NaNoWriMo - November is National Novel Writing Month

And I'm writing a novel, so I'm a NaNoWriMo - er type person. Hooray for me. I'm excited. And busy-er. Oh well. Hip hip hooray.

You say hilshire, I say farms.

Hilshire! Farms. Go beef! (does hilshire have 2 l's?) . . . things that make you go hmm.

Walking up a spiral staircase . . .

. . . and other designer writing secrets. Wait, there are none.

I love this post I found this morning over at Shore Acres's blog, The Task at Hand.. the author wrote of furnishing our stories.

It's seriously one of a thousand to read before you die (I have a series of those y'know - thousands, indeed dozens, of posts to read before you die).

And, for your listening pleasure, click on this blog link- a blogger in Tennessee from Great Britain ... beautiful peaceful soulful music there. I like it a lot.

Brought to you by the dreamers of Shelby's Cafe Playlist.

Spooky Day

When I was growing up, we never really participated in national spooky day the day before November starts. Some might say (and did say it) - well, your parents were too conservative and uppity - it's not really a cultish day.

Maybe. They were conservative and strict (are still - although not so much), but they were never uppity.

If there's one word that describes my family - uppity ain't the word.

No, we didn't dress up and go begging for candy. We didn't have scary parties. We didn't make the party stores richer.

To be sure, there were times when I didn't understand my parents. Some years I wanted to be a regular kid and do all the scary hoopla things .. but not really to do them ... it was more of the want to say I did them.. so I wouldn't be considered different.

Mostly though, when I look back .. I couldn't have given a rip about most of it. I was one of those rare kids who got my parents. I understood them. I believed they knew what they were doing and I believed they gave much more in life than the one silly spooky day that sometimes I missed out on. I had hugs in the morning, hugs at lunch, hugs at snacks, hugs at dinner, hugs at night (ok, it wasn't a hugfest all the time .. but we were loved).

I had a hot breakfast every morning (toast counts doesn't it?). I had a nice home, clean sheets, warm towels, heat and air, a dog, sometimes horses, cats (and my parents hated cats), a lawn to help mow, dishes to help clean up, a sister to learn what real rivalry meant, grandparents who lived on farms, cousins who liked to play chase, uncles who played guitars, trips out west, trips up north, a house full of books and parents who grew up dirt poor, but who always knew (and know) the meaning of happiness and satisfaction. Simplicity. A quiet life. The gift of being unassuming. Love. Hope.

That's what I grew up with. I got that. I didn't always do it. Don't still. But I know what is important - those family values that I was given and cherish. I had it pretty darn good.

So, when spooky day rolls around each year and I pine for November, it's partly because I really do like November, but it's also because I just don't like spooks, and I don't like having to convince folks that I didn't have a deprived childhood.

But, in honor of spooky day this year, I give you the best I could find this morning. The video below is Johnny Cash singing one of the spookiest songs I love - Ghost Riders in the Sky. Yippee I Aye ... Yippee I Ohhhh .. minor key, guitar sounds, horses hoofs, galloping rhythm.. dark skies.. fire.. spirits and threats to live better or spend eternity with spooks.. True yikes.

Johnny's song is one of a half dozen to listen to before November .. I might try to find more if I have time.



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And, I did find another (and others) over at That Nasvhille Sound blog, where they posted a super list of ten spooky songs for the ween o' hallo .. This one is Guy Clark pickin' The Guitar. It's deliciously wicked.

Don't ask why - just go

Click here. Then scroll down and just pick a story (or 3 or 4 or 12) to listen to. You will NOT be disappointed. There's a huge chance you'll be addicted to your computer for the next little while.

It's worth it.

Go. It's story time.

My Losing Season

This is a link to a National Public Radio interview by Bob Edwards with author Pat Conroy, about his book (not new, but great interview) My Losing Season. The book is about Conroy's senior year at the Citadel and his basketball team's losing season.

The interview is fairly short, about 7 minutes.. but it's a great snapshot into all things Pat Conroy. He really has a unique hold on writing about life, as most of us know it.

He has a way of putting a positive spin on the deepest of hurts. That is what I like.

Lovin' this

This girl speaks my language - visually, lyrically and spiritually.. emotion is all there right at the front.

Mindy Smith.

Forget the soup - listen to the music

Soup has been on my mind this morning as I sit here in the dark in my bed thinking of things to write about.

It actually wasn't the first thing in my awakeness, but after reading a bit online - the word soup kept appearing.. you know, it is the season - squash, butternut, potato, pumpkin and the rest. It's a soup season.

So, I do my own little soup misearch (that's short for mini-research a/k/a googling). Of course, when I do a misearch, I don't simply type in the word (in this instance, 'soup'). I type in other words along with it - to get a more Shelby friendly search result list, more apt to be full of things that interest me. For example: I will type in the word, 'soup' and also the word 'cottage' and of course the word 'blogspot' and maybe even 'south carolina' or 'appalachia'.. that way I find articles or posts (hopefully) that are full of other interesting things that could quite possibly (again, hopefully) trigger other interesting things that aren't yet interesting.

Adventure is always around the bend. I just have to find the bend. Sometimes the road isn't curvy enough-so I have to make the curves myself.

Ok, so after I typed in all my interesting words, I ended up with a list in google and I clicked on "Daisy Cottage - Let's Take a Trip!" - after all, that is the perfect sounding title to all things Shelby Dupree related.

I was not disappointed. At Daisy Cottage's place, I was welcomed with lovely music, beginning with Stranger on the Shore, by Mr. Acker Bilk. It's a piece for the clarinet and is super smooth and transported me to a place I wanted to be (the shore of course!).

The link to her playlist is here .. take a listen, you'll like it too I bet.

I didn't actually find any soup there, but I liked the music. That was enough to make one misearcher happy.

