writing – The Writers in Residence

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 Which I don’t! And I have to write in a timeless way so that the book, which is to be published in late 2027, is not out of date and does not sound as if I wrote it in 2026.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.

ASSUMPTIONS, ASPIRATIONS AND ANNOYANCES

by Miko Johnston

While driving through a nearby town, I spotted the flashing lights of a half-dozen police cars ahead. One sat parallel to the driveway of an elementary school and the rest parked outside a housing complex across the street. My first thought caused my stomach to lurch – active shooter at the school! As I drove past the line of black and whites I saw two officers in the walkway leading into the complex and two young men kneeling on the ground, their hands clasped behind their heads. The police had been called about some mischief in one of the apartments. Whew. Nothing to do with the school. On reflection I recalled the police car parked in the school’s driveway did not block the entrance, as I’d expect if a threat existed there. I continued driving, but the incident stayed with me.

You can understand my assumption, given the frequency of events like I’d imagined, as well as the climate of violence and hostility in our country. All signs that led to my incorrect conclusion. But I hated that I automatically jumped to that conclusion because this really happened. Fact, not fiction.

I don’t mind being fooled or misled in fiction; in fact I enjoy it. The “aha!” moment of surprise when I learn the truth is part of the pleasure when I read, watch a tv series or a movie. I aspire to do the same in my fiction writing, with one exception. As an historical fiction author, I never mislead with history. The pleasure of fooling the reader, or being fooled, doesn’t extend to non-fiction, or at least, it shouldn’t.

I worked as a journalist at a television station during the eighties, when the golden era of news began its downward spiral. Until then we presented the news as information: what happened, where, to whom, and if we knew, why and how. Every story had to be verified by at least two independent sources before broadcasting it. Sometimes early reports would be inaccurate, especially in high-drama situations like hijackings, shootouts or terrorism, but we’d always update viewers with corrections. We limited any opinions to PSAs – public service announcements – separate from the evening news.

I lost that job when I disagreed with the news director’s approach to a story: a man facing divorce and separation from his children was arrested when he hired a “hitman” (an undercover policeman) to murder his wife. This occurred a few months after a Shiite Muslim man had hijacked an airplane. The suspect happened to be a Shiite, which had nothing to do with the story, but it dominated the lede. Sensationalism boosted ratings, and that became paramount as competition with other broadcast news sources grew.

When I read fiction, go to the movies or stream scripted series, I want entertainment, escape, or just to have some fun. That might include being misled or even tricked into thinking something “is” when it really isn’t. Unlike in real life, part of the enjoyment of a good mystery or suspenseful story, along with figuring out whodunnit, is the expectation that the bad deed rarely goes unpunished. Real life is messy and problems can’t always be solved by the end of the episode or the final chapters of the book. In non-fiction, documentaries and news, I prefer the facts straight up, with no embellishment or opinion. That’s become harder to find when I read the newspaper or switch on the nightly news. Journalists often blur the line between reporting and proselytizing. Too often, they unapologetically violate it. As the late NY senator Daniel Patrick Moynihan famously said, “You are entitled to your own opinion, but you are not entitled to your own facts.”

I’ve frequently riffed on Mark Twain’s quote about how fiction has to be believable even if it isn’t true, while non-fiction has to be true, even if it isn’t believable. Now I’m questioning whether that line still exists in present-day media.

We live in an era when the information we get may cause doubt as to its accuracy, in part because we witness or hear things that would defy believability on a daily basis. Situations that would have shocked us yesterday seem, if not normal, then normalized. How – or will – it change the way we view both fiction and non-fiction?

Miko Johnston, a founding member of The Writers in Residence, is the author of the historical fiction series, “A Petal in the Wind”, as well as a contributor to several anthologies. Miko lives in Washington (the big one) with her rocket scientist husband. Contact her at mikojohnstonauthor@gmail.com

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.

Three Simple Words

by Jill Amadio

Three simple words. Three common sentences.

I love you!

