When the River Meets the Sea

I’ve just finished revisions on my novel and my thoughts are very focused on the magic that brings themes together, the essence of the human story, actually. We’re all in this together, connected, eternally changing and learning and growing, and still ever the same. There is wonder in being part of something larger than ourselves, and comfort in the cycle of all living things.

Christmas decorations are up and I’ve been baking up a storm. But today I put on my favorite Christmas album to find a little peace in the middle of all the activity. It’s nearly seventy degrees outside in north Georgia, and a murky morning, but I’m drinking my coffee and feeling tucked in a warm cocoon in the soft glow of my Christmas lights.

It’s corny, I know. But that’s why I love it. So I’m sharing a song with you today and I hope you’ll take a minute to listen and ponder the words and what they mean in your own lives. Because I find that after all my hard work and hours of searching, it turns out maybe the Muppets knew what the season — and the story — were about, all along.

Merry Christmas.

When The River Meets the Sea

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The 7 Links Challenge — A Second Look at the Best (and Worst) of Tales of a Storyteller

Last week I was surprised to be challenged by fellow bloggers extraordinaire, Jolina Petersheim and Julia Monroe Martin, to the 7 Links Challenge. Well, folks, the first challenge was to figure out how to link something to my blog. Yes, it’s true. I am lost most of the time when it comes to point and click. So, see those little highlighted names back there? I’m proud of that. Hope it does the trick.

Now that I’ve already broken a sweat this morning, here are my seven links — a true feat, considering my blog is fairly new and I’m just happy to be here, telling my stories!

Thanks, Jolina for such a sweet encouragement!

Most Beautiful Post: The Wonder That’s Keeping The Stars Apart

I was pleased with this post and found so much beauty in the legacy of this woman. The image of her, looking beyond herself and her world in search of something greater, moved me.

Most Popular Post: What She Would Have Said

I’d like to think it was because of my wit and deft command of language, but really this post was most popular because it was my first and many friends and family came out to support the new blog. Either that, or people liked the picture of this tough little woman.

Most Controversial Post: A Story That Seeps To The Bone — Alma Katsu Interview

Now, the interview itself may not be controversial. But Alma is one of a kind and that tends to turn hairs. Her novel may not be for everyone, it may be a tough read, tackling the darker natures of mankind, but that’s why I chose to celebrate her. She is a strong-minded woman who is a gifted writer and her work may make you cringe or turn away, but I guarantee it will also make you think.

Most Helpful Post: Endurance And Authenticity — Jessica McCann Interview

While all of my interviews are helpful, this post exemplifies what I’ve found most authors have in common — not only the kind of characteristics that I believe can make you a successful writer, but also a successful person. People like Jessica, improve the world.

Most Surprisingly Successful Post: Hemingway Would Have Bought Her A Drink

Apparently, ghosts and Hemingway and drinking will get you some attention. I had a good time sharing the account of watching this woman at the Hemingway Bar in Paris. Here is the seed of a story. She still enchants me.

Post That Didn’t Get Attention: The Band Played On

All right. I know. It was a sappy memory. But it was one of those posts that sneaks up on you, unplanned. And it made me cry, listening to that old recording.

Post I Am Most Proud Of: She Began To Sing To Me

I probably should have been most proud of the post where I mentioned my wedding anniversary, but that would have been a post about my greatest blessings, not a matter of pride. So, I chose this post, which includes the first excerpt from I’ve shared from my upcoming novel. If you know me, this is a big deal. I’m just learning to talk about my writing with others.

