Mama's a CA Chromaniac
Mama has a brand new bag: she's a CA Chromaniac! In anticipation of the Belmont Stakes, Mom sent a packet of newspaper clipping of California Chrome along with a check and instructions to "Bet it to Win!"
Truth is, Curtis & I started this latest of Mom's obsessions by attending Kentucky Derby weekend 2014.
Who knew, when we donned our fancy hats and duds that was the beginning of CA Chromania!
So, as we await the running of the Belmont Stakes--and California Chrome's shot at the Triple Crown and diamond-crusted path to stud infamy--it seems fitting to recount highlights from our Derby 2014 Experience:
“Since 1931, the order of Triple Crown races has been the Kentucky Derby first, followed by the Preakness Stakes, and then the Belmont Stakes. . .
To date, 289 horses have won a single leg of the Triple Crown, 52 horses have won two of the races, and 11 horses have won all three races. Pillory won both the Preakness Stakes and Belmont Stakes in 1922, a year when it was impossible to win the Triple Crown because the Kentucky Derby and Preakness Stakes were run on the same day.”
The Kentucky Derby is all about tradition. We were especially fortunate to be guided through our first Derby weekend experience by veterans, Joy & Donna, both Louisville natives whose Derby history stretches back 30 plus years.
Note the gallon ziplock bags Michael is carrying!
There are rows of booths selling all manor of food on both race days, but locals traditionally bring in their own. Joy and Donna's specialty, and a Derby tradition: sandwiches with a cucumber-cream cheese spread called Benedictine.
"The Derby" is really 2 days of racing. The Oaks is held on Derby Friday; the Kentucky Derby on Saturday. “The Oaks,” so they say, has gained in popularity with locals as The Derby has become more commercial and more expensive. Too, “The Oaks” is a fundraising event, for Breast Cancer research and awareness and most folks dress in pink.
A portion of the sale of each Pink Lily goes to charity: Bright Pink and Horses for Hope. We donated of course!
It’s really Derby “week” with events including steamboat races, parades, parties, etc. culminating in two days of horse races. Those we all know of “The Derby,” locals favor Saturday’s event, “The Oaks.”
Here's Aaron with Lee. Tradition and convenience demands they always park at the same place: Ms. Lee's house.
Lee's made Derby Weekend a business. She turns her yard--front and back into a parking lot, and blocks off as many street spots as she can.
She used to cook for both The Oaks and The Derby, but now Lee only cooks on Derby Day. Her specialty is greens, beans & ham.
The Rule is:
No matter what, Meet back at Lee's!
Almost time: At 6:52 EDST the Belmont Stakes starts. The horses are making their way to the starting gates. Mama's watching!
COME ON CALIFORNIA CHROME!!!
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Rumors Run Rampant
As if life isn't exciting enough, . . when I checked my email, this jumped out at me:
“Kelly is this alarming post about you true?”
And this:
“Harmful and damaging events from your past may have surfaced . . . ”
Then this:
“Things don’t look good for you Kelly”
“Kelly, Deleterious Post About You About To Be Published”
I clicked over immediately. Horror of horrors! Could it be that someone is spreading rumors about little ole me?
“ +++++ Potentially Upsetting Information Posted About You ++++ ===========================================================================
Alert: JJ-P-1904127903
Kelly negative events from your recent past may have been posted to your online file
”
Someone is TRASH TALKING me!!!! Who? . . . Of all the nerve! . . . What were they saying???
You know I was temped to follow the link. Who doesn't want to know what they --those busy-bodies--are saying about us?
Of course, I know better . . . (But it was on my mind)
Haven't. . . (Maybe it wasn't even about me. There are lots of people with my name...like that basketball coach. . . and that realtor--)
Yet . . .
But then I got to thinking: That's what they want. For me to follow that link, right?
There are no doubt scads of folks out there who do follow the link. Where does it take them? What horrors are waiting at the bottom of that particular rabbit hole?
or . . . OR . . . (That niggly curious cat voice is what gets us. . . )
Sure, I know it's a ploy to get me to click on that link, leading to some sight. But, what if there's a really great PRIZE I missing out on by not following the link???
To think there are people out there who spend countless hours coming up with ways to SPAM us. What if these same folks applied their considerable creative talents to real problems, To paraphrase Dr. Suess, Oh the things they could think!
That got me thinking. Here's my thought: Let's give them something to talk about.
MAKE IT GOOD!
