life – The Writers in Residence

by WinR members

“In 150 words or fewer, use (most of) these holiday words in a story: snowflake, candle, cookie, bell, star, and mitten. Your story can be funny, magical, reminiscent, or adventurous—it’s up to you!”

Jill Amadio

“Despite the snowflakes landing on her nose and eyes (the only parts of her uncovered) as she trudged along the lane in Boston, she kept hoping for a glimpse of the stars. It was her sole method of navigation, and she longed to see Venus, her home planet.

Suddenly, she spotted a small dark object a few feet ahead. Curious, she picked it up, noting five leather tubes, four next to each other, and another, shorter tube separated from the others (a mitten!). The object appeared to be similar to her own three tubes for each hand. She threw it back onto the snow as she heard a deep booming sound coming from the pointed structure up ahead (a bell tower!).

She stopped to listen as the booms changed tone quickly, and she realized this was what mortals called music. She entered and saw a myriad of little burning candles on a stand. Was this a code?

She ran outside, fumbled in her pocket to retrieve her “nallimachine,” and pressed the shifter button. Instantly, she shot up into the sky, through the snow clouds, and into a triangular craft that had its door already open.

“SoiurmmegivomortChristmasalsii,” she gasped. The pilot nodded and pushed a series of knobs, sending the craft into space.

2. Maggie King

Every year, my daughter Molly and I watch Christmas movies. When The Bells of St. Mary’s ended, I started Frosty the Snowman and went to the kitchen to heat hot chocolate for the two of us. Outdoors, fat snowflakes fluttered in the air, covering the ground in a thick, white blanket. I picked up one of Molly’s mittens from the floor.

“Mom,” Molly cried from the family room. “The star is crooked!”

I handed Molly a mug of fragrant hot chocolate and straightened the star on top of the tree. The tinsel on the branches reflected the lights in jewel colors of red, green, and blue.

“Mom, can we leave Christmas cookies on the mantle for Santa?”

“Of course, darling. And you get to pick the cookies Santa will like.”

Molly squealed in delight. “I love Christmas, Mommy.”

“So do I, darling. So do I.”

3. Jackie Houchin

Mittens, my black-and-white tuxedo kitten, jumped from my bed to the bookcase by my window and wiggled her head through the slit in the curtains. I heard her “chat-chat-chatter” at something outside, but I was too cozy in my bed to get up and see.

She started “running” her front paws on the cold glass, making a squeaking sound, and jingling the bell on her collar. “Meow,” she said, pushing through the curtain to stand on the windowsill, her tail twitching.

I popped the rest of my gingerbread cookie into my mouth and climbed out of bed. “Brrrrr.” I stuck my head between the curtains to see what Mittens saw. She was purring as loudly as an electric pencil sharpener now!

“Awwww,” I purred too. In the neighbor’s upstairs window across from mine was my friend’s new white Persian kitten. She had a big red Christmas ribbon around her neck.

“Hi, Star!” I said and waved Mittens’ paw at her. She squeezed her golden eyes shut briefly and smiled.

4. G. B. Pool

A bell went off in young Bobby Gentry’s head last year when he tried catching a glimpse of Santa and his reindeer, which he did every Christmas Eve. He saw something flash across the night sky, followed by a shower of snowflakes that looked like glittering stars.

He planned all year for this next Christmas Eve. He picked out the prettiest cookie his aunt had made for the holiday party earlier that evening and stuffed it in his pocket. It was broken by the time he got home, but it would have to do.

He left a note, the cookie, some mittens for Santa to keep his hands warm, and a handmade card. In the note, Bobby said he didn’t want anything for himself, but would Santa deliver this card on his journey.

The card featured a lopsided cake and three candles. Written inside were these words: Happy Birthday, Jesus.

5. Linda Johnston

Who Saved Who?

Wearing a jacket and boots, Ava approached her car outside her Indiana home as snowflakes fell. Christmastime was nearing. Today was growing late, and a star glowed in the darkening sky.

She and her husband, Bret, had no kids yet, and Ava was lonesome since Bret had suddenly left town for business. Well, she knew where to go. She and Bret had already made the decision. Now, it was time.

Driving carefully, Ava soon reached the pet shelter where a candle burned in the window. Exiting her car, she pulled on mittens for the short walk inside.

And yes! She was met at the entrance by volunteer Sue, with a special dog leashed beside her: an adorable, abandoned Papillon mix.

“Hi, Lucy!” Ava knelt to offer a small dog cookie. As Lucy ate it, Ava stood and looked at Sue. “Is she–?”

“She’s yours after we finalize paperwork.”

Ava smiled and picked Lucy up. Christmas in their household would be wonderful.

