Desert Life

Baby Hummingbird

Outside my kitchen window--a tiny nest in an orange tree.

Let's take a look...

A sneak peak of coming attractions:
 Two of the tiniest eggs you'll ever see.

The camouflaged, green-feathered mommy. 

Two miniature little hummingbird chicks. Where's mommy?

A blurred closeup of one of the babies weathering a windy day.

One Small Step...

The moon landing had to be one of the most influential events of my childhood. If man could fly all the way up to the bright orb in the sky and actually set foot on the dust-filled landscape near the Sea of Tranquility, then I figured anything was possible. Even writing a book!

I owned a typewriter but didn't really know how to use it. Stories came out whether I typed them or not. After all, I loved reading books--piles and piles of library books! Here are two of my earliest ‘books’. Hope this post encourages parents to take the wee ones to the library. Give them a dictionary, colored pencils and reams of paper. Nurture the creativity and I’m sure your children will thrive. Both of these stories have a normal plot where I introduced the characters and got them into trouble, ending with the arrival of a hero who helped get them out of trouble. A classic plot-arc all written after school was out for summer. Please excuse the childish grammatical errors. I left these almost exactly as they were written, so many years ago and the only person who ever read this stuff before you, was my mom.

Date Written June 13, 1969 (One giant leap for Eve Gaal)

Written and Illustrated by Eve N--(my maiden name started with N) with atrocious handwriting. 

This book even has a Fruit of the Loom Seal of Approval! LOL

_{The Six Happy Ducks}

_{Six happy ducks lived on a farm in Kentucky. They were newly born and did not get to see the world outside, yet the ducks were happy and they went down to the pond to take a swim but mother duck had to come too. The ducks took an hour swim and then started back up the trail to the duck yard wobbling their way to where they would be safe. One night, when the sun had just popped out, so did Ronald the youngest duck. He saw that mom was resting or sleeping with five yellow happy little ducks. Ronald got on the road and took a walk. He wanted to see the outside world. He was very happy.}

The shocking ending might mean I had issues. LOL
Thank goodness I ended it happily ever after.

_{Back at home with mom were standing five sad little ducks because their brother had run away to see the outside world. Mother was wondering where he would go next but she did not know. On the road, Ron saw many flowers and met many ants and animals. He talked with them and started talking to a turkey and the duck saw the different world here and there. Soon he met a fox. The fox asked if knew the way to Foxville town but the duck answered no. The fox did not believe him so he followed him all the way home and then he asked the duck’s mother. She did not know either so he ate the mother and the ducks one by one. Soon luckily, a hunter passed by and saw the fox. He shot him and cut open his belly and the ducks lived happily ever after.} 

This one has a lot of pictures.

_{Lost Creek}

_{Johnny and David were on a camping trip. They had all their belongings in the car and they were starting to unpack their things. Johnny decided to take a walk with David so he had to ask dad if they could go. Their father said it is alright, so they started off into the woods. They were happy.}

_{Soon they came to a cave where they saw a little trickle of water running beside the rocks. It led in to a cave. It was dark but they managed to get in. They stepped on the rocks in the cave. They saw pictures on the walls. They were of Indian legends and battles. David was scared. He saw a torch so he ran and got it. Johnny said, David look a golden Indian drum. It’s beautiful. I learned about it in my history book and it was lost near Thunder Mountain in a cave called Lost Creek. Because anything in it was lost. David said is this the cave? Oh no, we’re lost for sure because this is a maze. It was getting dark, almost six o’clock. They were cold and their father was worried. He went to a man that used to live close to the maze. He was the only man on that mountain that knew the way in and out. The man’s name was Larry Swewt he was from Scotland. He was a bright man and always willing to help. So he went in the cave with father and came out with Johnny and David. That was the most exciting trip they ever took and Larry stayed for supper. The next day they left for home.} 

Flash forward to 2013 and you can read my newest book Penniless Hearts by clicking on the title.

The Truth Behind the Challenge in Paradise

Still shaking a bit after the A to Z Challenge and slightly shocked that the wimpy part of me tried to pull me into the abyss of failure. On this end of my computer, you’d think I did something incredibly dangerous, like climb Mount Everest without a Sherpa, swim across a Nile full of crocodiles or hug a topless stranger with shingles. Hearing me whine about it, you’d think I was stranded on a deserted island with Spandau Ballet videos and empty jars of Nutella. Fortunately, the temptation to finish exceeded the temptation to quit.

