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Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Friday, November 17, 2017
Too Much Cheese!
Thursday, March 17, 2016
Who Was the Victim
I’m finding it very hard to write this exact post, maybe it’s
because I haven’t been completely reconciled with my past or something.
Okay, I know I am going to confuse some of you because earlier
I leaped back into my eleventh year to bring out some Memory Files and this was after
sharing what happened when I was a young teenager. Now I’m back into my
teen years, got it?
Do you remember me telling you about being ‘kidnapped’ by a
couple of uncles?
Well, here we are, a new life is before us. Now we are
living in a proper home once again, one with running water, lights, and all
that good stuff we were used to in this modern day and age. I assume Mom’s
brothers and church family were instrumental in having that happen though it is
a piece of the puzzle I never actually searched for.
We were given a warm welcome: I remember the girls my age, a couple of them which were my cousins, putting on a party which included presenting me
with a homemade scrapbook where they had each added a page or two. It was a very nice gesture.
But somehow, what lingers most warmly in my mind is going to
school on that first day of grade ten. Just inside the glass doors of the big
school were two girls waiting for me. They became my best friends.
I’ve always shielded myself from this fact because it hurt too
much. It was easier to say that Mom was depressed because of all the pain she
had gone through, but the truth was I, we, were hurting and she wasn’t there
for us.
The silent disapproval I had already felt as a child
remained, and I found her quite unapproachable.
Once, maybe a year or so after we got there, she shared her heart with
me. It was a heady experience for a fifteen or sixteen year old, but I was too
young to really help her.
So what did I do? I turned to writing and finished my first
novel while in my teens but later threw it out. I also wrote poetry that
expressed my anguish and other moods.
I still quote these lines from one of the poems from time to
time: ‘Chains of darkness flung around me binding me with fear’, hmm, the rest
of the words are escaping me. What were they? I wrote about the ‘echoes from
the past’ meaning the sexual abuse that had such a damaging effect on my ego.
Teenage years can be tumultuous even for those from a stable
home, and mine wasn’t easy. I had such extreme mood swings that on one occasion
I took way too many aspirin in a desperate attempt to end it all. Did I have side
effects? Not really. Did Mom know? Shrug.
But was God there? Yes, He most definitely was, and although
at times I couldn’t feel Him, looking back I realized that what I thought were
stumbling blocks were really stepping tones that shone like jewels on my way
towards Heaven.
Thursday, January 14, 2016
The Big Boo-Boo
The Big Boo- Boo!
I wrote this article at home the other day with the intent of posting it while at the library. Problem is I forgot to reread it, and there is a glaring flaw. I’ll fix it now, but it’s pretty awkward having a mistake like that in an article about writing!
Hint: I missed the author’s name. Did anyone catch it?
http://www.createspace.com/4837922
I wrote this article at home the other day with the intent of posting it while at the library. Problem is I forgot to reread it, and there is a glaring flaw. I’ll fix it now, but it’s pretty awkward having a mistake like that in an article about writing!
Hint: I missed the author’s name. Did anyone catch it?
http://www.createspace.com/4837922
Dare to Dream
Are
dreams worth pursuing? Can they be
pursued? One of my favorite poems as a teenager had the line “Don’t be
distracted by less worthy deeds.”
Okay,
maybe you’ve guessed by now that I love to write. Writing to me is like
painting was to someone like Norman Rockwell. It gives the mundane, the obscure
a new shot of life. Writing can and should give new insight and vitality to
commonly held conceptions.
And so
I write. Problem is there is a whole tidal wave of other aspiring writers
struggling to the top, seeking to be noticed. We have challenges that weren’t
faced back in the 1950’s. When To Kill A Mocking Bird was written the
editor ended up having more faith in ---Harper Lee’s book than she had herself. Apparently in
frustration she threw the manuscript out the open window, but the editor
encouraged her to gather up those papers and try, try again.
Who helps us? Self-Publishing has gotten a bad rap from
people, ya, like me, who read their manuscripts a ‘thousand’ times and become
blind to the ‘million’ little typos that glare at them after the book is off
the press. UHH! Who wants to read that? Not even me.