I hate you!

Leave me alone!

A world of emotion is expressed in each of the above and spoken or written countless times a day. Writers add drama, suspense, surprise, and expected reaction with similarly timeless ways to characterize fictional and non-fictional inhabitants of our books. The phrases are translated into practically every language under the sun – even, perhaps, Mars – because they provide us with a succinct, precise, and in some cases ruthless attention-getting way to pinpoint the exact feelings we wish to evoke in the reader or listener.

Even inanimate objects can be subject to the love or scorn of the writer. On rare occasions, I have shut down my laptop in disgust when I have failed to figure out how a sub-plot could end.

Yet, there they rest, those three-word declarations, ready to serve you. Needs if we can only make a decision or two.

In one of my favorite and frequently consulted books, the International Thesaurus, there are more than 30 categories of love, including many forms to express it, such as infatuation, and how to describe a character who is a philanderer.

As for the opposite emotion, hate, the Thesaurus offers a plethora of nasty versions from which to choose.

It is not unusual to read the first like of a book using a love or hate expression. It can lead to further reading as one wants to know who is talking, and to whom, and the reason for the love/hate word.

It is tempting to write the beginning of Chapter 1 as: “I hate you!” Bang!

This could end the book there and then if the protagonist is shot by the antagonist. There is no puzzle to solve, no cliffhangers to ponder, no flashbacks to urge one on.

Yet, do the simple sentences, “I love you,” “I hate you,” seem too pat, too worn-out?

Can’t we be more creative? Certainly, shooting someone dead is one way of expressing dislike of that person, and locking up one’s beloved in a room or elsewhere can be construed as going a bit overboard, but in fiction, all solutions are possible, if not creative.

Dullness is the death of a mystery. It can cause irritation and frustration, and the reader claiming they can write a far more interesting book than the author. Can this be true?

Agatha Christie writes in her autobiography, which incidentally reads more like a travel guide than a writer’s life, that she began concocting and writing her first mystery as a dare. Happily, she had connections to gents and a publisher and went on to write several dozen more. In her memoir, she tends to flip off her success and says she preferred to go with her archaeologist husband to digs in Syria, where they had a second or third home.

I often wonder if writers in other parts of the world have more descriptive nouns and verbs than English-speaking countries. Perhaps their foreign forms of thriller are more gripping, compelling, or surprising. I have to admit, some of these translations sometimes lack commonsense answers to all the questions aroused in their book, in my opinion, although there are plenty here, too. .

However, it is fascinating to read the translations and, if need be, try to figure out the plot. Occasionally, the rhythm and flow of the writing is unexpected, a good way to grab one’s faltering attention or its opposite. Resonance can also be a neglected area, yet our three simple short sentences fit the bill in those cases perfectly. Some writers struggle to express love/hate declarations differently, and often succeed, but why mess with those three wonderfully descriptive words needlessly?

Yes, we are free, thank goodness, to write as we wish without, I hope, government interference or discipline. All writers need is their own sense of compelling writing that offends few book buyers, to say nothing of agents, publishers, and marketers.

The most magnificent, powerful three words?

“We the people…”

Stop and Go

By Linda O. Johnston

No, I’m not talking about traffic. I’m talking about writing. And I think all writers experience stop-and-go in their writing at various times. Maybe all the time.

The “go” is the best part. We figure out what we’re writing about, plan it, plot it, and do it. Go for it. With me, that’s most of my writing life. I’m always writing something, or planning in my mind what’s coming next. Telling the computer what’s on my mind, via my typing fingers, always helps too.

But then there’s the “stop.” That’s when you at least slow down, have other things in your life that get in the way, maybe (shudder!) even have some writing issues that slow you, then maybe let you grind to a halt—hopefully only for a short while. But the interruption can definitely matter.