There is no giving up where I’m concerned.
 Persistence pumps through my veins, determination holds my shield.

The love of culture, of reading and of finding out new things made me feel I was dining on the tree of knowledge. There were so many fascinating posts, cover reveals, movie reviews, Kindle deals, writing suggestions, jokes, travel articles and more, that my head is still reeling from all of it. In addition, there were those who didn't participate but still posted wonderful updates I didn't want to miss. After thirty days my eyes were glazed over like a terrier licking beer steins at a German frat party. In other words, it was a good glazed over but the doctor laughed and called it an A to Z hangover.

Wasn't it a trip learning things about other bloggers and snooping around in old kitchens, gardens, fancy houses or books? I was having more fun reading the posts of others than writing my own. I actually went in with a pretty good plan which consisted of uplifting, two-sentence posts but as the month wore on so did my attitude. It started showing by the time I reached R for regrets. Yikes. Glad I wrote about Venice instead of my eyesight or carpal tunnel. Fortunately, I’m not a quitter and though my armor was wearing thin, somehow, I made it. Thank goodness. I fought the demons and won!

From Spandau Ballet's song "True":

I bought a ticket to the world, 

But now I've come back again 

Why do I find it hard to write the next line? 

Oh I want the truth to be said 

Huh huh huh hu-uh huh 

I know this much is true 

Huh huh huh hu-uh huh 

I know this much is true 

This much is true.... 

Did you participate in A to Z?

Art and Fears-Re-posted from August 2010

Michelangelo's sculpture of a slave emerging from the marble.
 Sometimes I feel I am a slave to the rules. (Photo:Wikipedia)

This is a re-worked blog about fear and those omnipresent rules which help us communicate.

While looking for the leg and the arm, the face, the features hidden in the stone, you have to carve out the bad marble and create something only you can see. Michelangelo didn't refer to a rulebook even though he studied anatomy. Picasso knew almost too much about painting, but his paintings took on simple lines and forms that to this day puzzle even the greatest curators of contemporary art. Someone once asked Robert Frost what he was describing in one of his poems and he said he couldn't remember the exact reason he wrote it. He wanted the reader to make the magical lines their own and that was part of his genius. He wanted the reader to interpret the words in their own way.

In the case of marble sculptures or oil paintings, the viewer can behold what they want to see. Everyone has a different opinion of a work of art. It can take your breath away, make you laugh or cry. In some instances, artwork doesn't do anything but annoys angers or drains us emotionally. Any movement in emotion is a testament to the incredible talent of the artist. Do you recall movies where you absolutely detested the bad guy? Your emotions were running amok while you might have thrown pillows at the television screen. That screenwriter had the ability to turn bad into worse. Evil into a palpable pain. You almost felt the knife and smelled the blood. Meanwhile, someone else might see that same scene and laugh at the use of too much Hollywood fake blood. They might not find it sad, bad or evil but funny and stupid. They might even be inspired to write their own screenplay.

Personally, I feel that beautiful and even painful, tormented expressions of art come from a divine place, a creative place that should arrive in your own format, style and fashion. Rules may feel uncomfortable, but they bring us together in understanding. Freaked out about grammar? Do not let it guide your heart. Free yourself from the chains of worry and invent, produce and make up something. If you don't want us to understand, that's cool...maybe someday we'll comprehend the depth of passion pouring from your soul.

Z is for...

A super fashionable butterfly! 

This Wikipedia photo is stunning

but creative writers need to 'show with words rather

than tell'. If this photo was not available, how 

would you describe this style maven?

 The official state butterfly of Florida,
Zebra Heliconian, can also be spotted around the Southern parts of
the United States and South America. I have seen her
 relatives in the butterfly house at the Living Desert.

Have fun and tell me about her or your experience with
one of her family members in the comments below:
___________________________________________

___________________________________________

____________________________________________

Y is for...

Y is for You.

Without YOU, I am not a writer.

You are the reader who possibly likes what I have to say.

You are the reader searching, learning and growing.

Should I lead you astray,

I’d never fight.

But I’ll tell you my side.

Though you might laugh at my words,

I consider your eyes jewels scanning the page,

Your thoughts pearls,

Your comments gold.

X is for...

X MARKS THE SPOT

The unknown, mysterious reason the main characters leave through the front door.

The exact spot on a map where you are located and usually designated by the words, “You are here.”

A site marking buried and sunken treasure and disclosed on a map with a giant X.

