Humorous and Romantic Books I've Been Reading

A Marriage Made In Heaven-or Too Tired for an Affair by Erma Bombeck

This is a great non-fiction diary of sorts, describing her long, loving, but interesting marriage. She was one of America’s eminent humor writers and I need to continuously improve my humor writing. 

The Wedding-By Nicolas Sparks

I love his books because none of his characters shoot each other.
I found it interesting that the main character in the book starts out being someone you don’t really want to feel sorry for; (which goes against some basic truth in my brain)
after all he forgets a major anniversary.
 Not having someone to root for makes it a bit slower, but I still enjoyed this book.

God Makes Lemonade-Don Jacobson-editor

This is an amazing collection of heart-wrenching stories that took me from a Kleenex box to giggles. Emotionally satisfying and a fabulous little book to keep on your night stand for a quick read before bedtime. My humble little story, “Careful What You Wish For,” pales in comparison to the other gripping tales you’ll find in there.

Nature Girl- by Carl Hiaasen

I’ve had this nice hard back sitting on my shelf ever since it came
out and it didn’t disappoint. Obviously it doesn’t live up to
 Skinny Dip, but Honey Santana is a great character and I
 always enjoy Hiaasen’s potty-mouth jokes and slapstick humor about Floridians.

Born To Be Wild-Catherine Coulter

This is about a soap opera star whose life starts looking like a
 parody of her show—or vice versa. Great plot idea,
 but honestly, I didn’t care for this book at all.

Currently I’m reading:

Remember the Eyes by Beth Muscat

Beautiful romantic story about a young woman who has a
second sense and can tell what others are thinking—she even
channels her past lives and does a little astral traveling-- making for a
complicated but deep love story that has me looking forward to her sequels.

A Silly Halloween Blog With Hidden Meanings!

Click on the green words and find a world of wonderful blogs!

Dressing up for Halloween used to be really hard. I needed a wig, some sort of dress or costume, grease paint, makeup and maybe a feather boa or a magic wand. At least I needed an imagination. Ah, the memories.This year I’ve decided on going virtual, but I still have to decide whether I want to be Hairball, Sam or William’s cat. All kidding aside, I could also be an opera singing writer who says believe in yourself or an alien from Laila’s untroubled kingdom. Maybe I want to be one of Mike’s cats or a piece of driftwood from South Africa. I could go as one of Lynn’s critter’s or maybe as a fireman from Indiana. I could  go as my fired up little poetic sun avatar that visits everyone’s blog or I could weave something real creative like an Open Vein or a Preservation society where Munk and grumpy moms and geezers hang out on a canvas depiction, near the water’s edge. Nothing cannot happen.     I hope someday I can dress up as a bestselling author before I go out of my mind and become a zombie. There are many other opportunities, between the swirls of colors, words and even kismet to consider. So all in all, I have decided to dress up like a book with actual pages--lots and lots of pages. How scary huh?

Our Season In The Desert Begins With An Endless Summer

Yesterday there were no clouds and it was 100 degrees. If there is one thing I wouldn’t want to be it’s a meteorologist or weather person who makes up stories faster than a fiction writer hyped up on double espresso lattes.

It was such a beautiful day that I had to write a short little message to everyone about how things are looking out here in the desert. Outside I see little butterflies; hummingbirds and I listen to the songs brought here by cold weather birds. 

They are singing melancholy little chirpy songs and long winded melodies about colder climates, possibly relaying stories about how they were fortunate to fly out of icy areas and even luckier to land in the tree outside my window. My husband says the birds are absolutely not singing about the cold places they left but about the happiness and sunshine they have found here among the citrus and palms. He loves to be outside and do some of our gardening. I am a writer.
Who do you think knows the bird's song? The poet or the guy who just trimmed back one of their favorite branches?
"________________________________"
(Your answer goes in the comment box below)


Yes, I realize that I should be outside too, but I’m in here on the computer.