I’ve recently been having more slowdowns and stops than I’m happy with. Breaking my arm, which slowed my ability to type, is certainly among them. So is receiving extensive edits and questions about a manuscript I recently submitted. That’s what I primarily need to focus on now. Is it stopping the rest of my writing? No, but it’s not allowing it to go as fast as I’d like. But I do concentrate on figuring it out so I can get back to what I was already working on, and more.

How about you other writers? Do you always get to focus on what you want to write, move forward, and enjoy it? Or have you also had some issues that slow you down, maybe stop you for a while?

But the great thing about being a writer is that we’ll deal with it and go forward with our writing. Right? Write!

CHALLENGING WORDS

By Miko Johnston

I’m doing something I’ve never done before; in fact, something I’ve avoided throughout my writing career. I’m going to suggest a writing challenge.

Beginning on March first, I challenge all our readers to commit to writing one paragraph a day, in any manner, on any subject. One paragraph. It could be in a journal, a story idea file, or an existing manuscript. One paragraph consisting of at least two sentences of exposition, dialogue, or a combination.

Sorry, shopping or to-do lists don’t count. It has to be fiction, journaling, or memoir.

One paragraph seems manageable, no matter how busy, stressed, or depleted you feel. In fact, it might help if you’re feeling any of those feelings. One paragraph can be added to a story or novel you’ve begun, or it can begin a letter to a friend or loved one, someone you’ve lost touch with. It can express gratitude to someone who’s been especially kind or helpful to you. It can record your present state of mind. Or it can be a reminiscence of a person or event from your life.

You can write your paragraph first thing in the morning, or during the day, or right before you go to bed. I suppose the timing would depend on what you want to write. Use a pen or a computer, whichever suits your style. And if it spurs you to continue writing, so much the better. If not, that’s okay, as long as you get a paragraph’s worth of words on the page or screen.

One paragraph. Can you commit to that?

…

Miko Johnston, a founding member of The Writers in Residence, is the author of the historical fiction series, “A Petal in the Wind”, as well as a contributor to several anthologies, including the best-selling “Whidbey Island: An Insider’s Guide”. Miko lives in Washington (the big one) with her rocket scientist husband. Contact her at mikojohnstonauthor@gmail.com

A “February Is Love” Group Post

By Linda O. Johnston

Many people have something special to remember about Valentine’s Day. I certainly do. It was the day I got engaged to my wonderful husband—more than four decades ago now.

We still lived in Pittsburgh then, and my first Cavalier King Charles Spaniel Panda—Pandaemonium—celebrated with us. We even let him lick the dry exterior of the champagne bottle. Guess it must have smelled interesting, though, of course, we didn’t give him a drink.

We got married in May and have been celebrating ever since, here in Los Angeles now, along with whichever Cavaliers are with us each year. This year, it’s Cari and Lexie.

Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone!

By Rosemary Lord

It’s wonderful, marvelous – this outward show of love, with images of celebrations, hearts and flowers, love songs…

But more intriguing for me as a writer is the silent love that stays hidden. The oft-unrequited love, the unspoken love. The secret love. The love that tugs at the heartstrings.

Whether it’s the quiet, shy love where the individual feels inadequate to express feelings about their heart’s desire. Not wanting to risk rejection, they stay silent. Or the cautious person afraid of getting ridiculed by revealing where their heart wants to go. The feelings of unworthiness or inadequacy to receive their heart’s desire. The secret love that someone dreams of from afar.

And it’s not just a love of another person. It’s the love and passion for dreams yet to be realized.

It’s the passion for a seemingly unattainable goal, project, or career. Those loves so often stay hidden. The offer or demonstration of love that is held back for fear of being laughed at or worse, being ignored.

It’s the unwritten love stories that stay locked away in a writer’s head for fear of rejection – or just unsure of a perfect ending. The love stories that will never see the light of day.

How many amazing, intriguing tales of love and passion remain hidden and lost to the world?

Those are the love stories that I want to read and want to write.