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Cat Pause
I have loads to do and time to do it. But instead of getting to it, I’m circling like a cat.
Cat-like behavior makes sense, seeing as how I’m a Leo.
Maybe it is a Leo thing?
So I checked my horoscope:
Today’s reading said my “Creative Powers were the center of my world today” and told me to “Let loose and indulge my inner spirit!"
If this flibberty-gibbet, kangaroo bouncing from task to pile to job and back was my inner spirit trying to break free, then it must have been seriously bunged up. Is that why I’m circling?
“Knowledge is power!” I justified, and Googled it.
Apparently, I’m not the only one curious about this why do cat’s circle thing.
There were loads of postings posing the same question. The consensus seems to be that cats circling before they can settle is a throw back to wilder times:
“Wild cats not only tread down wild grass to find themselves a more comfortable spot to sleep; they must also carefully conceal themselves from predators in the wild.”
Armed with this new power. I took myself to task.
“Mind over matter!”
“You have the power!”
Do real lions, wild lions, Born Free type-lions circle?
I Googled that too. That search lead straight to The Lion King: Circle of Life
“Focus!”
Now hyper-aware of how I couldn’t stop it, couldn’t make myself do what I wanted to do, frenetic-fied the circling.
Was it that, in my cat’s mind:
- Towering Boxes=Tall Grass
- Saw Whirring, Hammering, Workers Gabbering=Predator noises
- Dust, Detritus, Mounded Mess=Wild
Que the Wee-Um-Um-A-Ways . . . Is that’s why I’m circling?
Circlers aren’t all cats, either. Some dogs do it too.
If you have a cure, please share it.
PLEASE?????
But don’t bother suggesting ear plugs, locking myself in the bathroom, going to the library, coffee shop, or snarfing tortilla chips in an effort to induce carb coma, because I’ve tried it!
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The Writing Process Blog Tour
There’s a Pyramid Scheme in Progress! No one seems to know who kick started this movement to get authors sharing the how and whys of “Writing Process,” but it’s spreading like kudzu as week after week, writer by writer, we’re asking and answering 4 seemingly-simple-but-surprisingly-complex questions about how we Do This Thing We Do, then tagging others to answer next. I’m having an inspired time learning from everyone else, most recently fellow VCFA alum and picture book author chum, Sarah Sullivan, who tagged me.
Sarah proved her talents stretched beyond picture books with her acclaimed debut novel, All That's Missing so be sure to READ SARAH’s POST.
WAIT! STOP! Before you go there, here’s mine:
What am I currently working on?
4 picture books/3 blog posts/2 chapter books/and . . . A novel started in the 90’s! (The sale from which—if it’s ever finished—might buy me that partridge and the pear tree!) That’s no fib. I always work several projects concurrently—after I have a completed draft. Each is in a different stage of the writing process. Of the 4 picture books: 2 are ugly drafts. I mean Ugly! So bluck it hurts to read them; 1 is in the Idea Stage, snippets of possibilities, lists of words, thoughts about characters (almost ready to draft); the last is a completed manuscript that’s in the scariest phase of all, I’m in LOVE! (And no, I’m not going to tell you what it’s about…) So I’m ignoring it. Giving it the cold shoulder for a few weeks. After the new wears off, I’ll reread the manuscript—without the rose tinted glasses.
Additionally, I like to work on both fiction and non-fiction at the same time,--usually children's fiction in the morning, while my nightime insights are still fresh; adult non-fiction when I'm stuck or tired (hence my blog and former column in NOW! Jakarta).
About that novel . . . It's WHOLE different story! I have a completed draft but. . . Truth Time: I’m scared to touch it! Afraid I don’t have what it takes to revise it, I ignore it (which is not the same as “letting it chill”). But that novel haunts me. . . I’m toying with taking a Whole Novel Revision Class by way of forcing me to confront my demons.
How does my work differ from others of its genre?
Many picture books face-out on bookstore shelves are Concept Books featuring what I call the Back of the Classroom characters: loud, bold, in-your-face types, who holler what they want.
My picture book are Storybooks featuring Middle of the Classroom Smart with Huge Heart, characters, the kids who keep their heads down and try hard--super hard--while occasionally make snide comments out the corner of their mouths. In short, regular kids with problems to solve:
Why do I write what I write?
Because I am obsessed with Picture Books—capital P; capital B—and I’m not an illustrator.
