Today in History

Do you read a daily newspaper? In our small town, we get our local newspaper, The Progress, still delivered to our door by a paper girl. After a busy day at the computer or working in the yard and around the house, I enjoy sitting down with a cup of coffee and the local paper. I even have our newspaper held when we’re on vacation, or sent to us if we plan to be away for a long period of time at one particular place.

I know many people now read all their news online, but I still love the newspaper in its original form—a somewhat flimsy, drab ecru, non-glare news print that allows you to touch, browse, flip from news to sports to comics to Dear Abby in seconds. You can easily lay it aside if you get interrupted, but quickly return to your favorite spot minutes later. And no one cares if you fold, bend, or wrinkle it—or later reuse it to wash your windows or catch the water and mud from your dirty boots!

There is one particular section of the newspaper I particularly like. It’s called, “Today in History;” and for a writer, it has a wealth of information. For example, on Tuesday, August 5^th in 1884, the cornerstone for the Statue of Liberty’s pedestal was laid on Bedloe’s Island in New York Harbor. In 1914, what is believed to be the first electric traffic light system was installed in Cleveland, Ohio. In 1924, the comic strip “Little Orphan Annie” by Harold Gray made its debut. And in 1962, actress Marilyn Monroe, 36, was found dead in her Los Angeles home, her death ruled a probable suicide.

Along with an important event on a selected same date in time, “Today in History,” also includes birthdays of important people and a “Thought for Today.” As a writer, we are always looking for those rare tidbits of information to squeeze into a historical novel or to give us a spurt of creative energy, a springboard leading to other similar ideas. Right now, I’m curious to learn about the behind-the-scenes preparation and work for erecting the Statue of Liberty. But of course, when today’s paper arrives, I may be led astray to yet another topic.

We all have ways to jump start our imaginations as writers, artists, musicians, dreamers, and people who enjoy toying with the creative muse. What are some of your catalysts for creativity?

To be fair to my favorite Progress column, I can’t end without sharing my favorite “Thought for Today,” taken from the August 4, 2014 edition: 

        “How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world.”—Anne Frank (1929-1945).

You Can't Have Too Many Shoes, Can You?

I have always been fascinated by shoes. When I find a pair that fits, I often buy the same style in a different color. You can’t have too many shoes, can you?

History cannot pinpoint exactly how or where the first shoes actually evolved. However, I am convinced that the process was probably spurred on by early cave women, egging their menfolk to develop something that fit better, felt better—and looked better than what their neighbor was flaunting when she emerged from her cavern to pick berries and gather firewood.

Various sources state that the very first footwear that resembled shoes were found in drawings on Spanish cave walls some 15,000 years ago. The crude shoes were merely baglike wrappings made of animal fur and skins that may have been padded with grass and leaves and were worn in the cold regions or on hazardous terrain.

The first know footwear in warm surroundings consisted of sandals made of plant fibers or leather. The ancient Egyptians wore sandals as early as 3700 B.C. along with the ancient Greeks and Romans. In China, people wore wooden-soled shoes and cloth shoes for thousands of years. American Indians developed leather moccasins long before European settlers arrived.

Somehow through the ages, shoes have become a part of people’s clothing; and fashion often determines the style of shoes a person wears along with the climate and a person’s occupation and activities.

HERE ARE SOME REAL FUN FACTS (with credit to ShopSmart):

According to Consumer Reports National Research Center for ShopSmart magazine, the average American woman has 19 pairs of shoes. But she only wears four pairs regularly and one quarter of the average woman’s shoes have only been worn once!

On an average, a female from ages 13-16 may own about 15 pair of shoes including sneakers. And older woman 16-21, who perhaps has a job: 25-40 pairs. A mature woman 25-+, anywhere from 40-60 pair of shoes.

Thirty-three percent, or one third, of women have trouble finding the room to store all of their shoes.

Close to half of the female population (43%) has been injured, at least moderately by their shoes.

Sixty percent of women have regretted a shoe purchase.

So, tell me, what’s on your feet and what’s in your closet?

Happy Birthday, America!

Independence Day, better known as the Fourth of July, is the birthday of the United States of America. It is celebrated on July 4th each year in states and territories of the United States and is the anniversary of the day on which the Declaration of Independence was adopted by the Continental Congress—July 4, 1776.