It’s a signature from someone who doesn't know how to write his or her name.

It’s the answer in your algebra class.

Perhaps it’s a female chromosome.

It’s naughty and erotic.

This is the flag of Scotland with a St. Andrew's cross.

Possibly crossed out.

It’s a Roman 10.

Christ.

X

W is for...

W is for some wickedly awesome blog sites.

Windchaser’s Journey- It’s a blog written by Norma Beishir, author of over 16 bestselling books. Her viewpoints, memories and perspectives bring readers into her world of intrigue filled books and life in St. Louis. Take a look by clicking here: Windchaser's Journey

Weaving a Tale or Two-Interesting blog by a knowledgeable, skilled writer named Donna Weaver who always has refreshing advice about grammar or interesting book reviews. Get tangled in the woven creativity here: Weaving a Tale or Two.

The Water’s Edge-This is a blog that drew me in with fascinating but complicated recipes and party ideas. Lately, Carla White has been writing restaurant reviews for the places she visits with her fiancée in Canada. You'll be planning a trip or at least licking your lips by clicking here: The Water's Edge.

Volcanoes and The Ring of Fire

The Ring of Fire and Volcano Facts

Volcanoes are dangerous. They can trigger earthquakes, tsunamis, flash floods, mudslides, avalanches, rock-slides, hot lava and ash flows. There is also something called a pyroclastic flow which is a rushing wall of ash, rocks and pumice heated to over 900 degrees, racing down the side of the volcano at over 60 mph. If you are anywhere close to an erupting volcano, please get at least 20 miles away to be safe. Should you have sensitive lungs, run to a hospital before the ash causes damage to your respiratory system.

Photo from Wikipedia

Most of the active volcanoes in the world are located in the Ring of Fire which circles around the Pacific Ocean. A volcano that might blow up one day is dormant and those volcanoes that seem to have run out of magma, are not expected to erupt, thus are labeled extinct. Hooray for extinct volcanoes!

The biggest volcano on Earth is Hawaii’s Mauna Loa at 13,677ft. In fact, if you measured the depth and height both below sea level—under water and up to the top—it would be taller than any mountain on the planet. Hawaii has four large volcanoes  Mauna Kea, Kilauea, Hualalai and Mauna Loa. Kilauea has been continuously erupting since 1983.

There are approximately sixty-five volcanoes in the U.S. One of those is Mount St. Helens which erupted in 1980. When I visited the site in 1982, it was still covered with white ash. Today there are signs of life growing between the rocks.

According to the U.S. Geological Survey, Indonesia has the most active volcanoes.

The most common rock formed by lava is basalt. Small rocks spewing from the crater are called volcanic bombs. There is also a cooled web-like glass residue sometimes called Pele’s Hair and the small pebbles at the end of these strands are called Pele’s tears. Besides basalt there is the pumice formed by the molten lava touching water and cooling quickly. The holes in the pumice form when the bubbling gases blow through the rock.

If you enjoy tales about volcanoes, maybe you’ll like my novel Penniless Hearts. It’s an adventure taking place on the Hawaiian Islands where traditional island culture makes searching for your heart a little easier. Click here to get your Amazon copy today!

U is For....

U is for Unhappiness

If you've followed my posts in the past, you probably know I’m somewhat of a Pollyanna and don’t encourage anyone to listen to sad, melancholic music. Admit it, most Country Western music is SAD. I don't even condone the reading of say a Romeo or Juliet or anything reeking with depressing dramatic and tragic soliloquies. I suppose if it’s necessary to read something dramatic for school or to sing and perform sorrowful things for the sake of art, it has a place in our society and that’s commendable. One of my favorite poets is Edna St. Vincent Millay and she’s obsessed about death in almost every poem. We have the freedom to be unhappy I guess.We also need to hold on to traditions in our museums and opera houses but once we are home in our sanctuary, I feel there’s no place for despondent and soulful gypsy music, shows about the FBI flushing out child molesters or even horror movies. (I realize I have many friends who like scary stories or dark poetry and yet I still don’t connect that with a person’s happiness quotient.) In my mind, an ideal home is the Jimmy Buffet hideout, where you don’t have to drink and drive to have a cocktail. A shoe-less place where soft couches, perhaps pets, lounge in the afternoon rays of the sun.  No front-page news agonizing on coffee tables and a comedy on the tube instead of CNN…. We all have our own ideas of what constitutes a happy home and the freedom to choose how we live and with who is fundamental. I'm not saying stay out of touch with informative news articles, because we have to know what's going on and yet I feel that once the daily paper is bird cage liner or once the morning news is finished, it's good to find a refuge from things bringing us down in the world. Home is where our heart is and after our busy--multi-tasking, working, volunteering and traffic filled day--we should be eager to come home.

