Monday, June 13, 2011

Saying "Good-bye" to First Person

Recently, I wrote a couple of stories for a local newspaper.
A small pittance, though it was, I was so excited to have my first "paid" writing assignment.
I put all of my heart and soul into it, spending time with my two subjects (both Special Olympic athletes), and their families. 
These wonderful people set aside time to meet with me, opening up their hearts and their homes.
It was not difficult for them to win me over.  
I spent a few hours with each of them, and wished I could have spent more.

Soon after I arrived home, I sat at my laptop - all of my notes laid out in front of me. 
Like an artist at work, I molded and formed the notes and conversations into stories.
They came out effortlessly, and when I sat back and read them . . . . . .  they made me smile. 
I wanted to produce something that would make these two families proud,
 and I felt that I had.

I sent them into the editor, and waited. 

And waited, and waited. 

Since this was the first time that I had been given a writing assignment (versus me just sending one in), I was a little unsure about the rules.

Should I wait until he contacts me?

Should I just look at the paper, day after day,
     until I see that it has been published (or not)?

Should I call him,
or will he think that I am being a nuisance and wish that he had not hired me?             

I was definitely over-thinking things. 

Fortunately, I was in the middle of moving from one house to another,
     which was more than enough stress to keep my mind off of my stories. 

Still, I kept thinking, I could use this right now.  I could really use this.

In the meantime, the families began contacting me, so I decided to send an e-mail to the editor.

Less obtrusive than a phone call, I thought.  



     "I would like you to consider doing a re-write," said the editor.
                                                    "There is too much of YOU in the story."   

In other words, SAY "GOOD-BYE" TO FIRST PERSON. 

I got it.  

Right away - I got it. 

This was my first tough lesson in being a writer for a newspaper.

THEY DON'T WANT TO KNOW WHAT I THINK OR HOW I FEEL. 

Could I write like that?

Could I say "good-bye" to First Person???

More than anything, I wanted the stories to be published,
     and more than anything, I want to learn and improve, as a writer. 

I want to spread my wings, and stretch my horizon -
     to be able to write about multiple and diverse subjects. 

     "It won't be easy for me," I said, "BUT, not impossible." 

I went to work on them right away, taking the "ME" out of the stories,
     and though it was not as difficult as I thought,
I felt that it made the stories less personable. 

And, I think that is what people LIKE about my stories - the "ME" in them.

The "what I think and how I feel". 

BUT, that is not what this particular assignment was about. 

I got it. 

And, ultimately, the stories were published.

Ideally? 

One day, I would like to have my own running column, where people will open the paper (or laptop) day after day, just to read about what I think. 

In the meantime, I still have my Blog. 

It doesn't pay much , but I can use as much First Person as I want! 

And, I will continue to take those "paid" writing assignments, no matter how small,
     and continue to learn and grow, as a writer,
for writing gives me pleasure in a way that nothing else does,
     and any opportunity to write, is a blessing.   





Friday, June 10, 2011

Covered in Boxes

Move complete, but covered in boxes. 

When I find my way to the top, I will let you know.

I WOULD post a photo, but I can't find the box that has my camera chord (cord?) -
     that thing that allows me to download photos from my camera to my computer.

All of this unpacking is affecting (effecting?) my brain.     

Please be patient for more stories !   

Saturday, June 4, 2011

Deborah, The Bank Teller

She was my lucky bank teller that day.

That sunny, beautiful day. 

THAT day - when I would walk up to her window,
     requesting a very large cashiers check,
which I would soon bring with me to the settlement of my newly purchased house.

Soon, to be my new HOME. 

She had a friendly face, which was needed and valued during my moment of anxiety,
     and warm eyes that peeked out over her glasses.  
    
"Moment of anxiety" . . . . . . . ha!

I laughed to myself, as I could not remember the last time I was NOT feeling anxious.

Not lately, anyways.

Through the opening, at the bottom of the glass window,
     I handed her the small piece of paper with my account number
and the amount that I needed for the check.

I, then, opened my wallet to retrieve my driver's license,

BUT IT WASN'T THERE.

Are you kiDDING me? 

Are you KIDDing me?

My driver's license sits, uninterrupted, in the sleeve of my wallet, most days of the year,

BUT, when I NEED it - like, at the airport,
or on those occasional rare days when I get "carded",
     or, apparently, when I am at the bank,
about to write the largest check EVER, in my lifetime -

it goes MISSING! 

My mind went blank, as I tried to think why it would not be in my wallet. 

When would I have taken it out of my wallet, and for what? 

     "You DO need to see my driver's license, right?"  I asked
                        (though, it was more like a confirmation, than a question). 

She smiled a calm smile, and nodded her head.

I scrounged through the bottom of my purse, and . . . . . . 

A HA! 

( It is only now, as I am writing this,
     that I remembered using it at the very same bank, just days before.     
Obviously, I did not put it back properly.) 

I slid it under the window.

     "I need you to write this out for the amount that you need," she said,
                                             as she handed me a pen and a blank check.

As I began to write out the numbers on the blank line provided,
     I realized that the only time I had ever written a number that size on a check,
was back in grade school math class, FOR PRACTICE.

At the time, I think I may have even thought it was fun. 

As I handed the check back to her, I held it with a firm grip,
     as she attempted to take it from me - her eyes half smiling, half questioning.

"I'm . . .  not . . .  ready . . .  to . . .  let . . .  go!"  I told her, as she broke out into laughter.

I did, though, and she stepped away from the counter for a few moments with my check.

She came back, and held up a newly printed check for me to see.