The founders of our new nation and thirteen colonies considered Independence Day an important occasion for rejoicing. The first Independence Day was observed in Philadelphia on July 8, 1776. The Declaration was read, bells were rung, bands played, and the population rejoiced. In early day, Independence Days were occasions for shows, games, sports, military music, and fireworks.

The exuberant use of fireworks and the firing of funs and cannons caused deaths and injuries in the early days. By the 1900s, people began a movement toward a “safe and sane” Fourth. Cities across our nation passed laws forbidding the sale of fireworks unless trained people were hired to explode them.

In 1941, Congress declared July 4^th a federal legal holiday. Today, many communities stress the patriotic importance of the holiday and celebrate with programs, pageants, games and plays, athletic contests and picnics.  

 

Happy Birthday America!

THE ART OF LOVE AND MURDER - by Brenda Whiteside

 I'm pleased to present an excerpt of Brenda Whiteside's new book, The Art of Love and Murder, published in April 2014 by The Wild Rose Press. It is "Book One" in the Love and Murder Series. 

 Although she didn’t start out to write romance, Brenda found all good stories involve complicated human relationships. She has also found no matter a person’s age, a new discovery is right around every corner. Whether humorous or serious, straight contemporary or suspense, all her books revolve around those two facts.

In celebration of the release of The Art of Love and Murder, Brenda is offering a $25 Amazon Gift Card. Please take time to enter the Rafflecopter giveaway at the bottom of the blog post.

EXCERPT:

Momentarily struck dumb by his eye color, she stared back. Why hadn’t she noticed until now? Although not as light as hers or her father’s, the professor’s eyes were a startling green shade.

His hand nudged her arm. “Lacy?”

She jumped. “Oh, yes.” She slipped the tissue from the half-carved wolf. Another glance at his eyes and goose bumps riddled her arms.

He lifted the wood close to his face, using both hands as if handling a delicate hummingbird. His thumb traced the neck of the creature to the juncture of where it emerged from the wood. When he brought the piece to his nose, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, Lacy wanted to turn away from the oddly erotic gesture.

He swallowed, opened his eyes and set the wolf back on the tissue. His attention shifted to the photograph of the chest. He touched the photo, a smile on his lips. “Where is the chest?”

The chest. Like he knew it, had seen it before. “I’m having it sent. You’ve seen it before?”

He didn’t move, stared out the window as if deep in thought. “I’d like to show you something, Lacy.”

“All right.” She waited, watching his profile.

He turned and stared into her face a moment. “You’re so very lovely. A creation full of life and passion, surpassing any art form.”

His hypnotic voice floated on the classical strains drifting from the living room. She couldn’t speak. Didn’t know what to say. She’d been lifted upon a pedestal of admiration. With any other man, she might consider his words a means to a sexual end. The professor’s intentions, however, were crystal. He admired her like a work of art. 

BRENDA ASKS HER READERS:

When it comes to the setting in a story, do you prefer an imaginary place or the real thing? To date, all my stories have taken place in real cities. I’ve had to change the names of hotels and restaurants, but I still pattern them after the real places. I have a friend who writes paranormal. What I like about her books, well one of the things I like, is her fantasies take place in real places. Kind of fun to imagine vampires walking next to me on the streets where I live! So how about you, real or imaginary places?

BUY LINKS:

The Wild Rose Press

http://www.wildrosepublishing.com/maincatalog_v151/index.php?main_page=index&manufacturers_id=726&zenid=d06039eba05c5b010fb8a707eecd4259

Amazon

http://www.amazon.com/Art-Love-Murder-Brenda-Whiteside-ebook/dp/B00K0N0Y6M/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1399254400&sr=1-1&keywords=the+art+of+love+and+murder 

ARe

https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-theartofloveandmurder-1496046-149.html

KOBO

http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/the-art-of-love-and-murder

Visit Brenda at www.brendawhiteside.com.

Or on FaceBook: www.facebook.com/BrendaWhitesideAuthor

Twitter: https://twitter.com/#!/brendawhitesid2

She blogs on the 9^th and 24^th of every month at http://rosesofprose.blogspot.com

She blogs about writing and prairie life at http://brendawhiteside.blogspot.com/

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The Rare Month of June

This year, the month of June crept up on us slowly and silently, easing it's way into the summer season, instread of "busting out all over" like the song so aptly implies. It was a chilly spring with lots of rain, and the foliage and flowers huddled until the last moment to greet the summer sun.

