A Secret Recipe-(Easy)

Since I’d rather be working on polishing up my future book today-, I’m sharing one of my secret recipes. Everything you need will be in this one fabulous dish that tastes delicious enough for company and is easy enough for making on a weeknight. In fact, I used to assemble everything in the morning all the way up to the baking part--refrigerate it with the lid on and then bake it when I got home from work. Easy and impressive!

 Sweet Potato & Apple Pork Chop Casserole


2 bone in pork chops. The nice thick kind. I season mine with this hickory-smoked seasoning, but salt will do fine. (Not much, salt raises your blood pressure)
2 apples (sliced-peeling is not necessary)
2 tablespoons brown sugar
¼ tsp. cinnamon
2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons Olive oil
2 Sweet potatoes-(peeled and cut into 1 inch thick slices)
½ red onion sliced thin. (Optional)

Heat olive oil and brown both sides of pork chops for a few minutes.
Remove from heat and preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Put apples and sweet potatoes into cast iron pan with strong lid- like a Le Creuset style pan. (Cast iron)
Sprinkle with the cinnamon, brown sugar and dot with the butter.
If there is room in your pan, add some thinly sliced onions.
Put chops on top and cover with lid.
Bake for 1½hr. Serves 2. Enjoy!

Let me know what you think. Yummy, huh?

I will never attempt to compete with the great Dr. Suess.

Writing, writing everywhere.
Writing, writing when I dare-(A poem)

I can write in a car-
Or I can write in a bar.
It doesn’t matter where I write-
I can write both day and night.
I can write on a log,
With my glasses in a fog.
Out on the sea in a giant boat,
I have been known to write a note.


Yes, I can write in a wink
Even running out of ink.
Words can drip like Summer rain,
Out of  hidden corners of my brain.
I can write on a train,
Desktop, laptop, it’s all the same.
When I’m happy or in pain.
When my tears run off my nose-
Loving poems, enjoying prose
Writing is…the life I know.

Happy Easter-Keep the Momentum Going!

Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise:

Proverbs 6:6

The King of Rock and Roll will entertain you while 

you read my humble post. By the way, the first time he auditioned they told him to keep his day job driving a truck. His story inspires me...but of course there is a bigger story...with a greater King.

A large stream of ants wound their way up onto Calvary.

Each ant carrying away a tear. 

“Keep marching!” A voice kept saying.

“March,” the voice, repeated.

One of the soldier ants stepped aside to ask,

“Who is that man in the middle?”

“Shhh, “ one of the  older  ants said, and “be careful,“ he added,  lugging his tear drop on a leafy olive branch.

Men and women were crowding around and pointing. 

The ants had to be cautious to avoid being stepped on, while staying in formation. 

The younger ant looked up and asked,

“I was just wondering, because my tear-drop has traces of blood.”

“Yeah, don’t look, stop wondering and keep marching,” the older ant said in an authoritative sounding voice, “It’s their world and they handle things their own way.”

The other ant felt something in his little ant heart. He listened to the voices in the crowd. Again, he spoke up, “He makes me feel something…” 

But the older ant cut him off and yelled, “Stop looking and get back to work.” The older ant strained while shoving his tear-laden branch across a dry piece of desert to catch up with the others. “Come on,” he shouted to the younger ant who stopped and appeared to be climbing onto a rock at the foot of the cross.

Putting down his tear, the little ant, looked up into the suffering face of Jesus, and  asked, “Can you free me from slavery?” The rock shook. A giant earthquake created a fault that divided the tiny ant from all the others who looked like they were having a hard time holding onto their tears. People started screaming and running around in all directions. Dust blew up and the whole army of ants fell into disarray, some falling into the chasm created by the fresh cracks in the sandy soil. Still being young, the ant showed no fear, deciding at that precise moment to change his life forever.

“I am very small and insignificant," he said,"but I would help you if I could. 

Please…” he shed his own miniscule tear, “Can I follow you?”