And now here are five other bloggers (boy, this was hard!) who I enjoy reading and who I now nominate for the continuation of the 7 Links Challenge:

Amy Sue Nathan: Women’s Fiction Writer’s

Erika Robuck: Muse

Robin O’Bryant: Robin’s Chicks

Misty Barrere: Writing And Research: What Have We Gotten Ourselves Into

Susanna Kearsley: Not-A-Blog

The Band Played On

There’s a song in my head since I woke up this morning. I haven’t heard it since I was a little girl, a long while now, but it’s still there. Just as clear as a bell. I know every lyric and I am taken back to a time when I twirled in sock feet across the slick top of my grandmother’s living room coffee table. She had an old record, so thick and stiff it was like glass. I loved the sound of it, the hissing and scratching when she’d put it on the enormous record player, the needle touching down with a little gasp before the music would start. And then, I’d watch my grandmother’s face. One breath, two. No matter how many times I made her play that song, or how she protested and begged me to settle for a different tune, no dice. Because none of her other records did what this one could do. With the first strains of that melody, the corner of her mouth would lift.

Magic.

There was a story in the song. It was simple: a boy and a girl, dancing, thrilling to one another. That was enough to make me love it. And trust me, I didn’t need an excuse to get up on that table and perform waltz after waltz, all dolled up in my grandmother’s square-dancing slip, delighted with the way those skirts billowed out around my little legs. I knew my grandmother was smiling at me. I was a little queen, then. But she had another smile, a secret smile, one I’d never seen before. It puzzled me and bothered me and made me dance harder and wilder, trying to pull her attention back to the wonder of me.

For the first time, I must have realized the woman in the little farmhouse – the person I thought I knew everything about, whom I believed had set her days to revolve solely around our family – had lived a life before us. Each time she played the waltz, I caught a glimpse of that girl. A stranger. A mystery. A pure wonder.

She taught me to make biscuits. She taught me the Lord’s Prayer. She taught me other things, too, like how to manipulate or regret decisions. She was quick to laugh, quick to judge, full of such pride in her family and weighed down with sorrows for brothers she couldn’t redeem. She loved her work, but never felt she was a smart woman. She loved her husband, and they were a gruff pair. She could work like a man in the summer garden, always lamented that she couldn’t grow a rose, and she never missed an epidsode of ‘Dallas,’ come Friday night. I knew all of this and I remember her that way to my children.

But today, I’ll put on a waltz. Because I know the corner of my mouth will lift, so like hers. And my daughter will wonder. She’ll watch me and weigh all the things she understands about my life against all the things she fears and hopes for her own, and she will tuck away the seed of what my grandmother’s waltz taught me.

She had a secret…

The Band Played On

Save Your Soul Pound Cake

It’s a hundred degrees here in north Georgia and too hot to do much of anything except remember summers in my Granny’s kitchen. Usually, she had a pressure cooker going full steam, putting up vegetables from the garden. I’m sweating in my house and I have air conditioning and steam-in-a-bag veggies from Publix.

For some reason, that makes me want to get out my cookbook. It’s a binder full of recipes she put together over the years and slid into plastic sleeves so I’d be able to feed my husband and children right one day when she wasn’t around to tell me how to do it anymore. Every time I pull out these recipes, I think of her. And today, she’s telling me I need to quit worrying about the – forgive me, Lord – bikini I’ll be squeezing into in a few weeks when I travel to Europe, and sustain my soul with a lemon pound cake.

So, here you go. I’ve copied the recipe as she wrote it, word for word. If you don’t understand, shoot me a comment. It’ll heat up your house like a sweat lodge and rid you of all impurities.

Old Fashioned Pound Cake

2 cups plain flour

1 cup Crisco

2 cups sugar

5 tbsp Sweet Milk

5 eggs

2 tbsp Lemon Flavoring

Cream sugar and Crisco. Beat one egg at a time into mixture, alternately adding bits of flour and tbsps of milk. (Add part flour, mix, add 2 tbsp milk, mix. Add rest of flour, mix. Then add rest of milk and flavoring.)

Grease bunt pan and pour in batter. Bake at 300 degrees for 1 hour, or until brown on top.

You might want to put a cookie sheet on the lower rack in the oven to catch anything that drips out.

Serve with vanilla ice cream.