June is one of my favorite months. The world is new and green. It’s the time of year when the smell of roses, lily-of-the-valley, and wisteria linger on the mist as dusk arrives. It’s the month when you can smell sun-baked hay in the fields and fresh-wet earth in the gentle rains.   

If you close your eyes, you can hear a repertoire of songs from the birds—the trill of the song sparrows, the cry of the killdeers and blue jays, the chatter of the chick-a-dees, and the soft lilt of the whippoorwills. It’s a time when the wind whispers in the pines and leafy maples, and bobs and bends the tall meadow grasses into rippling waves.

June is a time of motion and excitement as butterflies, bees, and hummingbirds juggle for space and a taste of the blooming flowers. But June is serene and calm when nightfall arrives and a sliver of a golden moon hangs in the star-filled sky…and the only interruption in the silence is the tranquil sounds of night insects and tree frogs serenading each other in the grass.

And what is so rare as a day in June?
Then, if ever, come perfect days. . . 
     --From: The Vision of Sir Launfal 

 by James Russell Lowell

OUT IN THE FIELDS

Out in the Fields

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

The little cares that fretted me,

     I lost them yesterday,

Among the fields, above the sea,

            Among the winds at play;

Among the lowing of the herds,

           The rustling of the trees;

Among the singing of the birds,

            The humming of the bees.

The foolish fears of what may happen,

I cast them all away,

Among the clover-scented grass

            Among the new-mown hay;

Among the rustling of the corn

            Where drowsy poppies nod,

Where ill thoughts die and good are born—

        Out in the fields with God.

Remembering Those Who Served

Formerly known as Decoration Day, Memorial Day is a U.S. federal holiday to honor the men and women who died while serving in the United States Armed Forces. The holiday is celebrated every year on the final Monday of May after Congress declared it a national holiday in 1971. It is often thought to be the start of the summer season in the United States.

The holiday originated after the American Civil War to commemorate the Union and Confederate soldiers who died in the Civil War, and it was later extended to honor all Americans who have died while in military service. It was General John Alexander Logan who was instrumental in declaring a special day in May to be reserved to honor fallen Union soldiers who died during the Civil War (1861-1865). However, it was not until the 1880s that the term Memorial Day was assigned. And it was not until 1967 that the holiday was legally recognized as Memorial Day.

President James A. Garfield was the first president to speak on Memorial Day (then Decoration Day) while he was a Civil War General and Republican Congressman. On May 30, 1868, he spoke at Arlington National Cemetary, saying: "“If silence is ever golden, it must be beside the graves of 15,000 men, whose lives were more significant than speech, and whose death was a poem the music of which can never be sung.”

Each May, Memorial Day is the time when people visit cemeteries and memorials, and place flowers on the graves of their deceased service members as well as on the graves of their loved ones. Volunteers and cemetery personnel place flags on the graves of those who have served.

SHIFT HAPPENS by J.C. McKenzie

I'm pleased to showcase J.C. McKenzie on my blog today. Born and raised on the Haida Gwaii, off the West Coast of Canada, J.C. McKenzie grew up in a pristine wilderness that inspired her to dream. She writes Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance.

BLURB:

Andrea McNeilly's job as a government agent is not asking questions, but then a routine assignment turns into a botched assassination of a Master Vampire's human servant. Answers become a priority. Her search to discover the truth is riddled with obstacles, the largest being an oversized Werewolf who resembles a Norse god. Andy can't afford the distraction he offers, because if she fails, she faces eternal enslavement.

Wick's job is to monitor Andy, but he prefers more intimate activities, none of them G-Rated. His choices, however, are often not his own. His ability to help Andy is limited by his bond to the Master Vampire.

Facing many trials and challenges along her path to redemption, Andy learns the value of her freedom might be set too high.

EXCERPT:

A large black wolf trotted into the clearing to confront me. He had a white-tipped snout, white boots and mitts and would have looked cute had he not been the most intimidating Werewolf I’d ever seen. Standing tall and solid, power rolled off of his body. His eyes bore into mine. I sniffed the air. The strong Werewolf scent of rosemary swirled around me, strong and seductive, laced with sugar. A weird fuzzy sensation spread out from my chest. Whoa.

Alpha.

My other form growled low, demanding release, straining against my skin. The energy of the wolves built—layers upon layers of excitement and impatience. The air pulsated with anticipation. They could sense the imminent kill.

Let me out! My other form repeated, throwing her power against my built up walls, howling in defiance.