Happy Anniversary to Me!

Let’s share a drink for my anniversary, shall we?

Last year at this time, I attended a writer’s conference and wore my best suits to pitch agents who didn’t represent woman’s fiction.  I felt like a scared poodle accidentally wandering into the pound. Literary agents in attendance represented children‘s literature, vampire and fantasy fiction writers, and of course self-publishing representatives were all over the place.  Not wanting to face euthanasia, I gathered my courage and left with my tail between my legs, shaking and vowing never to return. By the end of the three day, rather expensive experience, I heard many other writers say they were going to take up needlepoint and attend night school for taxidermist certification. Imagining animals quickly darting away from would-be writers and the line for yarn growing at the local craft supply store, I gathered my wits and tried not to cry.

I am not a quitter--besides, I kept remembering the old adage about genius being 99% perspiration and 1% inspiration--didn’t they know I needed some reassurance after working so feverishly on my novel, my queries, my synopsis, bio, etc. for an entire year? Where were the smiling people I saw on the brochure? Why were published authors saying bad things about other published, successful authors? Why was I so happy to change into my bathing suit and jump into the deep end of the hotel pool?  In the final analysis, one of the nuggets of valuable information I walked away with, was that I should start a blog.

One year ago, I started this blog to expose my seedlings, my ideas and varied ways of communicating to the world. All in all, I have to say it has been fun, although I still have goals that I haven’t met and
a bunch of stories in my head that beg to be written. The connections on my slippery slope up into the publishing world has lead me to many interesting people with similar dreams and interesting points of view.  The most amazing thing is that I spent most of my life in the publishing business and everything is changing rather quickly, before my eyes. My brain  is  powering up in DOS while everyone around me is operating in Windows 7…Never mind, computers are taking over my universe and the room is spinning faster and faster…but I don’t want to talk about technology right now. This party is about the Desert Rocks.

My strengths, my weaknesses, have been opened,
 and lay exposed like clams holding desperately onto their imperfect pearls. 

While I love learning and sharing, I still have insecurities, issues with self-confidence and blatant misapplied commas.  Your feedback has strengthened me and I really appreciate all of your support and wonderful comments. Thank you so much for being a writer’s friend. Thank you for your smiles, your kind reassurance.

Perhaps I finally realize, in my innermost feelings, that perfection is not what publishers, or you, my readers, friends, and followers are looking for…I think you enjoy a human touch, flawed but real, by a writer who absolutely enjoys your delightful company!

A toast to another year, and publishing success to all!

My Main Character Speaks about Stuff Happening in the Middle of My Book

Hi, I’m Penny, a character in a book written by the lady who writes under the name " The Desert Rocks". It’s her first book and I’m her primary character, so she wrote the whole story about me and my…hopeless love life.
She has some definite ideas about how I look and how I act and I’m kind of sick of her sticking her nose into my business, but I guess that’s why--she’s the writer and I’m the graphic artist. Meanwhile, I
am on vacation...but it's more like riding in a bus full of flatulent tourists leaving a beanery.

Zooey Deschanel  would make a good Penny Himmel

Anyway, I wanted to tell you about this idiot who hauled me into the police station for trespassing.
He looks like a fat whale with gigantic, blubbery lips and weird accusatory eyes. He has this disgusting spot on his tie and I’m tired of all his stupid questions. I didn’t step on any endangered plants and if I did, I’m sorry.
I think they’re going to press charges about those puny little seashells I had in my bag because there is something special about them  that helps  the local islanders make money. Can you believe this?  Now this detective guy wants me to talk to the court appointed psychologist to see if I should stay in jail or get sent to the funny farm. He thinks I was talking to myself because I was in this stark white, ice-cold room waiting for him for an hour and the only sign of life was a fly. The fly seemed interested in the fact that I was wet, and scared. Maybe it could still smell the seaweed in my hair. It kept coming over and buzzing around, finally landing on my arm. Of course, I talked to it. I told it to bring some reinforcements.