When I get the mail I pick a few limes off the tree. I am truly blessed. An  endless summer?  

The Typewriter As The Cognitive Link Between Realms

When I was a kid I wanted a jet pack. It was going to be the scientific breakthrough of the future that would take me anywhere. Plus, why would I want to go through all the hassles of parking, traffic, and carpools if all I had to do was strap it across my back—attach the safety harness of course, put on my helmet and zoom out of the neighborhood? I was a true armchair traveler, reading mostly young adult science fiction, fantasy or undersea adventures. Meanwhile, my imagination was bursting at the seams. The future was full of possibilities and that’s why I needed a reliable typewriter, not the ancient little Underwood I used for plunking out poems. Funny, now that I think about it, the Underwood definitely helped me write succinct stories and poems, because anything long like a manuscript would have guaranteed me carpal tunnel. (No one has ever accused me of verbosity.) In fact, my first reportorial writing classes made me curse the blasted contraption more than once. It still sits on a shelf reminding me of those difficult years when I used more white out than typewriter ink. I remember the wrath of the twisted typewriter ribbon and trying to unstick the keys. I remember erasing holes in my pages rather than re-typing everything. I remember crying the night before a term paper was due. My confidence building machine was built in 1918 and I’ve actually kept some of my tear-stained writing. Pathetic, huh?

In April of this year the Godrej and Boyce Company in Mumbai, India announced that they would no longer produce typewriters. Newspapers around the world flashed headlines about the last typewriter factory closing its doors. Party! Hooray, many people took it as the sign the world had been waiting for—the figurative door that replaces everything with technology, computers and modern conveniences. It is the dawn of a new age. The entry to a world hinted at by writers like Asimov or Alvin Toffler. We have entered an era of scientific discoveries that has perfected wireless technology and  Branson-esque intergalactic travel at the same time. After reading about the legacy of Steve Jobs, we also marvel at recent findings that question even those few absolutes we thought were set in stone. Italian researchers have just discovered that certain particles travel faster than the speed of light, this had been considered a ‘constant’ because Einstein said nothing in the universe travels faster.

By the way my writing friends--typewriters are still being made today. Government employees around the world use them to type birth certificates and death certificates and other legal documents. (Apparently some reporters didn’t check their facts.) They are also very popular with prison inmates who are allowed to buy them. Sounds like a bottomless market!

 Still, there is obviously a melancholy aspect to all this evolutionary growth happening at the turn of our century, the same way the Industrial revolution seemed to begin the previous century. A sudden and overwhelming entwining of reality with fantasy…which makes it a very exciting time to be a writer. We’ve come a long way since 1918 and yet we still hold onto our books, we still use brooms even though we have a vacuum cleaner and we still drive cars or walk, even though someone has undoubtedly invented the jet pack.


May I borrow your pencil?

Honey Dripping Sweetness Needed

• A Public Service Type Announcement Brought to you by The Desert Rocks!

• My story called "Careful What You Wish For" is in God Makes Lemonade, a wonderfully inspiring collection of uplifting stories. It is available at Amazon and even at Walmart! If you would like a chance on having your own story selected for his next book, then take this opportunity to click on the links below and enter your story. 

• My friend Don Jacobson is collecting true stories about people who are surprised by unexpected sweetness in the midst of sour circumstances. The first book, God Makes Lemonade, had me laughing, crying, and feeling more encouraged than I have in years—I highly recommend it! Do you have a story? . You can read more about the project at <www.godmakeslemonade.com>

*I would also like to draw your attention to the 1st Ever Lemon Drop Contest on the GML blog! Don will choose one entrant to receive a free copy of the book, and he’ll send a special gift to a friend of the winner who needs encouragement. The contest is open to anyone—past contributors or future! Check the GML blog for more information, <www.godmakeslemonade.com/authorblog


Wipe away the tears because the time to smile is now!

Transformational Consonance

“If we stand looking in one direction all our lives, we might miss the sunrise.”

