Orchid

 

purple orchid plant

I forgot to water  you--

sorry, my old friend

Daily Haiku Prompt: orchid

Ending A Blog Break

My life has been busy in many ways so I took a prolonged blog break. 

Some were traumatic and life-changing. (Don't want to go into details.) Some meant spending time doing things I'd rather not do, but needed to do. Taxes are included in this group, and I'm still working on it. Ugh.

Enough of that... 

"I'm baaaaack," as Arnie would say. 

Got a writing prompt from Debbie D., "Dance."

Three delightful memories come to mind.

My mother and father never went to the Palais Royale in the forties to dance to Duke Ellington's music, despite my mother's desire to do so. This was probably because my father was a very basic dancer and couldn't keep up with my mother's jitterbugging. 

(edited to add this old LJ link)      https://boreal-owl.livejournal.com/127526.html

When we attended our friends' son's wedding reception I finally saw the stunning art deco locale overlooking Lake Ontario. I felt as if I were at one of Gatsby's parties. (M and I did not dance, maybe keeping up the family tradition, and for similar reasons.)

https://www.palaisroyale.ca/

Despite his reluctance to dance, M did take disco dancing lessons with me in March 1978. During one of these lessons, it snowed unexpectedly. Unfortunately I was wearing sandals. To get back to the car, we had to climb over the snow piled on the roadside. 

Much to my surprise and delight, M lifted me over the snow bank! I called him Sir Walter Raleigh. Romantic gestures and humour: an irresistible combination. 

And the best example of dancing in our family is this.

https://owlsquill.blogspot.com/2012/05/echos-leash-dance-video.html

Chet and Bernie Mystery Series by Spencer Quinn

 Lately I've needed light, entertaining reading. There's a time for serious reading, but it's not for me these days. I need stress relief. I need humour. My friend and critique partner suggested these books.

Chet and Bernie are partners in the Little Detective Agency.

Chet, a big black dog who flunked out of K9 school, is the unreliable narrator. Because he misunderstands human speech, taking cliches and metaphors literally, a lot of what he thinks is wrong and funny. He thinks and acts like a dog: getting easily distracted by scents, food, and other animals. In this way he often misses the train of thought of conversation. This is one way the author hides red herrings or important mystery clues: inserting them in a chain of amusing doggie thoughts.

Bernie Little is the private investigator who works with him. His quirks include: fearlessness with everyone except attractive women, fear of public speaking, and an inability to understand some of Chet's hints about things to check out.

Often Chet discovers an important clue but can't communicate this precisely to Bernie. Chet finds things that Bernie can't through his superb canine tracking skills, sense of smell, and hearing.

Some of the titles are: Dog On It, Thereby Hangs a Tail, To Fetch A Thief, A Fistful of Collars, Paw and Order. Oh yeah, the titles are fun, too! (I entered a contest to suggest the next title.)

If you're a writer looking for a great example of unique, strong voice and ways to add humour, you'll enjoy studying what Quinn does. 

Even if you just want some suspense flavoured with humour, I highly recommend the Chet and Bernie mystery series.

 

Winter: a tanka and a haiku

Winter Tanka

owls love winter:

long nights for hunting rodents

under pale moonlight

in the heart of darkness owls

begin their courtship dance

Winter Haiku

Echo liked winter 

pushed his nose into the snow

coldness brought delight

 

Telling Someone You're a Writer...

Telling people you are a writer is nothing to be ashamed about. Or talking about your progress towards publication. It's part of the job. Writers understand that this is a process. Others don't get it.

Here's what can happen when you talk about it to non-writers.

Years ago, I had told close friends that I finally got an agent, an important step towards getting my novel published. They were happy for me and we went out to dinner to celebrate.

Months later, over dinner at the same favourite Italian restaurant, the woman asked me whether I had sold my novel yet.

"No," I replied, "my agent is sending it out to editors."

"Still?"

Another time we ran into an acquaintance we hadn't seen in years. He asked me what was new. I told him I had self-published a book of poetry. 

He immediately asked me, "How many copies did you sell?" 

I was trying to come up with an answer when he added, "How much money did you make?"

People don't think it's rude to ask you these kinds of questions if you're in the arts, the same way it's rude to ask a doctor or lawyer how much they make.

The consequence was I regretted ever telling him. 

I had accomplished lots of things to be proud of: writing a book; hiring a cover designer, logo designer, and proofreader; forming a company; dealing with the IRS and Amazon, etc. But those didn't count--to him.

Lawyers never have to talk about all the cases they lost. You're a lawyer! You must be smart and successful! people think.

But a writer who doesn't make it to the bestseller list? 

People think, or say, "It's nice to have a hobby. I'd write a book, too, but I don't have the time."

Like Rodney Dangerfield, we get no respect.

River

highway at night

two bright currents of headlights:

a river of cars

Daily Haiku Prompt: river

 

A Morning Laugh

Yesterday morning after finishing my breakfast, I asked my PSW (let's call her Juliet) for some help.

Meanwhile, M was still working on his breakfast while watching tv. He tried to change the channel on the remote control.

"Juliet, please help me stand up," I said.

"I don't think I can help you with that," replied Alexa.