Cynthia's Blog
Saturday, May 7, 2005
I went to a beautiful wedding today. Congratulations to Justin & Julie Busby!
Why do people let their screaming kids ruin a wedding service? I don't get it. I mean, people are videoing this blissful moment and a child is bawling in the background…and not just bawling…full-lunged, ear-piercing shrieking like a banshee bawling; unbelievable. But, that's me. Maybe others enjoy it.
I only wrote for an hour this morning, which sort of feels like a day off. Right now I'm writing two stories - actually four J. I'm writing The Englishman (It is my opus, my life's song, my Gone With the Wind as 'were.). And, I'm writing This Girl Lauralee Murphy, which is flat-out fun, but I need to be in the mood when I write it. I'm also writing children's stories for Children's Church. I'm the Story-Teller for the 4th - 6th graders. I write a story involving 3 or 4 kids from class and then read it out loud to them during their service. They anxiously wait for me to call the names. I’m finishing Tell es-Safi and beginning The Drums of Teniwatchi.
Monday, May 9, 2005
I've been working on The Englishman all morning. The first chapter just flew out of my pen and onto the paper. However, I'm not sure which way to go now. Why does Langford act the way he does? He's imperious, dangerous, has no temper but a hard, cold authority.
And, why would I be attracted to a man like this?
Note to self: Put an accredited psychotherapist on retainer.
May 14, 2005
I had my second book-signing today. Two ladies from my church invited me to have a table at the Mother/Daughter Brunch. There were over 140 ladies present and I have writer's cramp.
It's funny when someone says, "Ewwww, you're a writer!" "It's a curse," I tell them. It's a curse because story-lines keep running through my head and I can never just meet someone without studying their character. Most people, I hope, do not realize that I analyze them continuously --- not because they're emotionally unbalanced (in most cases, anyway), but because I wonder: why does this person act the way they do? Can I use this person in one of my books?
These thoughts normally cease when a person becomes my friend, of course. My friends are so enchanting that I tend to forget all about the fact that they are kleptomaniacs and that they're are really quite fun.
Take Tammi, for instance. (I don't think she's a kleptomaniac but maybe I haven't delved deep enough.) When I first met her, well, I liked her just fine. I began my usual analysis: What makes Tammi, well, Tammi? She has a quick-wit, but who wouldn't when they were raised on Zigzag Road? She's agreeable, engaging, amusing, and I wrote her into This Man Thatacus Murphy.
Now, Tammi is my friend, so I tend to ignore that she's fixated with the dead and that she dreams of one day performing autopsies. Tammi is a perfect example of why writing is a curse. She is the reason I wind up in alleyways trying to get a peek at the crematoriums "oven" and why I had to tip the funeral home's doorman $100 so that my friend could witness Mrs. Culbertson's last hair-styling, may she rest in peace.
Tomorrow I am visiting Linda Falkner's Sunday school class to testify how I use my talent as a writer to glorify God. No, I'm not an inspirational romance writer, I am a comedy-romance writer, but I do try to keep things respectable and high-minded because I would like God to enjoy my writing as much as anybody else. He's a fabulous writer, by the way. Check out the Gospel of John. It's fascinating ready, especially 3:16.
May 15, 2005
If you've read my bio, you know that I live in Florida. In other parts of the country having an insect problem is a sign of squalor and filth. In the Sunshine State the fact that you have an ant problem only means that your home has been deemed worthy of the title Sugar Shack.
In the spring, my home offers hospitality to the Palmetto. That sounds exotic, doesn't it? Palmetto. It is nothing but a 2' long winged roach. They do not infest a house, they merely stop in for a drink and to see if they can get a rise out of the owner. They always get a "rise" at my house, especially out of my teenaged daughter, Mary. Then they return to their palmettos and they give an hilarious account of how Mary chatters like a squirrel. The baby palmettos cheer and ask to hear the story again and again until the mother palmetto shouts at them to go to bed and stop that jumping on the mattress.
It is my theory that palmettos bugs are filled peanut butter.