Performance Art and Action Poetry in Motion

Everyday The Desert Rocks takes a walk or rides a bike through the neighborhood looking for inspiration.
Sometimes a color, a bird, a leaf, or a shadow on the mountain can blossom an idea into something that doesn’t even look like it has anything to do with the desert and yet…that feeling, that art comes from living here where things are different, hotter, windier, a little rougher in many respects and yet comforting and real.
My husband says he has married real life, actual artwork in progress. I involve him and pull him into my performance. My action poetry pulls him like a wary spectator, from the comfort of the audience onto my stage. He tells me my voice is like no other, my humor is too sophisticated and he prefers my cooking to any restaurant. Call it love, or visualize the cyclone that I must have been as a child. Drawing, singing, writing, dancing, playing…I think multi-tasking might actually start in the womb!  Though I don’t pretend to be excellent at doing several things at once, I can honestly say that the things I choose to do, though varied, are always pushing the envelope or the flap out towards the edge of that famous box. Personally, I don’t know if my writing or my ideas are completely outside of that mythical box, but I have survived this long- even earning money for my writing and my creative ideas.  Of course, I intend to face the future with different tangents…original angles…here…where the hummingbird frolics in my backyard and spreads opalescent, greenish hues... flashing…like emeralds across my line of vision.

Are aspects of your daily life like art?
Would you categorize your day, your story, your life as an action-packed drama, mystery or comedy? Maybe your life is a cliff-hanger or a documentary about love. Did a special email or package make you smile today? The Desert Rocks hoped you laughed and added texture to your original artistic creation. Thanks for visiting!

A Perfect Day

While Mr. T.S. Eliot found that,
 "April is the cruelest month," because of our vain desire for renewal...I sit here in the desert re-reading The Wasteland, thinking of people in war torn countries, flooded, snowed-in, starving, and ...and hoping for renewal...

"...What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water...."
-T.S. Eliot

 I suppose one drop of plutonium, one phone call, one earthquake can change this perfect day...but right now on this fourth of April, no poem, no prose can adequately describe my day. These are the words I would use to describe today-the words that I wish on others less fortunate. Let us send these positive messages with our positive energy to others across the miles...perhaps texting one or more of these words or using them in our prayers...
Sunny, gorgeous, crystal clear, cloudless, fresh, peaceful, warm, perfect, enjoyable, unbelievable,stupendous, fabulous, ne plus ultra, amazing, glorious, incredible, heavenly, entrancing, priceless, divine, exquisite, grand, wonderful, idyllic, uplifting, breathtaking, stunning, remarkable, magnificent and blessed.

The Publisher's Door-(A poem)

Ask, and you will receive. Seek and you will find. Knock, and it will be opened to you. For the one who asks, receives. The one who seeks, finds. The one who knocks, enters.
                                                           -Matthew 7, (7-8)

With Heaven as the ultimate goal, I often feel that goals on Earth are challenging and rewarding in a special way because every time we reach our heart’s desire we get that rush, that glorious high, a desire to hug, to call our moms or drink a toast while enjoying our sneak peek at coming attractions. 
(My queries are still going out, my manuscript might be collecting a little dust, but I am determined....)

The Publisher’s Door

Are you squinting?
If you could see through that keyhole…
Look at it, burnished bronzed, worn from wear
Try again.
Perhaps kneel closer, your breath against the door…
Old chipped paint, your nose against the handle
Cold. You blink and wonder what is on the other side.
Knocking. Knocking to no avail.
Now you grasp the handle and stand up.
Rattling the entire entry in its frame,
Shaking it. Maybe you use your fist and pound with all your strength.
What do you want it to be like on the other side?
Does it matter?
You kick the door and curse but you can’t give up.
Now you have splinters in your fingers and the curiosity has built into rage.
Do you want out?
Or in?
Has your perspective narrowed in your quest?
If you had the key in your pocket…
Would it make a difference?