In high school I refused to take the secretarial courses my mother thought I should. Shorthand and typing. Good skills to fall back on she said. I preferred fine arts classes such as Drama and Painting. Skilled receptionist that she was, Mom couldn’t allow her daughter to be a hunt and peck typist. So she found my brother’s old text book and taught me herself.
While I’m not the greatest typist in the world, I do enjoy it and, thanks to my mother of blessed memory, I place the right fingers on the right keys. However I couldn’t tell you how many words I type per minute. Does that count include backspace and delete?
About a month ago a friend suggested that a good old typewriter might help tighten the writing. And he’s entitled to his opinion.
If I had to go back to the old fashion way, I’d not only have to own stock in a white-out concern but a paper mill as well. Do I regret not taking those secretarial courses? Not at all at all.
Viva la Computer!

THIS, THAT AND SOMETIMES THE OTHER is now available at
Rainy Day Books
2706 West 53rd Street
Fairway KS 66205
913-384-3126
Another step in the right direction. Now what to do with the rest of my vacation from the day job?

As I round the bend of wrapping up my “final” edits on my novel with the working title PLEASE SAY KADDISH FOR ME I have questions about genre. From the beginning I’ve considered this work to be historical fiction.
A couple of years ago a NY agent told me, in her rejection, that it was terribly moving and brought her to tears in places. However it was too long and needed too much editing. She threw out the suggestion that I might consider offering it as young adult fiction.
While it’s true my main character, Havah, is 16 at the beginning, the novel spans four years. My plan is for this is the first book of a trilogy. By the end of the series she’s in her mid twenties with a husband and a child.
Since I’m usually stymied by the question, “Who’s your target audience?” I’d really like some feedback on this one.

As a child my defense mechanism against pain was to go inside my head and tell myself stories. I would take myself out of the situation and into one of my favorite television shows. There I would write my own episodes with my favorite characters. Some of my “scripts” would be dark or sad so I thought something was terribly wrong with me.
Just the same, I enjoyed my guilty pleasure. In school I was known as a daydreamer. It was true. I missed plenty of lessons even when I sat at my desk.
When I grew up, married and had a family of my own I found myself spending less time inside my head. Then my mother passed away in July 1981. Again I coped by detaching and “writing” a script.
A die-hard MASH fan for years, I discovered fan fiction on a site about seven or eight years ago called bestcareanywhere.net.
Although some of the stories were ridiculous, I found a couple that I really enjoyed. I began to spin a story in my head that just wouldn’t leave me alone.
A good friend suggested I try my hand at my own fan fiction. My MASH short story, IMPLOSION turned into a 20 chapter novella and after that I wrote a sequel called STRANGE BEDFELLOWS under the pseudonym Bigelow.
Silly as it may sound, this was where I began my writing journey in earnest. I discovered that to make the stories authentic I had to do some research.
Surprisingly, once posted on the site and on another fan fiction site, I got a lot of feedback. Even my husband Jan read them and thought they were great.
They are still up on the website. However, with what I’ve learned about the craft and am still learning, I find them hard to read since they need a lot of work.
As for the cartoon at the top, someone posted it on Facebook and I just had to share it. What writer cannot relate to it? In fact, like the lady on the right, I used details from a tragic incident that was in the forefront of the media a couple of years ago in my novel.
Please excuse me now, I’m going back inside my head. I hear the voices calling.

For a week now I’ve been working and reworking a chapter in my novel. It’s one of the darker sections of the book, filled with despair and angst. Although it’s fiction of my own making, I find myself sinking into a bit of a funk.
I was told once that to be able to experience a great depth of emotion is a two edged sword. If it’s real to the performer/author it will be real to the audience/reader.
Perhaps it’s time to set Havah aside for a few hours and concentrate on something more cheerful…like laundry.

Although I’m almost to the end of my novel edits, the next project looms ahead. A children’s book. Not a new one exactly, for the illustrations are sixteen years old. In terms of story and writing experience it’s a fresh endeavor. The original manuscript which I wrote in longhand as part of a therapy is long gone. I remember the basic gist of it and, no doubt, with what I’ve learned, would have had to rewrite anyway.
So it’s time to take THE MAGIC DAFFODILS out of mothballs and proceed.

For days I’ve wrestled with a couple of chapters in my novel. Sitting in front of the screen my mind would go everywhere but where I wanted it to. Before I knew it I had frittered away two hours playing solitaire, word bubbles and chatting on Facebook.
This afternoon my husband came home early and suggested we take a Harley ride. 80º and sunshine made it a hard offer to refuse.
Two hours on the back of the bike, coupled with the sites and sounds of spring blew out the cobwebs. As I enjoyed the scenery I crawled inside my head and let my characters take over.
This is nothing new for me. It’s just been a while since the weather’s been warm enough for a comfortable ride.
So I’m curious. If you’re a writer and reading this blog let me ask a question. What is your way to break up writer’s block?

In the early 1980’s my husband decided we needed a computer. His face glowing with excitement, he tore open the box that contained our brand new Radio Shack TRS 80. Trash 80.
“You spent how much?”
Another big boy toy. Just what we needed. And it didn’t stop there. The next wave was the Commodore 64 complete with dot matrix printer and Koala pad. Or does anyone remember the Kaypro, or as I call it, the Commodore in a can.
By the end of the decade I wrote poetry and inherited my own computer, a used Leading Edge with a 5″ floppy drive. I found typing cathartic and Word Perfect with its built in thesaurus became my best friend.
At my brother’s urging we joined AOL so we could keep in touch online. Soon I joined the ranks of internet junkies. Ten years later we went from dial-up to broadband.
Just like our cars, Jan and I own separate computers. Oh, but not just desktops. He has a laptop for his music and another just because.
But who am I to criticize? In addition to my new HP Touchsmart I still retain my last desktop in another corner of my office. There are just certain things that wouldn’t transfer to the new one. And let us not forget my pink netbook. So portable. Great for taking to conferences or on trips to see my gorgeous grandbaby.
And floppy disks? Forget about it. I have four flash drives and an external hard drive so nothing’s lost. Well, nothing except, maybe, those 400 plus poems I saved on 5″ floppies.

“Kill your darlings.” Although author William Faulkner said it first, he’s been quoted many times.
For the past couple of weeks I’ve agonized over three particular chapters in my novel. After reading and rereading them I realized that while they might entertain the author they did nothing to pulse the main story forward.
With all the research that went into writing and constructing the scenes it was akin to contemplating the murder of a cherished child. Nonetheless, convinced I’d made the right decision I heaved a self righteous sigh. Then I highlighted and sent the discarded paragraphs to another Word document. With a knowing smile I deleted them from the manuscript.
My darlings? The reader will never miss them.

Question: What can be more exhilarating than seeing my writing, artwork and name in print?
Answer 1: Selling them.
Answer 2: Feedback of the positive variety.
Answer 3: Selling more!

Thus far I’ve sold over a hundred copies of THIS, THAT AND SOMETIMES THE OTHER, with my husband’s help, to friends and coworkers. Of course I hope word of mouth will bring more book requests but sitting on my thumbs and waiting for this to happen isn’t the best marketing strategy.
After a book signing hosted by my mentor, friend and co-writer, Patricia Clothier, in January I’ve thought of sending out feelers to others who might do the same. It was a sweet, intimate setting. I read my shortest story, answered questions and sold seven copies.
I really would like to do more readings like that. Again no one’s knocking down my door. So now’s the time to get in touch with my inner PJB (Pushy Jewish Broad). At the same time my inner cringing chicken is curled up in a corner.