When the energy of the Werewolves surged, I finally released her. My wolf form flowed out fast, wiping out the feline in little more than a heartbeat. Smaller, weaker and the size of a natural wolf, a Shifter in this form was no match for a Werewolf, especially a dominant one. I had time to meet the eyes of the Alpha for only an instant before the pack leapt forward. My limbs shook. It went against every instinct ingrained within me, but I rolled onto my back—submissive.

TRAILER:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GvQ79fXVrj0

BUY LINKS:

Amazon.com - http://ow.ly/v1zuV

Amazon.ca - http://ow.ly/vbANV

Amazon.co.uk - http://ow.ly/vbAWV

Amazon.com.au - http://ow.ly/vbB17

Available in print and all other electronic formats on July 16^th, 2014

CONTACT INFORMATION:

Contact Information:

Website: www.jcmckenzie.ca

Blog: www.jcmckenzie.blogspot.ca

Facebook Page: www.facebook.com/j.c.mckenzie.author

Twitter Page: www.twitter.com/JC_McKenzie

Amazon: www.amazon.com/author/jcmckenzie

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/JCMcKenzie

MAY GIVEAWAY: 

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UNDER STARRY SKIES – Now in Digital and Print

EXCERPT:      
                  Tye smiled down at her and pulled her close, her back to his chest. He kissed the side of her forehead. “I love you, Maria,” he whispered in her ear. “You know, it’s time for me to settle down. You don’t have to live in a room at the inn or a house with your sister. My ranch house is too large for one man. Let’s get married. We could raise some cattle for me and some chickens for you. And a passel of kids for both of us.”
                  "And I’d lose my job. You know the school board is opposed to having a married woman for a teacher.” She twisted her head up to look at him.
                 "Forget the dang school board—”
                 "Tye—” Maria glanced at the dance floor and spotted Millie moving toward the door on the other side of the barn. She wiggled free from his embrace, turned toward him, and pulled his face down to meet hers, her lips touching his. She kissed him soundly, brazenly. “Hold that thought, Rancher Ashmore. We need to discuss this, but there’s something I have to do right now. Right this minute.”
                 "What? Hellfire! Where are you going?” 
                 To catch a murderer. Maria smiled. “I need to talk to Millie Hanson. It’s really important.”                

                 "For the love of Pete! Why now?” he asked in disbelief. “Maria, I’m trying to propos—”
                "Please, Tydall. Not now. I’ve waited all evening to corral Millie and talk to her alone, away from the clutches of Aunt Emma.” Before he could utter another word, she slipped away and disappeared across the barn floor, threading her way among the dancers. 

LINKS:

Kindle:

http://tinyurl.com/mdjemmz

Book:

http://tinyurl.com/lg4b374 

Welcome Spring! Can You Hear Us?

Spring has almost come to Central Pennsylvania. Despite Punxsutawney Phil and the calendar, it has decided to come late this year. . . and only every two days of the week. The other five days, good ol’ spring takes a vacation, often giving us median temperatures of 40 degrees with lots and lots of rain. But during those two days, when the temperatures tease us and rise to the dry 60s, the sights and sounds in our neighborhood reach resounding levels recognizable even to the deafest ears. From every corner of the neighborhood,  people scramble out like hibernating bears leaving their caves as they double time to try to squeeze a month’s worth of chores into 48 hours.

Outside, you can hear the roar and chug of the lawn mowers as everyone hurries to cut and groom the infant blades of grass to an even, precise height. Down the street, someone is pulling a weighted roller behind his tractor, stomping down the young growth instead. Across the street, Paul Bunyan has decided to raze two clumps of 30-year-old birch trees and his chain saw makes an intermittent, but ear-shattering call-to-duty noise.

On the lawn, the robins chirp, the wrens chatter, the song sparrows attempt to sing while far off the red-wing blackbirds stand guard in a high pine bough and complain about the confusion below. Somewhere someone starts a motorcycle. It harmonizes with a weed-eater—or is it a rototiller? Then the dogs join the ruckus. From the corner lot, a dog barks and his calls are returned by two other howling friends.

In the middle of the chaos, the tree trimmers arrive to hack at the 40-year-old ash, maple and flowering crab trees on our front lawn which have grown unruly and scraggly.  Have you ever heard the racket of a wood chipper and a chain saw together?

At least I know, when all the work if finished, when shadows grow long and night falls, peace and silence will reign again. And the only sounds you might be able to hear will be the merry soft songs of spring peepers in nearby wetlands.