Let’s face it, people—especially kids—pluck a picture book off a shelf because they’re attracted to its cover. They thumb through looking at the pictures, first. Then, if the art peaks their interest, they’ll get around to my part—the words. And in picture books, they’re not many of them.
In a college Communications class we studied how, at one time, movie industry marketers tried splicing images of hot butter popcorn into the movies to subliminally influence movie goers to buy more popcorn. That’s exactly what I do.
Instead of images of popcorn, I use words to put ideas in the illustrator's head. I guess that makes me sort of an Illustrator Whisper. Besides, nobody loves a book the way a pre-reading child loves a book. I want the book that kid hugs and asks for again and again to be mine.
How does my individual writing process work?
I write the way I drive. (Danger, Will Robinson!) Seriously,I have to whose driving, where the story is going to start & where it's going to end before I can begin. So I fiddle around, making lists, thinking, reading, noodling until I know. Once I know that, I set my sights for a specific ending, the way a tourist in Paris might aim for the Eiffel Tower, and let it rip. I'll write a complete draft straight through. It may take some time--If I'm working on a picture book, I'll finish the draft in one sitting; if it's a longer piece, it may take weeks or months. I’ll just keep winding my way along, sometimes doubling back, U-turning, occasionally crashing, until I reach that end. That's all from me...
Up Next on the Blog Tour:
A couple of smart, fresh & sassy VCFA Classmates & Unreliable Narrators:
Sarah Wones Tomp, whose debut YA novel, My Best Everything--about moonshine and falling in love and breaking rules (and hearts)—is coming March 2015 (Little Brown). What’s more: her picture book, Red, White and Blue Good-bye, face-out on my shelf of favorites is a must for every child of a soldier. Sarah lives, moms, writes, teaches and blogs in San Diego, CA. Please visit her at www.sarahtomp.com
Tamara Ellis Smith, whose debut middle grade novel, Marble Boys—the story of two boys who have experienced death and Hurricane Katrina, and how the world pushes them together to find healing—is coming August 2015 (Schwartz and Wade). Tam lives in a small Vermont town with an amazing bakery where she sits and writes, edits, reviews, blogs, mothers, runs and when called upon, doulas. Here is Tam’s website: www.tamaraellissmith.com
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Mistakes-Retake-Delete-Discovery: Gifts in Unexpected Places
So, about my blog posting for today: I wrote it, pictures and all, then by mistake, I deleted it.
But the idea for my blog post was still fresh and exciting, so I rewrote it, pushed save. Then decided to be clever and add another photo, but instead of clicking "save" I must have clicked "delete" somehow--although I can't think how I would have???? Anyway, it was gone again.
But this time, instead of trying to redo it, I tried to find it. One way the online advice said to recover a lost blog post is do do a Google Search. So I did. Following instructions, I typed in my name and what I could recall of the blog title: "Cinderella" something????
And made an amazing DISCOVERY:
The Google Search pulled up another Kelly Bennett's Blog--this one is a photographer. Curious: I began clicking through. And this Kelly Bennett, with her photos and her encouraging, inspiring words to a cheerleader girl in those photos, and a bandana pirate baby, and upbeat post about jello delighted me.
In hopes it will delight you, too. Because that's how these Gifts from Unexpected Places come, I've attached the link below:
Hope it inspires/feeds you what you need today. And, I hope you'll come back and view my blog again, soon. Who knows, by that time I may have found that missing slipper-er blog post. Or something better!
Here's the link if the hyperlink is on the blink: http://www.kellybennettphotography.com/blog/?cat=15
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Finding MY Way Back
Two things happened last week that smacked me down and left me wallowing in a murky pit of miserable. . .
- Flew back to Trinidad after a California Easter and a stop-over in New York with my family.
- Opened a letter from Candlewick Press saying my heart-project DAD AND POP was going out of print.
Then, email brought news of a third, tragic event that dwarfed any issues I might have: A friend’s husband died suddenly—no warning at all. One day he was here, all be it, feeling peckish; the next gone.
Knowledge of my friend’s loss made me recount my largess But, instead of snapping me out of it in that what-the-heck-are-you-moping-about-for-be-grateful-and-get-on-with-it way, the realization of how tenuous it was, how in an instant—any instant—I could lose all I hold dear, sank me.
A TED TALK saved me.
