Progress. I don’t know about you, but a homophone for an instrument of torture motivates me to run, not walk, away from the keyboard. On the other hand, WHIP – Wreaking Havoc In Progress – is appropriate on productive days.

However, neither WIP nor WHIP specifies the stage or type of work. I suggest writers utilize more accurate acronyms:

PIP – Planning In Progress – covers that vital stage before one writes. (Can also refer to Plotting or Protagonist In Progress.)

RIP – Research In Progress – refers to that other prerequisite stage.

NIP – Novel In Progress. (A nip or two of your favorite beverage might help the words flow, too.)

SSIP – Short Story In Progress. (I tend to hiss at word limitations. How about you?)

BLIP – BLog In Progress. After all, blogs are barely blips on cyberspace’s sonar.

AIP – Article In Progress. Accurately mimic the noise evoked by futile searches and/or word-on-the-tip-of-my-tongue-itis.

EIP – Essay In Progress – See above.

TRIP – Title Rendering In Progress (For those authors who, like me, invest days in creating a superior sobriquet.)

DRIP – Document Ripping In Progress (The perfect acronym for editing.)

QUIP – QUery In Progress (Clever is the goal, but a query rarely results on the spur of the moment.)

SHIP – Summarizing Handiwork In Progress (For the synopsis stage.)

I could SLIP (Silly Linguistics In Progress) on and on, but I think I’ve VIPped (Vacuum In Progress) enough.

Can you add to the list? Which acronym describes your current project? Feel free to leave a comment.

A thorn by any other name still...

I'll let you fill in the rest while I again retrieve my mind from the gutter.

You may or may not notice I changed the name of my blog. Though I liked From the Heart, it's not exactly original. At least one other TWRP author and an RWA Chapter bear the name. I don't mind sharing, but trite I will rarely be.

Besides, the new title fits me just as well. Writing is my passion. Eventually I might share some writing tips, but currently I'm suffering from BTDT. During the four (or five?) years I volunteered as a community leader on iVillage's Writing Exercise Board, my co-CLs and I posted weekly writing prompts, mini lessons, and monthly lessons. We covered nearly every major element---commas (which my friend Mary aptly calls the gnats of the punctuation world), how to start, characters, plot, setting, POV, active writing. The list goes on.

Would you like to know what I discovered? A lot of people desire publication, but very few possess dedication. It's WORK! Sometimes fun, often tedious. Writers need open minds and thick skin. Publication is a crap shoot. If you don't enjoy writing, give up before you start.

I'll exit that podium before I get ridiculous. Oops! Too late! Over the years, I developed Lynda's Logic, which makes perfect sense---to me. When the mood strikes, I'll blog about my observations on subjects such as handbags, missing socks, TV ads.

Feel free to stop by, read, and comment if the mood strikes. As always, if you'd like to suggest a topic, I'm all mouth. ;-)

Honored by Honorable Mention

Words are my favorite toys. I enjoy twisting, flipping, and STACKING. What can I say? I'm a word-aholic who'd burst if I tried to quit cold turkey. Besides, I just want to taper off. Too much of a good thing and all that, you know?

So I decided to enter the First Annual Short Story Contest at the Long and Short of It. Basically, the contest had two rules:

1. Write a romace with a happily ever after ending. No problem. Romance is my favorite genre because of HEA. I'm inspired by characters who can overlook each others flaws and conquer all the obstacles life---AKA a conniving author---throws at them.

2. Word limit: 1000. Are you kidding? My weekly grocery list contains more. Short stories have specific rules: start by shooting the sheriff, one POV, minimal setting, engaging plot, and one protagonist with clearly defined GMC who either does or does not change. All that in 1K?

Rarely one to turn away from any challenge, especially self-imposed, I lit my keyboard with a BIC. (That's Butt In Chair.) After one computer malfunction, feedback from four critique partners, and five re-writes, I submitted Marriage on the Menu.

Tonight I learned I won Honorable Mention. I hope you'll visit The Long and Short of It on September 4th, when my short story will be posted. (If the sieve I call a brain retains the date, I'll post a reminder.)

Today's Subject: Handbags

Because I often left behind my purse, I preferred pockets. (If I forget my pockets, I have problems larger than a lost driver’s license. But I digress…) Cash, keys, ID, maybe a tissue or two all fit. Oh, the stuff added a bulge or two, but with my hips, no one noticed.

Then I had children. Even my saddlebags couldn’t conceal bottles, diapers, and wipes. After a few tantrums---which made Audrey from Little Shop of Horrors sound like a mouse---I NEVER went anywhere without a two-ton diaper bag hanging from my shoulder.

Eventually the children outgrew bottles and diapers, and I went back to stuffing my pockets. The only exception came with dressy affairs. Unfortunately, few people dare to invite a couple with six children. (Who needs a reason to hire a babysitter more? But I digress…) In case a minor miracle comes my way, I own two clutches. I don’t know why. I waste more time trying to stuff necessities into these teeny, tiny accessories than I spend standing in line for my own bathroom. Clutches should come with built-in pagers, but even a microchip won’t fit.

Anyway, a few months ago I discovered my pockets could no longer hold everything I needed to carry. Some days a moving van lacks ample space for my notebooks, pens, papers, photos, make-up (lest I look like Frankenstein’s bride—with my hair that’s not much of a stretch---but I digress…again), the kitchen sink, and etc. So I caved and bought a tote bag. Nothing fancy. Durable vinyl denim. Hundreds of pockets so I can’t find anything until I no longer need it.

Now, if you’re a mom, you know handbags serve as receptacles for everything. Papers for school, pens to steal, snack to stave off starvation, and TRASH. Whenever my bag is closer than the wastebasket, the kids stuff their gum and candy wrappers into my purse. While I appreciate their anti-litter campaign, I wish my bag wouldn’t be on HazMat’s watch list.

So today I decided to clean out my tote. After surpassing a lawn and leaf bag’s maximum capacity, I finally reached bottom. There I found the chocolate licorice I purchased before Christmas. Curious, I bent a stick, which snapped and cut my finger. Now if only I could find a Band-Aid.

Have you discovered any long lost treasures in your purse? If so, I’d love to hear your story.

TechNO?

No matter how much I kick, scream, and lash out, cyberspace has latched on and refuses to release me. Don't get me wrong. I adore the Internet. With email and instant messaging, friends are a click away. Search engines put answers at my fingertips. Perfect!

Until...

I have to write about me.

I am rarely a Conversation Starter. You know the type. CS's ask total strangers, "How are you?" or comment on the weather or the contents of shopping carts. On the other hand, I'm seldom a Conversation Ender. CE's give abrupt answers or walk away. I am a CC---a Conversation Continuer. If you ask me about anything except politics or religion, I'll share my thoughts and then ask yours.

So...

If you'd like to discuss any particular topics, please leave a comment. In the meantime, I'll work on becoming a CS.

Follow your dreams,
Lynda

Trailer: Every Heart Has Its Day