Imagine my surprise when someone dear to me showed me an article in the February/ March AARP magazine, (I swear it wasn't my copy) and it had an article about how you can live happier in some countries than others. There are happier countries? I have always been under the semi-false notion that we created our own sense of joy and contentment depending on the life choices we make and the company we keep.   Ruut Veenhoven, Phd. however, who presides over the World Database of Happiness compiles all the information about which countries are happiest. It appears you can move from one country to another and become happier? The grass is greener? Super curious about this phenomenon, I pulled up the happiness scores of various countries and found that the happiest country in the world is Costa Rica with the highest rating of 8.5. Sounds good—sunny beaches, palms and monkeys in the trees—truly, it appears happy from almost every angle. This World Data Base information website is available at http://www1.eur.nl/fsw/happiness/. Each country was rated on a scale of 1-10. The United States came in at 7.5 with Canada a bit higher. (Maybe we need monkeys?) 

The AARP article went on to say that the study generally found the happiest folks in sunny areas near water where they can interact socially. This information brought me back to my original point about people creating their own happiness, because the country with the lowest score of all was Togo, with a happiness rating of only 2.6. Togo has sunshine, water and since it's relatively small, they can interact but are still unhappy. Obviously, there are regimes and governments that can control every aspect of a person’s heart,

This is an old picture of Togo from Wikipedia

but 2.6 sounded so low to me it immediately made me pray for the families in Togo. I don’t know and may never understand the politics that creates unhappy citizens, but I think positive messages, happy stories and beautiful inspiring music is a step in the right direction. Dwelling on these statistics however made me unhappy. I started wondering about people who moved from happy countries to lower rated countries and how long it would take them to be acclimated to the cultural climate of their new home. Would they change in a negative way or would all their friends just think they were out of touch and a little too cheerful? Would a nasty bugger who moved from almost anywhere to Costa Rica find bliss and become nice? Somehow, I doubt it. Unhappy folks are unhappy anywhere.

T is for Two Anthologies in One Month!

If you enjoy The Desert Rocks, you'll enjoy these:

First there's the funny, true story about my trip to Paris in Not Your Mother's Book on Travel.

T is for Travel....

Then there's my poem, White Deer in the charity anthology.

T is for Turtle....

Carapace
by Eve Gaal

Two traveling turtles.
Relax in the lagoon,
They watch the moon,
Talk about the race.

Two traveling turtles
Hide their eggs in the sand,
Above the waves on dryer land,
To protect the unknown.

Two traveling turtles,
Snapping guise,
Definitely old, noticeably wise.
Swam ashore but never left home.

S is For...

S is for two kind, considerate, wonderful bloggers that have been following me since the very beginning and have blogs starting with the letter S.

First there's Shelly Arkon who just released her novel Secondhand Shoes.

What an awesome book. You'll be turning the pages faster and faster just to find out if she'll be wearing the shoes or using them as a weapon! Hilarious stuff. She's psychic and can hear her dead grandmother who helps her find her way out of forests full of snakes and hotels full of carpet beetles. Grandma also helps the germ phobic Lila get away from her maniac husband and his stinky, gross friends who carry guns and do horrible things. For everyone who likes adventure stories and for every woman who hates her ex-husband, this book will make you laugh your socks off!  Her blog is available here.

The second blogger who has been following The Desert Rocks since it's inception is William Kendall at Speak of The Devil. He is quite a writer and will be releasing his debut novel Heaven and Hell soon.It sounds incredibly intriguing and I'm desperately trying to figure out his hints about a Very Bad Thing that will take place in his book.  Find out more about this
amazing writer at: http://williamkendallbooks.blogspot.com

R is for...

R is for Regrets

Try not to have too many of these. Some of them are small and some are large. The large regrets seem to stay with you for a long, long time.

Example of small regret:

Do I wish Random House published my book instead of my independent publishing company? Sure, but I’ll survive and if you have been published by them, congratulations. I suppose a fabulous query or an incredible twist of fate could have helped me pursue that option BUT since I'm not a celebrity, politician or a teen idol, it didn't seem like a logical dream. (Yes, I agree that dreams have no foundation in logic but anyway....) 