     "This is the correct amount, right?" she asked.

     "Yep," I said, as the number glared back at me.  "That's what I wrote."

     "Anything else that I can help you with?" she asked. 

     "Do you really want me to answer that quesion?" I asked back. 

In a very wise sounding tone,
as she handed me the check and my driver's license, she said,

     "It will all work out.  It always does."

Funny, but those are words that I always seem to be telling myself.

On this day, however, I needed to hear it from someone else.

That "someone" was Deborah, the Bank Teller.

     "I have a feeling," I said, "that I will not be forgetting your name anytime soon, Deborah."

She laughed, and said,

     "Have a wonderful day, Leslie!"



    







Thursday, June 2, 2011

Moving Soon

MOVING SOON TO A LOCATION NEAR YOU.

Seriously.

I am moving into a new house (among other things), and have had no time to write,
but I will be back soon.

STAY TUNED!!!

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Wake-up Call

I awaken to a Saturday morning, but not on my own. 

There is a distant noise. 

Half awake, I try to identify the sound.

Muffled voices, coming from the other side of the wall.  

My kids are with their dad, so it must be my son's alarm radio.   

Too lazy to get up and turn it off.

From downstairs, I hear a "Beep, beep!"

Fast, repetitive - high pitched. 

The Elliptical, reminding me that I did not use it yesterday.      

     "Beep, beep!"

There it goes again.

     "Time to exercise," it is saying.   

The radio is still making noise.

Technology is telling me to get up. 

Saturday morning, or not. 

Friday, May 27, 2011

Indeed

Can it possibly be FRIDAY?  A week, since the last time I posted a story?

As a good friend of mine likes to say,

     "Indeed it is."

A lot has happened this week.

Over the last several days, 
     I have had the opportunity to spend time with two star athletes and their families (and pets).

Karen Dickerson (long distance runner), and David Curtin (Golfer),
     will be representing Team USA in Athens next month,
at the Special Olympics World Summer Games.  

Although, I did not have the opportunity to swing a golf club with David,
     I did lace up my running shoes for Karen, and ran two laps around my former high school track.

(My legs hurt, two days later, but it was worth it.)  

I spent a good part of today writing my stories, and sent them off to the editor.

Whether they end up being printed, or not, it was a truly amazing and rewarding experience.

And, I ended my week by making a couple of young entrepreneurs very happy.

As I was driving out of David's neighborhood, there were four, elementary-aged kids
( all different colors and backgrounds) yelling out,

     "50 cents!  A cup of lemonade for 50 cents!" 

I turned around at the next cross street, and pulled up in front of them. 

As my car approached, I could see the hopeful expressions on their faces,
     as they quickly moved into their positions to serve their "potential" next customer. 

When I exited the car, and began to walk toward them, their wishes had been answered.

     "Would you like some lemonade?  Pink or yellow?" one of them asked.

     "It is a beautiful day, and I would like one cup of pink lemonade, but I will pay you the price for two, "
I responded, as I handed them a dollar. 

I thought one of the little boy's eyes were going to pop out of his face.

"Thank you!" he said.  

Between the four of them, they poured the ice and pink lemonade,

and handed me the cup, saying "thank you" a million times over.  

As I walked toward my car, I thought about meeting Karen,

and David, their wonderful families (and pets), and the enthusiastic, hard working lemonade stand workers,

and I drank down possibly the most delicious, most satisfying cup of lemonade I have EVER tasted. 

Quite a week, indeed. 



















 











Friday, May 20, 2011

Steaks Can Give You Nightmares


Do NOT watch the Food Network channel before you go to bed.

Last night, just before taking my glasses off and setting them on the nightstand,

     and just as my eyelids were beginning to feel the weight of the long day,

a handful of chefs on the Food Network were busy cooking. 

The competition was on to see who could grill the best steak,
     and it was serious business. 

Soon after, I woke up in a panic from a terrible nightmare. 

As with most dreams, the details are a bit fuzzy, but I remember the most important parts. 

I walked into a room full of STEAKS. 

There was one cooking on the stove, one in the oven, one on the grill,

     and one on the . . . . . . . . . . . . ironing board. 

                          YOU HEARD ME.                      IRONING BOARD.


As you can imagine, I was suddenly very stressed out. 

I was not sure where they came from, or how they got there,

     but there was no one else around,

and it was apparent that it was my responsibility to oversee these steaks.

 I bounced around, frantically, from steak to steak,

     flipping and turning, raising the heat and lowering -  

trying not  to burn anything or start any fires. 

In my fury, I knocked the hot, steak- filled pan off the ironing board. 

When I quickly reached down to pick it up,
     I realized it had landed on my DOG! 

As I lifted the hot pan off of him, the steaks were no longer important. 

My dog was in pain,

     and all I could think about was how fast I could rush him to the animal hospital.

However, I never made it there.

I woke up.

I don’t need an expert to analyze this dream and tell me what it means. 

I think it is pretty clear.

1)    I am feeling the stress of juggling too many things in my life right now.

2)    I worry about the well- being of those that I love and am responsible for.

But, most importantly  . . . . . .

3)    NO COOKING ON THE IRONING BOARD, 
       especially when the dog is lying on the floor, just below. 

And . . . . . .

4)  NO MORE WATCHING FOOD NETWORK
             BEFORE GOING TO BED ! ! ! 


Now, if you will excuse me, I think I'll go put the ironing board away. 
It has been "standing" in my room for several weeks,
     collecting clothes.

Hmmmmmm. . .  

Maybe THAT'S the message.