Completely unmotivated to even try to “Get over it, and get on with it,” as my friend Beverly always says, by doing something productive (say unpacking, cooking, or going for a walk), I’d pulled on my fuddiest wallowing clothes, plopped down in front of the computer, and gone Facebook surfing—which depressed me even more as every post seemed entirely too jolly, successful, oozing with cheer—so had moved onto email. As I subscribe to TED TALKS, new lecture notices are delivered to my email. I don’t always listen to each talk, but I think about it. Having reached the end of the new mail, I had a choice to make: sift through junk mail & spam or listen.
The TED TALK was by Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love and recently The Signature of All Things. (As it happens, I’d recently finished the latter, which was pleasantly, surprisingly, nothing like the former—probably the reason I clicked “play” rather than “delete”.)
Gilbert’s talk was titled "Success, Failure, and the Drive to Keep Creating."
In the midst of her talk, Gilbert threw out the fully inflated life preserver I needed.
She described how extreme success and extreme failure feel the same to our sub-conscious. Although polar opposites, in terms of the havoc they wreck on us physiologically—both elicit extreme emotional responses—success and failure feel the same to our sub-conscious. They both have the ability to unbalance us, much the way one lemon too many on either side tips the scales.
Via my interpretation of Gilbert (Listen yourself for more) When we are dangling helplessly, from one end or the other of our balance poles there are two choices:
#1 Quit and just hang there until we fall
or
#2 Head down, eyes open, set a course for HOME and start walking/working our way back.
Simple really, right?
Sure. If you’ve got the ruby slippers, know how to use them, and where you want them to take you. . .
But, before we can fight our way back HOME, we must discover/uncover/recognize:
What is HOME?
For Dorothy, it took a tornado; for me a TED TALK.
“Your home is whatever in this world you love more than you love yourself.”
That’s why I was so miserable. My Home, that to which I as Gilbert defines it “Can dedicate [my] energies with such singular devotion that the ultimate results become inconsequential" is comprised of two things: my family and my work. In the past week, I’ve registered both success and failure. And my friend’s loss was a threat reminder of how easy it is to lose one’s HOME.
One wrong wind is all it take. . .
For me finding my way back HOME, meant scheduling time with my family. And, even though I didn't have the energy for it--getting back to writing.
Dang in Elizabeth-baby wasn’t right! It didn’t take long before I began feeling more centered. I knew it for sure when, part way into this blog, a song popped into my head. I'm not in tune--yet--but at least I’m singing again.
Where’s your HOME? Could you find your way back?
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Wind Wishes for Earth Day
It's Earth Day! Let's Celebrate with Wind Wishes!
How To Make Wind Wishes:
Cut the paper into strips at least 1 inch wide and between 6 and 24 inches long. Vary the length and width of the paper strips. Try not to cut the strips too narrow or they will tear.
Write one wish for the earth on each strip of paper. These wishes might be hopes you have for our earth’s future or for the earth’s creatures.
Punch a whole in one end of each paper strip.
Lace string or yarn through the whole in the paper strip and tie a knot.
Tie the wishes to the branches of a tree, or onto a fence and watch them flutter in the wind.
“Supplies:
Strips of paper (used bags, construction, wrapping)
String or yarn
Something to write with (pens, crayons, water-based markers or paint)
*Please don’t use plastic, foil, beads, glitter, or other materials that will not decompose and might be harmful to animals and birds.”
These Earth Day wind wishes will fade, and the paper will decompose. Birds and squirrels will use the bits of string and paper to build nests.
By our deeds throughout the coming year, let's strive to make these wishes come true!
Thanks for reading!
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CURSED with Call It What You Will!
“What is the daydreaming equivalent to flaneur?”
I asked my know-it-all friend Google.
“Flâneur (pronounced: [flɑnœʁ]), from the French noun flâneur, means “stroller”, “lounger”, “saunterer”, or “loafer”.Flânerie refers to the act of strolling, with all of its accompanying associations.”
—Or should I have written equivalent of flaneur instead of to flaneur—Halt! Scratch that! (Grammarian-digressions are not “writerly." They are more excuses to drift away. Write now, fix later . . . )
Good old Google directed me first to Flaneur Audio. A fuzzy woodlands image and a playlist of “0 minutes; 0 titles.”
Why do I ask? You ask:
Because “daydreaming” is too passive, to harmless-sounding for this affliction.
The next Google link took me to page 133 of a treatise entitled “A Short Phenomenology of Flanerie” which was, I assure you even as I hyperlink, is no treat to read.
