Tag: life

A Writer Writes

by Rosemary Lord

I’ve had a hectic few weeks writing my new Los Angeles Then and Now book, as I realized the June deadline was looming. Why do we think we always have more time than is really available?

I’d been in England and Greece with my family – which was lovely. But even when I was there, I was mentally figuring when and where I could grab a couple of hours to research and write. Even half an hour would help. But I’m not one of those writers that can sit down – plonk! – and start writing. I’ve come to realize that I need to come down from my everyday life. Then time to mentally flatten things out, before I can switch into writer mode.

I think this is because I am not currently writing fiction – where I find I can, if I need, plonk myself down on the corner of a table and scribble inspired lines, and even paragraphs.  That doesn’t mean that I don’t have to eventually sit down for many hours at a time, day after day, to actually write the novel I promised. But I can also write it in bits and spurts.

But writing this particular, nonfiction, book requires a lot of research. The physical – driving all over in heavy Los Angeles traffic, checking if a building is still standing and in what sort of condition, who the neighbors are and how the neighborhood is looking.  But I also do research about any construction or new plans for the building in question and the surrounding area. Thank goodness for the internet – but I still have to find physical documents from in-person library and record-office visits as well. That is after I have investigated the entire history and Government records.

I’m still begging our local offices for more information on the upcoming Olympic Games to be played in Los Angeles in 2028 – just after my book comes out. No one seems to know where any of it is really happening. They tell me they ‘hope’ but are still not sure. So I have to get very creative to sound as if I have actual facts, locations and dates! Which I don’t! And I have to write in a timeless way so that the book, which is to be published in late 2027, is not out of date and does not sound as if I wrote it in 2026. It needs to be readable for years to come and not sound dated. If that makes any sense. 

That writing project has to be my main focus currently, as I have a publisher and a deadline.

But I’m also still fighting to save the Woman’s Club of Hollywood and have spent a lot of the past 3 years appearing in court, fighting off greedy people that suddenly decide that they should own the historic landmark property! I was even sued by one of them for trying to stop them claiming they own the property now. I have learned far more about the law than I ever wanted to. But I’ve also learned a lot of legal lingo and how attorneys and court officials write and speak. And how to make them listen and believe me. I just wish I could get inspired to write some legal drama – as a lot of writing has been involved. I have written copious ‘statements’ and ‘declarations,’ addressing dishonest or bizarre claims, cleaning up witness ramblings and creating documents that swiftly and cleanly explain the current situation, precluding any wiggle room for misinterpretation. Just the facts, ma’am!  It is a specialized form of writing.  But not enjoyable, other than the knowledge that I am fighting for justice for an historic landmark.

But I do snatch time for my fun writing, as I clear my head of the other ‘stuff.’ My fun writing rambles, but sometimes results in an unfinished short story, another chapter in my second Lottie Topaz book – as yet, unfinished. Writing is therapeutic. Sometimes I just write 3 or 4 pages of what may be an essay on something. Whenever I have the time, I shall go through these scribblings and decide if I think they’re worth publishing. I have a lot of unpublished writings!

It was good to escape to Greece again, as I always manage to clear my head while I am there, and decide what in my life and my writing is worth keeping and what needs to be discarded. I get surprising clarity.

It could be the sound of the ocean just yards away from where we stay. Or the serenity of the old house we rent, where every room has many windows, all with amazing views of treetops and the ocean, or mountains on the other side, or terracotta roofs amidst the endless olive trees, and that characteristic yellow brick of the local houses. Every room has a view. There are verandas that scream for writing time, and a small, tranquil garden. What’s not to like? The challenge is, when one does sit down to write there, is to not be lulled to sleep by the sound of the waves. Especially when this follows some wonderful Greek meal. So, the struggle is enormous.  And I noticed on so many occasions there, that when the house was quiet, my siblings were all reading – before they were lulled to sleep. Everyone got through several books while we were there. We always do.

So now it’s back to reality – and writing deadlines. But I’m grateful to have a deadline and a writing deal – after so many years of chasing publishers and literary agents. That agent bit never came to fruition. But my book writing did. And so, I write on. And as long as I can write – even if it just for my eyes – I am a happy camper.

My Paper Trail

                  By ROSEMARY LORD

D’you ever forget what you’ve ordered online? I ordered a ream pack of copy paper. I was surprised because about 2 hours later a ream of 500 sheets of white paper was delivered. “That was quick” I thought. Even for Amazon Overnight. Except it wasn’t.  I’d ordered that paper two days ago – and promptly forgot. Oh well, so now I had two reams of copy paper. A writer can never have enough paper, I told myself.