Big Regret:

We’re whisking down the freeway, autobahn or whatever it’s called in Italy, when we see a sign that says something like “Venice, next exit,” and believe it or not, we keep driving!!!

Incredible huh? There I was within a hundred miles of the canals, the gondolas with singing sailors, Murano

glass, St. Mark’s, wet cobblestone streets drenched in history and culture but we didn't turn off to see it!!! (How many exclamation points am I allowed to use here?)

“WAIT,” I yelled, “ shouldn't we go there?”

“No,” he replied, gently patting the top of my hand. “Don’t forget about your allergies, hon.”

Allergies? Here I am in Europe and he decides to be all concerned about my freakin’ allergies!!!!

If you happen to be in Italy and see
 "Venice, next exit," you might want to follow that sign.

That was eighteen years ago. Do you think I’ll get over it and I don’t mean the allergies? *Sneezes and grabs tissue.* 

Q is for Quatrain

Q is for Quatrain

A quatrain is usually a four-line stanza with an abab rhyming pattern. Quatrains however, don’t have to rhyme. Most Shakespearean sonnets are groupings of three quatrains and a couplet. They are grouped and arranged as such: abab, cdcd, efef, gg. Modern poets such as Walt Whitman, (who self-published his poems by the way) preferred writing free verse, but he still constructed his words into natural stanzas occasionally grouping them into metered quatrains. Whitman wove words, syllables and sounds into a rhythmic creation that merged, ebbed and flowed with meaning.

 Quatrains look nice on the page. Four lines and then a space and four lines again and another space and so on….not to be confused with quadrilateral which would make it have four sides like a square, rectangle, oblong or trapezoid. I suppose a clever poet could come up with quatrains written in a quadrilateral but now we’re getting into Geo-metric verse, made famous by a guy called Gerald Lynton Kaufman.

In summary:  the easiest thing to remember is that a quatrain is like a train of four quaint poetic lines.

This logo is a quadrilateral.

P is For Plans

The best thing about the

 game of golf …is... that

 the ball makes all the plans.

O is for Ozymandias

Ozymandias

I met a traveller from an antique land

Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert... Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:

And on the pedestal these words appear:

"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away.

By Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)

N is for...Never Give up!

N is for Narrative, Novel or Novella?

What are you writing? We all know that a novella is a shorter version of a novel, topping out at something like 80 pages. A narrative is any story but a novel is usually fictional prose. Authors usually write novels not narratives or am I over analyzing all this, while being tangled in semantics? When an author writes a narrative, won't he or she call it a novel anyway? Whatever you're writing don't stop until it's finished. 

My novel is 426 pages.

"Everything stinks till it's finished."

Dr. Seuss

M is for Memories

M is Morning in Mosquito Flats or Memories
From my travel journal

September 8^th 2004

 

Chicken-foot Lake in the High Sierras

     We woke this morning ready to tackle our biggest adventure and our favorite lake: Chicken Foot Lake. After a quick breakfast consisting of oatmeal, we drove up past Rock Creek Lake to park at Mosquito Flats. From there it’s a meandering hike past several lakes to Chicken Foot where we enjoyed our picnic lunch before turning around. The hike is only three or four miles long in one direction, but quite a bit of it toward the top is steep and rugged. Late summer snow clung to a few boulders on the other side. Our pooch, Nappy was having a wonderful time and enjoyed jumping up on rocks without tiring out. The altitude at Chicken Foot Lake is about 11,000ft. And I was feeling it, big time. The weather was perfect--warm, with very few clouds in sight. Each pristine and crystal blue lake along our path was naturally decorated with late summer wildflowers. Truly a breathtaking, glorious day, but after the heat and dust of the hike, I eagerly anticipated my shower at the cabin. Near the bottom of the trail, we sat by the rushing Rock Creek and relaxed on the grass before we drove down for dinner.

L is for Life

L is for Life.

Life is Hard

By Eve Gaal

I once read a book that said life is hard.

Then I read a book that said life is fun.

I read another book that said life is sad.

Still another, said life is happy.

I searched for books that had it all

But each basically had one individual theme.

So I wrote my own book about life--

For a while, it was fun,

Then sad and when it was

Finally done, I was pretty happy--

But that one writer really had it right.

Life is hard.

K is for Knowing

Harmony comes from knowing 

The exact melody and tweaking it just so….

Of course living well is an art too.

Customize your life and create lovely music.

Schoenhut C1019P