Ahhh…welcome spring. Can you hear us?

Cover Reveal: UNDER STARRY SKIES

After many readers' requests for a sequel to RED FOX WOMAN, it will finally arrive in May. This time, the youngest Ashmore brother, Tydall, is featured. Below is the blurb from the back of the book.  And of course, here is a sneak preview of the awesome cover!

Hired as the town's school teacher, Maria O'Donnell and her sister Abigail arrive in the Colorado Territory in 1875, only to find the uncle they were to stay with has been murdered. 

Rancher Tye Ashmore is content with life until he meets quiet and beautiful Maria. He falls in love at first sight, but her reluctance to jeopardize her teaching position by accepting his marriage proposal only makes him more determined to make her part of his life. 

When their lives are threatened by gunshots and a gunnysack of dangerous wildlife, Tye believes he is the target of an unknown enemy. Not until Maria receives written threats urging her to leave does she realize she may be the target instead of the handsome rancher.

With the help of Tye, Abigail, and a wily Indian called Two Bears, Maria works to uncover her uncle's killer and put aside her fears. But will she discover happiness and true love under Colorado's starry skies?

Excerpt from: KEY TO LOVE

Lucas stood inside Whitman’s Paper and Paint Store, surrounded by the pungent scents of vinyl wallpaper, turpentine, and paint, and wondered how he had allowed himself to be tricked into abandoning his work at the garage. Then he remembered it all had come about with Elise’s urge to redo the bedroom at the farm for Todd. 
          Actually, it had started with her persistent wheedling about the bare kitchen cupboards and the need to grocery shop. It had been an eye-opening experience in itself, and he finally admitted to himself he had discovered how the phrase “shop till you drop” came into existence. Woman pitted against marketable commodities. In less than forty-five minutes, she had filled a grocery cart with more food than could possibly fit into the cupboards and refrigerator and which barely fit into the trunk of the Trans Am, now parked outside.
          Though he had to give her credit, despite her unflagging obsession to use every minute to its advantage, she was as competent and efficient at managing details as she had professed. Over the past few days, she arranged to have the electricity at the cottage turned on and already had a contractor on the job, replacing the cottage’s slate roof. And lists. Lord, the woman could make lists. On anything. From napkins to the margins of a candy wrapper.

However, nothing had prepared him for Whitman’s Paint and Paper. It was like stepping onto another planet.

“What are we looking for again?” He watched her leaf through the pages of a pattern book with a speed that defied logic. She was standing before a long rectangular table in the back of the store with two dozen books piled haphazardly around her. Shelves circling the room held hundreds more. “Blue dogs?”

“No, white wallpaper with blue paw prints and with a corresponding blue border with dogs. I know it exists, I just don’t know where.” Her eyes never left the book she was working with. “It has to be in stock, too.”

“Run this by me again. How do I tell if it’s in stock, and what shade of blue?” Lucas rubbed his bleary eyes with the palms of his hands.

“Ah, French blue, something like this.” She paused only long enough to point to a flower so small the average person would need a magnifying glass. She flipped the page before he had a chance to commit it to memory. “Don’t worry about the stock, the store manager will check on it.”

Lucas scowled. Every pattern had begun to look like the next, melting into a haze of swirling tones. God, he needed an aspirin and a beer. If she kept this up, he’d be too dizzy to eat the hundred pounds of food jammed into the trunk.

“Can’t we do this tomorrow? I really need a break here.”

“No time,” she mumbled. “Pedmo is coming on Monday.”

“Monday?” A little bell of alarm went off in his head. “Since when?”

“Since the meeting. It must have slipped my mind.” She never raised her head.

“Maybe we should get someone to help us,” he suggested.

“I did.” She waved her hand toward a circular table where a thin man with fuzzy gray eyebrows was rummaging through a stack of books that would put a library to shame. “I snagged the manager on the way inside while you were rearranging groceries in the trunk.”

“You’re absolutely sure this wallpaper exists?” He squinted at her with a skeptical look, and she nodded, her fingers nimbly turning the pages of yet another book.

“Uh-huh, I saw it once when I was selecting paper for a day care center our agency was contracted to renovate.”

“Oh, terrific. There are at least five hundred books here, and we’ve been through what? Two dozen? I imagine you have someone lined up to hang the dang rolls?”

“Uh-huh, you and Fritz. But only if you’d stop talking and help me find it.”