6. Renee LeVerrier (guest)

A Haiku

Mom’s cookie tins hold

Stars and snowflakes, mittens, bells

Reach in for childhood

7. Barb Bland (guest)

All the other women in my family were up to their eyebrows cooking, shopping, wrapping, and decorating for Christmas, so I volunteered to look after my three-year-old niece, Lizzie, who was sick in bed. In her darkened bedroom, I told her about The Star and the heavenly angels appearing to the shepherds watching their flocks by night.

“The German Shepherds?” she interrupted.

I realized that her next-door neighbor had two dogs of that breed and that Lizzie was too young to have yet learned about nationalities, so I simply laughed and said, “Yes. The German Shepherds.”

Hope you all enjoyed the stories. Got any of your own to share??

By ROSEMARY LORD

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“Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass, but learning to dance in the rain…” Vivian Greene’s quote has been oft repeated.

Well, I think I’ve been waiting for the storm to pass for a long time now. Too long.

And the storms kept coming. It seems the clouds would part briefly and the sun shone brilliantly again. But then those dreaded clouds crept back across my horizon…

I’m poised in the wings of Life. Waiting. Now? I ask. Is it my turn NOW?

Oops. No. Someone else’s drama needs attention. And I step back into the shadows, ready to help.

I’d been writing articles about Hollywood for all my adult life. I came to Hollywood and met and interviewed the real movie stars. I’d been a Senior Unit Publicist at Columbia Studios. Then I was asked to write two books on Hollywood history, complete with authentic archive photos. After the success of those two non-fiction books, Hollywood Then and Now and Los Angeles Then and Now I ventured into the world of fiction. Mystery fiction.

I had met Maisie Dobbs author Jacquie Winspear when we were both honored by the Southern California Independent Book Sellers. We would meet up in Westwood where she was doing a writers’ course at UCLA, encouraging me to do the same. I did. As I waxed lyrical about Hollywood’s rich history, Jacquie encouraged me to write a mystery story set in Old Hollywood. Maisie Dobbs was her first mystery novel. She said that if she can do it, so can I!

I was scared. Me, a mystery writer – you mean like Aggie Christie? Me? But after completing novel and mystery writing courses at UCLA, I was invited to join Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime and attended their workshops and conferences. I LOVED this new world of mystery writers. They’re the best! I thoroughly enjoyed the gruesome forensic workshops and was enthralled listening to the successful novelists share their wisdom and encouragement.

And so I learned – and I wrote.

I met Gayle Bartos-Pool, Jackie Houchin and Miko Johnson at those conferences. Now lifelong friends, we started our own writers’ group, Writers-In-Residence and met at the Burbank library to share pages of our writing projects, critiquing, discussing and encouraging each other. This Blog came later.

In the midst of all this, I was taking care of my ailing mother-in-law until she passed, and a domestically-hopeless-but-wonderful, hard-working husband, Rick.

I had completed my first mystery novel and was gathering notes for the second and third in the series “Lottie Topaz Hollywood Mysteries.” I had my list of potential literary agents ready. I started sending my submissions out to the most obvious agents, then was working my way down the list. I had sort of designed my new website for the launch of my first mystery novel. I had mock-ups of cover designs. My new brief bio was written. I was ready.

But then, without warning, my darling husband Rick died of a heart attack. I was at my desk, sending another ten pages to an agent when he cried out and collapsed.

Obviously, my world stopped. I was shattered. I had no idea who I was any longer. I loved being Rick’s wife. Now I wasn’t. What was I? Who was I?

That storm lingered a lot longer than I ever could have imagined.

It was shortly after that that the Woman’s Club of Hollywood asked for my help. Numb, I said yes. I buried myself in saving that historic club as I worked through my grief. And, boy, was that a never-ending can of worms at the Woman’s Club! There’s a whole book in all the shenanigans that can go on in those historic buildings. Don’t get me started on the ghosts that linger from the days when Jean Harlow (as Harlean Carpenter) attended school there with Douglas Fairbanks Junior. Although, having grown up in England, lots of places have ghosts, so I’m used to them. But that’s a whole other tale…

For the longest time I could not even look at my Lottie Topaz manuscript. It’s what I was doing when Rick died. I made every excuse under the sun. But, like the mustard seed that needs watering in order to grow into a huge tree, we have to feed our writer’s mind, that writer’s soul.

I neglected my writing brain for too long. But this Writers’ Blog helped me work my way back as a writer. Word by word, blog by blog.

The encouragement from Gayle, Jackie, Miko and all of you really helped me tiptoe out from under that dark storm cloud. I began working on another story I had started ages ago.

Step by step, I got my writing legs back. I found the music in my life again.

And now I am on Lottie’s case once more. Her Book Two is under way. And Book Three is forming in my head. I have copious notes and old news clippings to peruse. I will find a home for Lottie’s debut novel. It took longer than I thought, but – hey – I’m not afraid of those storms. I’ve learned to dance in the rain and love it!

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