(And no, “Flanerie” it is not a misspelling of “Flannery.”) However, Flannery O’Connor’s Slow, deep, Suthun' drawling style is sort of what I mean in asking the question.
Why do I ask?
Because “daydreaming” is too passive, too harmless-sounding for this WHAT-DO-YOU-CALL-IT? Affliction . . . nay. CURSE!
A CURSE which most recently led to me being stranded in JFK airport at 6:02 am. It struck like this:
Right on time—albeit night time: 4:00 am—I revved up the Long Island Express Way toward JFK airport. Happy the forecast-ed snow hadn’t hit, I hit the almost empty highway with my mind tuned to nothing.
ZOOMMMMMMMMMing along, thinking fluffy, puffy, snowy ideas . . . ZOOMMMMM . . . Past the exit—
Congratulating myself for coming to in time to catch my mistake, I flipped a U-turn, and circled back to the entrance. No worries.
The radio station was replaying the same set it has been playing for the past week. I knew all the words, so I sang along as I drove. Until somehow, I wasn’t singing, I was thinking. Thinking through my stories…about Vampire Baby . . .
WHAAAA WHOP WHOP WHIRRRRRRRRR Sirens! Flashing lights!
I clutched the wheel, scanned traffic, focused as I rolled passed the 1 ambulance-3 squad car-2-car smash-crash
Which got me thinking about boys . . . how they are born with car noises BUBBBBBBBBBB. . . . Max had been . . . Then I got to thinking about Baby no-teefers-yet Ben, and how pretty quickly he’d have teeth. Will he be a Vampire Baby? Then I got to thinking what Ben might bite. . . . what kind of stories will Ben make up and will I imagine stories for him . . . lah lah lah . . .
About how it reminded me of Visitor for Bear
I'm a grouch! Could I write about a grouch? What kind of grouch?—
--WIZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
I hit the pause button. I didn’t remember signs for the Mid-Town Tunnel on my way to the airport? I didn’t think so, anyway—
I took the next off ramp, which also happened to lead to a gas station, which made me feel more smart than stupid as I was going to have to fill up the rental car anyway, so really, this was a fortuitous overshot (overshoot?) as I could now double-checked the route on Google Maps while fueling--I couldn’t have gone tooooo far past the airport turn off--good thing I’d left so early. . .
Determined not to make any more mistakes, I flipped a U-Turn. This time, paying strict attention to each Google Map lady instruction, I drove straight back to the airport, to the rental car return where a robot recording told me to go inside. So I did, and waited for the attendant to stop kvetching with her colleague and pay attention to me, which she eventually did, and after a quick comfort stop clomped purposefully to the Air Train station where I responsibily checked the directory, found Jet Blue’s location and boarded the next train .
. . . I came to in front of the Caribbean Airlines desks with nary a Jet Blue desk in sight. Why? Because I was in Terminal 4, not 5—
I wasn't phases. (OK, I was, but just a little bit.) The swirling ideas had infused me with wonderment and possibility even this detour couldn’t dispel.
All the way on walk back to the Air Train and the ride back to Terminal 5 and the longer walk to the check-in counters I held tight to the feeling and the ideas--a mind stuffed with BRILLIANT MUST-DO ideas!
In hearing this account, some—not my family—might applaud this . . . this. . . Imaginitis. A gift! They might call it. This kind of dream thinking is vital! Imperative! It’s what makes writers WRITERS. It’s the path to going deeper to our best stories!
That's certainly what I was thinking: “What a gift!” as I waited in the correct queue at the correct terminal, “What a gift!” as I made my way to the check-in desk, “What a gift!” even as upon hearing my destination the airline rep checked her watch. If she had smiled and said “welcome” I might still be thinking "What a gift!"
But she didn’t.
Now, instead of a head-full of insights, solutions to my story problems, brilliant ideas, what I have to show for this latest bout of whatever the correct term for this daydreaming equivalent to flaneur is is a bill for another flight, a day-long wait in the airport, another flight to Miami followed by another wait, and a sore tailbone.
So I ask again, WHAT IS IT?
Is it OCD/ADD? Is it a writer-itis? Is it that hormonal stuff? Or that aging thing that can be cured with heavy doses of Sudoku and crossword puzzles?
Whatever it is, help! Help! Cure me from this daydreaming equivilent-call-it-what-you . . .
. . . Wait!
I just thought of something . . .
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