“Me and Fritz?” His voice came out in a hysterical wail. “Get serious, Liz, I’ve never wallpapered a room in my life.” Hell, he couldn’t wrap a Christmas present unless it was packaged in a box with four crisp corners and there were yards of paper to waste.

“Neither has Fritz, but he’s watched my mother do it many times. I have to interview some nurses from Home Health in the morning, otherwise I’d help. Anyway, it’s just one wall and pasting a border around the ceiling. It’s a piece of cake.” Her hands continued flashing through the pages.

“Piece of cake? Are you sane? Unless Fritz has flashbacks, we’re doomed.” Lucas slumped down wearily onto a nearby chair and cupped his face in his hands.

 

PET PEEVES OF A WIFE, MOTHER. . . AND THE DESIGNATED MAID

As a wife, mother and designated maid, here are my favorite pet peeves family members seem oblivious to--and which drive me "straight to the moon."  

1. Unmade beds. Everyone should make his/her bed. [Note to husband: The last person out of the bed should make it.] Please don’t placate me with the excuse you didn’t have time. It takes two or three minutes! There is a saying, “Unmade bed, unmade head.” Start you day our right and end your day slipping between sheets and blankets that don’t look as if a herd of disgruntled buffalo organized a stampede through the room.

 2. The kitchen sink is not the dishwasher. There is no little elf or industrious dwarf who miraculously schleps the dishes from the sink and stacks them in the dishwasher. But I will tell you that there is a “Grumpy” dwarf if it’s not done. Oh, by the way, while we’re talking about dishes, please rinse your dishes and glasses when you’re finished eating or drinking.

3.  Learn to iron. At least, learn to iron your good “stepping-out” shirts, pants, and dresses. No, no, no, everything is not “wrinkle-free. ” Let’s heat up the iron and chase away the wrinkles on that cotton shirt, especially if you’re going on your first date, to an interview, or to church. It would be wise to make a good impression at all three of these places. You need to look in control and organized—like you care and certainly not like you slept in your clothes.

4. Take out the trash. Please don’t try to squash that last pizza box onto the top of the already overflowing waste paper can! This is the one time all men’s spatial perception flies out the window and heads for Mars. I’ve watched men crush pop cans in their bare hands to try to make the “little sucker” fit the last two-inch space in the trash can and spare them the task of taking the entire heap outside to the proper receptacle.

5.  Pick up your shoes and stash them out of the way. Anyone, who has ever stumbled over a size 13 shoe coming in the entranceway or better yet, waltzed into the bedroom in the dark and stumbled over a shoe worn by Big Foot, knows what I’m saying here. If women wanted to jump hurdles, they’d enter ABC’s television show, Wipeout.

[P.S. Changing the toilet paper roll won't make you brain dead.]

Now it’s your turn, ladies and gents, to add your favorite pet peeve.

Where Do Writers Get Ideas?

Everyone wants to know where writers get their ideas. It’s a question every author who has a book signing or who gives a presentation is asked. Many times, you will hear writers (myself included) admit that they “truly don’t know” where they get them.

For a writer, ideas are like the ocean waves—sometimes they come crashing into our minds; sometimes they roll quietly in and then slip away, receding like a calm ripple; and sometimes they tumble around like a sneaky undertow before they pop up, surface and become a viable thought.

However, there are some truths about all writers:

Good writers are voracious readers, devouring anything they can get their hands on—from the back of a cereal box to a placemat at the restaurant to the directions for the new coffeemaker.

Writers are often asked how do you manage to read and write at the same time? Simple--just like a chef eats, but creates and cooks for his vocation, we read and write. It’s part of the job. Good writers exchange and read works of their fellow writers who create in a similar format. The short story writer will read short stories of masters like Jack London, Edgar Allen Poe, Mark Twain, Louis L’Amour, Kurt Vonnegut,  Eudora Welty, or Alice Munroe. . .and the list goes on.

But don’t be fooled, good writers also read the masters and modern day writers of other genres as well. Why? To discover what is good and what is bad writing. To get ideas. To listen to new voices, to understand new styles, and to discover how characters, descriptions, setting, dialogue, and storylines are created by others.

I personally have found that most writers I know are receptive to new things, are often curious, and do not like to be idle.  They are observant of their environment, situationally aware of everything and everyone around them, and often embrace change, sometimes just for the newness of it. They are able to remember details and, like the cartoonist  who can capture the essence of person with a few  features unique to only that person, writers are also able to sort through detail and write images readers can see and relate to.