By Gayle Bartos-Pool

STOP! in the Name of Love, Searching for Love, You Can’t Hurry Love, April Love, When I Fall in Love, When a Man Loves a Woman, Love Is a Many Splendored Thing, All You Need Is Love, Dream Lover, Can’t Help Falling in Love, I Just Called to Say I Love You, How Deep Is Your Love, Love Me Tender, Love Will Keep Us Together, Love Me or Leave Me, I Will Always Love You…

So many ways to search for love… until it finds you because it so often does in the most interesting places. Then you want to hold onto it… if you can, and you do because, as that last song title says: I Will Always Love You.

Richard and I had a couple of songs we liked, both from singer Randy Travis. We even went to one of his concerts. The songs: Forever and Ever, Amen, and Look Heart, No Hands. And there’s that other one that still brings tears to my eyes: I Will Always Love You…And it always will because Love Is a Many Splendored Thing. Ain’t Love great…

By Jill Amadio

My Dearest Valentine,

Here it is, another year, and I dislike you more than ever. Ever since you rejected my submission, the third in my mystery series, I have awoken with bitterness in my heart towards you.

Do you ever consider how your rejections affect authors who are begging for acceptance and publication?

Do you realize the amount of royalties that were envisioned, only to have that dream turn into a nightmare? I was thinking of sending you a big bouquet of dead flowers, but then I thought about the cost of mailing them.

Always looking forward to next year!

jill

By Miko Johnston

The journey of love takes place over a lifetime. The early yearning for it. The sweet innocence of that first infatuation. The intensity of true requited love. The joy and peace that come from loving someone and having their love over the years. The sweetness of togetherness and the sorrow of loss. Music has always captured those emotions so well. A very partial and personal list:

“How Will I Know?”

“I Believe (When I Fall in Love it will be Forever)”

“Can’t Help Falling in Love”

“At Last”

“I Got You Babe”

“My Guy”

“Only You”

“Unchained Melody”

“God Only Knows”

“In My Life”

“Maybe I’m Amazed”

“I Don’t Want to Spoil the Party”

“The Tracks of my Tears”

“How Can You Mend a Broken Heart”

“All In Love is Fair”

“I Will Always Love You”

For me, love has always held hands with music.

By Jackie Houchin

For about 22,630 days, I have felt loved in one way or another. This is approximately how long I have been married to my one and only husband. (62 years on February 1st) Of course, I felt loved in the months of engagement before that, too.

Love isn’t always romantic. Sometimes it’s simply sustaining, especially in times of trouble. Sometimes love is felt when you are sick in bed, and a warm bowl of soup is brought to you. Or when you are exhausted…. and the long list of household chores gets finished without a word from you.

I feel loved when I come up with “brilliant” (I think) ideas, and my husband (who might roll his eyes a bit) sets about to accomplish them to the best of his ability.

Yes… I am definitely LOVED, and I feel it every day.

My Reading Life: Finding Comfort in Uncomfortable Times

By Maggie King

Do you ever need a respite from the news of the world? Or maybe a respite from personal concerns? In recent months I’ve found solace in what I call “comfort” reading. I stumbled across Jen’s Reading Life on YouTube. Jen describes herself as “A 50+ Booktuber sharing my love for timeless literature, cozy mysteries, British women’s fiction, and comfort reads that warm the soul.”

Exactly what I needed. On Jen’s recommendation, I enjoyed Enchanted April by Elizabeth von Arnim, Miss Buncle’s Book by D.E. Stevenson, Spam Tomorrow by Verily Anderson, and 84, Charing Cross Road by Helene Hanff. Jen describes each book she reviews as “lovely and charming” (Jen herself is lovely and charming!).

The following may, or may not, be on Jen’s lists–she has a lot of lists.

For cozy mysteries, I’ve discovered Betty Hechtman’s crochet series.

The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning by Margareta Magnusson focuses on decluttering–during your lifetime. It is an ongoing activity in my house.

The satirical Lula Dean’s Little Library of Banned Books by Kirsten Miller addresses today’s controversial issues, but in a highly entertaining way.