Turn around. Test it out. Take a chance.Try a different way. Toss the box. Think about it. Today is your day.

News About Clerihews

Clerihews are strange little biographies written in four lines.  They were named after a guy by the name of Edmund Clerihew Bentley (1875-1956) who came up with them and wrote some clever little poems in a book called “Biography for Beginners.” He also wrote famous detective novels.

His most famous clerihew is this one:

Sir Christopher Wren

Said, 'I am going to dine with some men.

If anyone calls

Say I am designing St. Paul's.'

I thought I’d try writing a few of my own -- but seriously this is very difficult for some strange reason. I mean boiling down the essence of a person’s entire life into one four-line stanza! Puhleeze!

No one writes with the agony of Plath,

Her painful and systemic sort of wrath,

Dispirited passionate poems that rose from the ash,

Like a lady Lazarus wanting some gas.

On a happier note:

Sir Paul just married his Nancy

At the courthouse-wasn’t fancy,

Now that he’s sixty-nine he won’t sing, “When I’m sixty-four,”

But a romantic Beatle hopes for sixty more!

We call our creator God,

He carries a giant rod.

Some folks listen and others do not,

He may send them down where the temperature’s hot.

Give me a break Mr. Edmund Clerihew Bentley.

I’m busting my brain and going mentally,

Insane over your evil idea of biographies,

Forgive me for confusing you with Mephistophles.

Okay, it’s your turn. Try it.

Pick a famous person and write a  very short rhyming bio.

Good luck! Ughhhh!

Beer and Rocks in Germany -An Old Travel Diary From 1995

October reminds me of Oompah-pah music and beer and so I am tearing a page from my travel journal and taking you back to Germany in the summer of 1995 when we were brave American tourists about to scale a rather large and formidable mountain. Fortunately, they sold beer everywhere!

(Key background music-it will play while you read)

…We shared a giant pretzel and had some beer in gigantic glass steins at the Hofbrau House in Munich, which by the way, has been making beer for almost a thousand years.

 Sitting under a giant tree outside on a lovely garden patio, we enjoyed the warm weather and the happy, relaxed atmosphere before driving on to our next destination which would be Eibsee and Gainau. Our hotel had a view of Germany’s highest mountain, the breathtaking, Zugspitze, which was to be our goal for the following morning. Yikes! The trail we decided on hiking was called Hollentall Klamme or Hell’s Valley and it didn’t take me long to figure out why it had that name. Double yikes!! The steep trail rose along a fast rushing river above rocky steppes and through dark rocky mountain caves. After about two miles of lung depleting, hiking we reached a small al fresco beer bar where I chose the responsible drink of Apfelsaft (non-alcoholic apple cider). Sipping slowly, I wasn't looking forward to more...

That's me of course,
surrounded by what else but rocks!

  treacherous trails, switchbacks, and steps upward next to the huge, powerful and loud river gushing down past us like a runaway train. The rocks around me and the thundering sound of the river drowned out our voices and reminded me how insignificant my words were at the time. This was God's theater and I was in the middle of the action! Humid weather made me uncomfortably hot and even walking under the gorgeous and romantic waterfalls didn’t help. (That's where the Klamme comes from--it translates to clammy and yes, that described us.) Finally, we reached a beautiful, flower strewn meadow with a  miniature church called the St. Joseph’s Chapel where we shared our picnic lunch before heading back down. …Quietly, almost reverently, we descended because I had very few words to describe the incredible, awe-inspiring place that left us both exhausted and longing for a cold beer.


Do you remember a time when you were speechless? 

Autumn Haiku

Gray clouds that imbue

Those stolen summer moments-

With shadows of fall.

Wearing your sweater

I feel indestructible-

Within your armor.

Autumn chilled apples-

A bounty of hanging fruit-

Yours for the picking.

Throwing twigs on fire-

At my parent’s wienie roast.

Smoke filled memories.





Glue on your sequins
Calendars and costumes change-
Sparkly leaves of fall.