BUT. We put a tremendous amount of work into it. BUT we are
sure are ideas are great: if the reader can see past those awful typos: if
there was a way to struggle against the human tide of other writers who are
also flooding the market. Ever feel that way? Unless you are smugly holding the
key to success that I haven’t found yet, of course you do.
And so fellow writers what are we going to do? I know for a fact I will continue to write
because I love to, and those earlier disgraces haven’t thrown me into despair.
Fact is I redid Mary’s Diary, Jesus through His Mother’s Eyes because I believed
in it, and now the present copy is far better than the first.
I’m doing the same with Two Mothers and Twin Daughters. I can’t
believe how enriching an experience it is to rewrite a favorite story after the
earlier (humiliating) publication several years ago.
Okay, I admit I’ll just a little old oyster polishing,
polishing that pearl inside me, but maybe someday you and I can, like Anna
Pavlova, the famous dancer, learn the true meaning of success. Do you know what
she said? Here is my paraphrase:
Success is having people loving what
you do.
Just so you don’t forget my name, I’ll sign it. : )
Marilyn
Friesen
Tuesday, August 18, 2015
Thoughts on Early Autumn
Thank you to Google Images for the lovely image of a loon.
Autumn is always alluring Blossoms burgeoning and blessed Covering comely coulees Dreading the deepest drifts. Everywhere early enchantment Frosting on fernery frail Giving a gossamer glory Hardly the harshness of hail. Int'resting etchings enticing Joyously jived back in June Keeping the kiting kids carefree Loving the lingering loon. Many a mem'ry in making Never a nebulous naive Orchestrated opening to Autumn P'rading like prisms ablaze. Quaintly the quail are quibbling Rustling the russet rushes Sensing the seasonal shoreline Tightening its terrible trusses. Under umbrageous autumn Venison visions unveil Whispers of wintery wildness eXposure to ice in the dale. Yennings for yonder bright Yuletide Zeal for the zennithing year... Soon rosy cheeks will appear.
So what do you think of this poem? I suppose it sounds pretty rustic. It was for a FanStory contest and the requirement was 27 lines each starting with a letter of the alphabet. Critique welcome.
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Tuesday, February 10, 2015
Silly White Stuff
“Isn’t it ridiculous picking up
this silly white stuff day after day?”
“Shh, you had better be careful
what you say. God sent it. Would you rather be eating… eating, well who knows what and dying of thirst like our
forefathers practically did before Moses struck the Rock?”
“Yes,” a younger voice piped up, “And
he sure got in trouble for doing that. Now he won’t be able to go into the
Promised Land.”
“Promised Land,” the first one
scoffed. “We’ve been wandering in this desert for nearly twenty years already.
Why, you and I and everyone else our age was born after they were shut out of that
so called Promised Land.” Dinah huffed as she swung a big basket over her arm. “I’m
getting a weeks’ supply of that manna. I’m sick and tired of gathering it every
single day just because Mama is so sickly all the time.”
“Go ahead,” her friend Lilka
scoffed, “You know what Moses warned us would happen. I’ve heard rumors it has
already in some other areas of ‘tent
city’.
Twenty four hours passed. Same
time same station as it were, the only difference was facial expressions,
mostly, and of course the conversation had changed.
Dinah looked so sullen, or was it
subdued, that Lilka and Josiah didn’t dare say a word to her. They had observed her, from a distance mind
you, trying to dispose of a whole week’s supply of moldy wormy manna and trying
unsuccessfully not to throw up over the whole repulsive mess.
Dinah learned her lesson, have we
to? God simply does not want us to gather too many worries for example.
Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.
Some might wonder if I sit down
at the beginning of every month and map out the topics I will be writing about for
the next thirty days.
“ Nope, not a chance.”
“ Well, for the next week then?”
“ Uh uh. Why bother, I want my manna (which comes from Heaven) fresh and new.” Give us our day our daily bread.
Labels:
lessons
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Marilyn Friesen
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Thursday, April 10, 2014
Do You Know My Characters?
http://www.authorsden.com/visit/author.asp?AuthorID=181889
Here's your chance to give your opinion about me and or my books. Don't worry I won't faint!
Here's your chance to give your opinion about me and or my books. Don't worry I won't faint!
Labels:
Mary's Diary
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reviews
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Twin Daughters
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Two Mothers
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writing
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