One True Sentence

 I recently read a report from someone who'd seen a indigo bunting. I never have and I wonder if I ever will. My thoughts trailed off into our poor air quality and growing water problems, starving children and drone warfare, and I wonder, have we all grown too numb to care?

Here in Michigan, for the past two summers we have been under frequest air quality alerts due to wildfires in Canada. Because of drought and heat, these promise to continue and worsen. We grow numb to the gunmetal skies and the misty fog that isn't normal. 

(The Mighty Mac shrouded in smoke)

Four days ago I was outside and noticed that the sky was clear blue, crystal clean to the horizon, and a light bulb went off. This is what it's supposed to look like. That quickly my brain had accepted the gray pollutant-laden air as normal. We are an adaptable species. We adapt to polluted waters, floating fish, and reports of starving children without hearing any of it. We resort to the comfort of word puzzles on our phones and numbing television, the literal burying-of-heads in the sand and hope someone else will make it all better. Slap a Band-Aid on it.

I'm struggling with a work in progress centering around amphibian loss in a polluted world, a world that needs help but those with deep pockets don't care. I'm not a Rom-Com writer. I can't write fantasy, or comic. I think of the  Hemmingway quote "Write one true sentence". That's harder than it sounds. Slow down, think, and write one true thing. It could take all day. A week. But, as Jim Harrison said "Good art doesn't specialize in cheap solutions." Couldn't the same be said for good air? Good water? Good schools and good health?

I think of all the trees I've planted without acknowledging the fact that I will never see them grow to their fullest beauty, never sit under their shade,  but maybe my children will. Maybe a small niece or nephew will. Maybe that's an iota of compensation for not leaving the world better than how we found it. 

But back to this manuscript where I'm stuck on page 216. What do I do with these people? How do I make a reader care? I go back to my opening sentence and change it every time. Self-doubt creeps in like an imp on the stairs. Today I will stay off page 1 and work on page 217. 

Underground Yarn and Books

 On the shelf in Hershey PA!!!

Underground Yarn and Books just sent me this photo. They are celebrating their grand opening and for the first month are featuring select titles from my publisher. The co-owners of this eclectic shop are as awesome as the yarn she dyes and the books he curates. 

Yarns, books, coffee, and community. 

Check them out online or, what the heck, take a road trip ala Jack Kerouac.

 The only ones for me are the mad ones, the ones mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing but burn burn burn  . . .

The Beat Generation might be fading from the scene but amongst writers, poets, artists, and creators of all types, there are still plenty of mad ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing.

As a crocheter and knitter, I appreciate the yarn side of their business as well as the books. For me that's a winter activity, but her colors sure are gorgeous to look at. Winter will be here soon enough, blankets and bundles of yarn on the lap. 

Also, I'm happy to announce that my college buddy and her friend, David Danger, have finished narrating my novel, Let Evening Come and it is now available on Audible or wherever you get your audiobooks. Danger has a beautiful voice and is helping to produce the song background for another friend's book that is being produced by Lifetime Netflix. 

In other respects, it's been a tough summer. My husband lost his entire flock of laying hens to mink(s). Over the course of a two-week period, he went from 45 birds to 5. The disgusting varmints can fit through a hole the size of a quarter and once they discovered our chickens there was no stopping them. In desperation (having tried traps and whatall) we moved them down to my sister's coop where they would be safe.

My side gig (when I'm not browsing bookstores and soliciting readings, is gardening. This year the out-of-control deer have devoured eveything, even eating my tomato plants which has never happened before. Can we add them to the varmint open season list? I've discovered the five things I can grow are eggplant, peppers, squash, garlic, and cucumbers.

That's it folks. The happy and the sad. The exhilarating and the disheartening. At least they're balanced out, or I might go mad.