When it all starts coming undone

Presenting - Lady Antebellum.

I run to you. Happy Friday!!!!!!

One minute I held the key . . . and other lyrics

Today's music playlist choice for me - and you (should you choose to listen).. is here.

Try it.

"It was a wicked and wild wind..."

A Preview of Sorts (did I mention I'm writing a book)

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*Please do not copy my words that are above or anywhere here on this site. They are protected.

Home of Infinite Ability, et al.

I never cease to be amazed at life as it unfolds around me. I sometimes find suprises in my past, oftentimes find random moments that inspire, and other times, I discover new music, or even old music - that stirs my soul in such creative and unique ways.

Over and over again my creative self seeks to form the perfect monument to life and whatever else may be the subject de jour of my mind - such as my book. And the one after that, and the series after those.

The word "infinite" keeps showing up (Nina, in Chicago - wrote Friday of a senior living place actually called the Home of Infinite Ability!).

My thoughts are endless. The words are finite. The struggle to get the thoughts down in print, the angst of focus, the sorrow of wasted time (or is it).

The joy of writing.  It's mine, to share.  The concept of another human being comprehending and feeling something familiar or positive because of something I wrote, anything I put into words - that possibility, quite simply, makes me smile.

Me smiling at life smiling back at me and all the rest.

- - -

My book is progressing nicely.  I have a goal of about a hundred more pages - writing faster than this time last year for sure, yet more slowly over the past several days.  The characters and ideas are forming. I've had some plot twists surprise me. I had a character show up who I was unfamiliar with and who I am enjoying learning about.

The one thing that has moved me along recently - learning to listen to my ghosts.  You know, the little thoughts and nagging ideas that just won't leave you alone. The little glimpses of memory reaching far into the land of yesteryear.  They mean something. 

Figure it out.  Write it down.  Then figure it out some more.  Close your eyes. What do you see. What do you smell. What do you hear.  What' s next.  Ask.  Smile. Write. Right?

Do you see the sunshine or the fireflies in the night?  Infinite abilities call me home.  This is me, talking to me.



"If I could look across the country, from California to New Jersey, then I would count the parks and lake resorts, and number all the jets and airports, all those rather dreary rain clouds still bother me, cuz I look through the camera eyepiece and cannot see" - lyrics from Fuzzy Blue Lights by Owl City.

Out Loud

Here's Mindy Smith musically presenting a great truth out loud.

As I live and breathe

Busy. Working. Chasing two teenagers. Correction-one teenager and one child/adult. Cross country meets. Birthdays (now officially over). Funeral. Sleep (not enough). Writing. Walking. Reading. Wishing. Dreaming. Planning. All of that and more.

More later.

It's birthday season at our house

 

Rick Bragg has a new book out today

His new book is titled The Most They Ever Had.  Bragg is a fellow southerner and Pulitzer Prize winner. He is a fantastic writer and writes of things oh so familiar to me.  He could be related to me - although he probably is not.  He embodies so much of all my relatives and communicates his life (my life) so magically.  An earlier book of his was titled It's All Over But the Shoutin' - and that was a love story to his mother who endured so much just to get through the days of life.

At the time that earlier book was published, one of my other favorite authors - Pat Conroy - read Bragg's book and almost immediately sent flowers to Bragg's mother.  You see, Bragg's mother, and the way that Bragg had written of her, helped Conroy understand and appreciate so much more his own mother who had since died.

I like this Rick Bragg immensely.

I am a town

"I am the pines behind the graveyard."

Mary Chapin Carpenter captures the southern living soul of lives in towns. Beautiful.

Music falling on the south

The space and time between a loved one's death and the visitation, service and burial is like a suspension of being.  Time moves forward, but somehow it isn't felt. Anticipation of the dreaded final goodbyes along with joyful tears of crowds of family gathered  -  all of the emotion, smells, sounds and memories are seemingly being folded together into a masterpiece that was never commissioned but nevertheless will be treasured somehow ironically.

A southern family in a time continuum of life reminds me of . . . the finest linen tablecloth washed clean after a banquet of celebration of life . . . a cool forest stream by a cabin . . . a mandolin and a wee child dancing a jig . . a mason jar full of daisies on top of the antique organ . . . a laugh from Uncle Jo . . a giant hug from Cousin Deb.

A ghostly mystical orchestra of accented timeless notes in the key of sharp - love.

Death and Other Distractions

Yesterday was one of the happiest days in our home - for my son celebrated 20 years of life. This morning was another happy day as my daughter raced with 285 high school age girls and she finished with a fantastic time .. beat her own last year's record in this same race by about 30 seconds (and she's had the swine flu for 2 weeks).

And about lunch time today, I got the call from my mother who let me know her brother had not survived the morning. He has been suffering from lung cancer - only he didn't know what was the matter until about three weeks ago.

She's been by his side day and night since then. His sons were there too and a brother and another sister, and a whole host of people who love each other - and most importantly, we all loved him.

His life was so precious.

We now make the journey to gather for burial at the homeplace and resting place of all that have come before me.

It's not California.

Seasons of Life Move

Language of emotion is universal. Life is fragile, beautiful, always changing - and ending. Beginnings point to an end. Irony all around us, but love surrounds it all.

I really don't know the words to this song, but it speaks volumes to me. The understanding is there even if I can't quite grasp it.

On Death and Dying

I have a loved one who is dying. It is surreal. It is so very sad.

It happens every day somewhere. Today it is happening in my world.

There are funny moments with so many family members gathered together. There are very sad moments with group tears. It is what it is - the dying moments, the cherished moments.

I will have some hilarious stories to share. I will have some tears to share. The tears are more than I can bear almost.

Life gives way to the end. Words and life go hand in hand. Hugs to all who love and who have lived.