I loved Bonnie Schroeder’s Write My Name on the Sky. Bonnie was featured guest for my holiday newsletter.

I tried to read Christmas stories, but couldn’t find one that held my interest. Exception was “The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding” by Agatha Christie. The Killer Wore Cranberry is a Thanksgiving-themed mystery anthology featuring a variety of tales.

I still return to the “dark side.” e–llegal treasures by C.V. Alba and The Pilgrim by Thomas A. Burns, Jr. are hard-boiled tales that offer little in the way of comfort but much in the way of great stories. They do have happy endings, so there’s that.

If you’re in need of some comfort reading, I suggest visiting Jen’s Reading Life, and reading Tolstoy Therapy’s article “16 of the most wholesome comfort reads for a hug from a book.”

An added benefit: all this comfort reading is making writing more comfortable for me!

Tell us what you’re reading and recommending. Let’s keep those TBT lists toppling over!

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!”

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??

Listen to Any Lyrics Lately?

by Jill Amadio

Listened to any lyrics lately? I seem to be spending far more time in my car than usual and, of course, I have my CDs at the ready.

I have to admit, shamefully, that I never truly considered songwriters to be real writers. Yet, they record their daily lives, romances, disappointments, failures, joys, and happiness with succinct and clever poetry and core messages that perfectly fit the moment.

My favorite is Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” and then all of his other works. I enjoy singing along with him until he slides into recalling some of his private, sexy moments for all the world to share. I quickly fast-forward.

His writing is pretty explicit even when he writes about religion, and I am sure his childhood and into adulthood included prayer and participation in services.

Which brings me back to lyricists and their skill at fitting words that we often fling about so wildly, are perfect for the composer’s work. Only Frank Sinatra did it ‘his way’ and sometimes scrambled words together and stretched them out, to my mind. I have never attempted to write a lyric, although I was forced to dabble in some corny poetry in school. It never occurred to me that songwriters, both those who write the words and those who compose the music, were so gifted and creative. Interestedly, they manage to make simple sentences sound beautiful when sung. I urge my memoir writing class students to read their prose aloud and none have ever broken into song. Maybe that’s a good thing. But I am sure that lyricists practice their sons aloud as a way to judge their effect.

It amazes me how songwriters like ABBA and “The Mommas and Poppas” manage to squeeze a lifetime of hurt and happiness into a 3-minute song. It is understandable, of course, when they are singing about one specific moment, but even that requires a skill that many regular writers lack. I wonder if they trim and edit, as we fiction and non-fiction writers do?

I have never met a lyricist, although I have several poet friends, and I watch time and again movies about composers, although the films rarely ask, to my mind, the crucial questions, such as must the lyrics rhyme? Whence comes the inspiration? Like many famous writers who are the subject of other writers’ biographies, the nitty-gritty of lyric writing and composing are often lost in the labyrinth of their concert performances.

I have read that lyricists and composers work together, but which comes first? Are the words arranged to fit the music, or vice versa? Does erasing carefully-conceived words annoy the lyricist as our editors annoy us? I remember reading that Ernest Hemingway had huge fights with his editor, Max Perkins at Scribner’s, who invariably won the battle and improved the books so magnificently into bestsellers.

I don’t recall any such fights between songwriters, but I am sure there were plenty. Perhaps they were short – like their songs, although I can’t imagine the writers of the lyrics criticizing the music unless they are composers themselves.

Perhaps we mystery writers should try to create a murder that can be described in just a few words, a one-page short story, although some songs have several stanzas. It seems that more contemporary songs are brief and to the point, except for country-western, which are often depressing and mostly seem to be about lost love.

Of course, once we’ve murdered the victim in our books and solved a sub-plot or two, finding the killer could take up an entire music album. Perhaps ancient people wrote songs although archaeologists only appear to discover crockery and texts. What would their songs sounds like?

These literary musings are a rather fun way to procrastinate although I am actually seated at my desk and using my laptop. And, I am writing!