As a writer, there is nothing better than to hold a fat wad of copy paper in one’s hands and know that, like magic, it is suddenly going to be covered in your very own words.

But I think I’m becoming a bit of a “clutterholic” where stationary is concerned. It was when I thought I was running out of paper – then discovered that I wasn’t – that I realized it was high time to de-clutter my stationary stash. Where does one start? Hmmm.

With great enthusiasm, I began to pull items off the shelves onto the floor. The idea was that I could sort through it all and put back only that which I really needed.

There was a lot of it. Knee deep in assorted packets of Easy Address labels, a box of hanging files, another stuffed with manila folders, a slew of tabbed sheet protectors, ‘Avery Clean Edge Business Cards’, and so on. I had many brightly colored folders – with the plan to color code and use specific colors for certain subjects.  But I hadn’t got that far yet, so there they sat. I found five packets of photographic paper – never used.

A large stack of manuscript sized envelopes – no longer needed because we send manuscripts by email nowadays. But I had liked the satisfaction of putting my sacred, written pages in an envelope with a carefully worded cover letter, beautifully addressed and stamped and the satisfaction of taking it to the post office and sending it off with a silent prayer and crossed fingers. Most satisfying.  It is still not quite the same as eventually pushing ‘send.’ There’s no tactile interaction there. Sorry, manuscript-sized envelopes: out you go.

I filled a large box with dozens of superfluous folders, hanging files, the afore-mentioned envelopes, see-through plastic folders. And what was with the multicolored copy paper?    A ream of lime green, another of yellow. Aha! I had a plan! I remember thinking I would print my Lottie Topaz novel on lime-green paper, which would catch the eye of the editors who could not resist pulling my green-colored manuscript out from the ever-growing slush pile of submitted manuscripts.  Of course, this never worked. And I still had a lot of colored paper left over. Into the charity box it goes.

The eleven spiral notebooks I could comfortably justify. I start my writing projects scribbling in such a notebook and fill it with the outline, a plot line, then many pages of character developments, colorful backgrounds, relevant plot through-lines and dénouement thoughts.  But these were all empty. So, eleven times I bought the notebook and had not used them, so that they ended up on the shelf next to the others.  Although, in my defense, on another shelf I discovered a whole stack of well-filled such notebooks, from cover to cover crammed with handwritten ideas, characters, names to use. I did something right.  Except, why were they sitting on a shelf in the cupboard, instead of on my desk, ready to be used in my next book? But eleven abandoned, empty notebooks? Not good.

As a writer of historical books and novels, I do a great deal of research. I was smugly satisfied with the idea that I had organized my research and kept copious copies of articles on historic figures, historic buildings, historic happenings. Problem was that I had obviously found these subjects so interesting that I just had to print them out, save them and file them.  Now I was faced with two boxes of such printouts. On closer examination, many of them were duplicated. Besides, with today’s technology, I can find a lot of what I want on the internet. I saved only a few of these – in the bin with the rest of them. I said a quick “sorry” to all the trees who had given their lives to support my paper clutter addiction.

I found a whole stack of papers marked “for filing.” Glancing through them, they were clearly not interesting enough to have been filed, and I could not see why I kept them. So, they were gone, too.

And then I looked into the box-files, where I had stored many years of handwritten notes, hastily scribbled on old envelopes, paper scraps, on the reverse side of something else I’d written. What was I thinking?!  That investigation into my stationary cupboard was quite overwhelming and I knew I had to get a grip on it.

I have a new friend at the Woman’s Club who is the ultimate in techie-nerdiness. He persuaded me to get a scan-copy machine and showed me how much easier and quicker it is to scan things I need to keep, or interesting articles I want to read when I have time. Now I can access those papers, research articles, my copious writing notes and half-finished books wherever I am – on my laptop or even on my phone. And they only take up a quarter-of-an-inch-square on my desktop. Who knew? And, because I am still a bit leery of all this techno-wizardry, I still copy everything onto flash drives, just for safe measure.

I hate to admit it, but my endless trail of paper collecting has forced me into the scary world of technology, if only to save the trees.   But I still cannot resist a lovely clean notebook or legal pad, with pencil poised, so I can unleash my imagination and create a whole new world for myself and my readers. And this is where the paper trail continues.

Last ‘Group Post’ in 2025 – a Holiday Story

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!”

  1. 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.

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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.”

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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.

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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.

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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.

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6. Renee LeVerrier (guest)

A Haiku

Mom’s cookie tins hold

Stars and snowflakes, mittens, bells 

Reach in for childhood

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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.”

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

 

DANCING IN THE RAIN….   

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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