Category: writing

Poetry Day: Never

image

Never

…and if I had never
heard your name
would the sound it makes
still echo
in corridors of memory-
brushing the walls
like velvet and fire-
hammering the soft middle of my heart
where hope lives-
leaving it bruised
and aching
decades later?

Poetry Day: Hearts Come Home … Happy Thanksgiving!

Hearts come home

On holidays

If only

On invisible wings

So they can whisper

Love

Into the ear

Of dear ones far away

World Angel by Mimi DiFrancesca

mdh 2014

 

 

DONE!

So, I’ve finished my NaNoWriMo2014 challenge and I’ve written my 50,000 words in 20 days, instead of the 30 we had. That felt good. Wish I could say the same for my ass. Cramping… It’s hard to sit there for that long and squeeze your brain until a story comes out. Not complaining though. I love this story and as I wrote, it kept cracking open into new tributaries that are flowing towards a great ocean of words that need to be said about these delicious characters.

Can’t wait to get this edited and ready for release.

In the meantime, I am a ridiculously devoted music fan. I hear soundtracks behind everything in life. So, of course I heard music as I wrote this. So here’s a link, for you Spotify folks. You can hear what moved my fingers as I wrote about, friends, and loss, betrayal and love, sex and laughter, murder and a woman who is far more than she thought she was.

Use the link for music. Use the other one to read the first chapter of Touching the Bones: Book 1 of The Leelanau Chronicles.

Music for Touching the Bones

Chapter 1 Sneak Peek:  https://wordninjagirl.com/appetizer-menu-a-little-taste-of-touching-the-bones/

And if you want to see the faces and places that inspired or appear in the story, Here’s a link to the Pinterst Book page for Touching the Bones:      http://www.pinterest.com/mimigrace1/the-leelanau-chronicles/

 

NaNoWriMo 2014…DONE!

DONE!

Well, at least I’m done with the National Novel Writing Month’s challenge of 50,000 words in 30 days.

I’ve written 50,350 in 20 days. So where’s my free ticket to Papeete? There’s a snowstorm out my Michigan window!

I’m having so much fun writing the characters for Touching the Bones that I am going to keep on writing; taking this to true novel length. I’ll be back when I’ve typed- The End.

Winner-2014-Twitter-Profile

I’m A Little Busy

Participant-2014-Facebook-Profile

What do you do when you’re about to begin a huge kitchen renovation project?

You also start writing a new book. Of course you do.

For the past several years I have been watching from the bleachers as writers got down there on the floor and dug in for the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) challenge: 50,000 words in 30 days. Start day- November 1. End day- November 30. That’s not really a novel at 50G’s. More like a novella. But there’s no rule that you can’t write over 50,000. So I am. Writing over the amount that is.

It’s day thirteen of NaNoWriMo 2014, and I am currently 24,005 words into a brand new, adult paranormal romance novel. It’s happening, Writing in the early morning hours and late afternoons. Touching the Bones, is coming into focus and I am really having fun writing these characters.

It’s happening, in spite of my Olympic levels of distraction; ordering materials, fixtures, furniture and all it takes to transform a 1933 kitchen into something less; Katherine Hepburn stars in Little Women and more, well, me. Right now.

There have been three families before us living in this old house, and we’ve been here twenty two years. We’ve lived with the original pale yellow and black accent tile that looks like a diner Billie Holiday might have frequented for three in the morning breakfast’s with the band members.

A few years ago, an elderly woman and her friend were walking past the house while I was outside. She stopped to tell me that she had lived in our house when she was a child. I invited her in and found myself watching her face as she moved, room to room, lost in memories held in these walls for eighty years. She noted the tile in the kitchen being the same and most of the other features typical in an old Midwestern house; laundry shoots from the second floor, milk door that opens to outside to the drive way, small alcove in the front hall for the telephone-back when folks had only one.

As she stood in the doorway of the master bedroom, her hand flew to her heart and she whispered, “This was my parent’s room.”  My full laundry basket on the floor suddenly seemed to defile the now, sacred space. As she left, she touched the Brass door knocker on the front door. I had painted the old door gold on both sides; for golden opportunities every where you look.She asked if I knew about the knocker. I didn’t. She said that back in the day, door knockers let people know if there was a specific crafts person or professional person living there-like a business shingle. This knocker meant a doctor lived here; her father. I had no idea and I’ve seen that thing every day for two decades.

doctor door knocker

It makes me feel a little bad as we take crowbars and hammers to the pale yellow and black tile that’s stood guard all this time in that old kitchen. But not bad enough to stop whacking it into dust and getting excited about the brand new space that I will [finally} have where I can create my food wonders.

So, as I am writing, writing, writing… I  am also jumping at the loud sound of the doctor door knocker. UPS, delivering my new bronze pendant light.

My cat is hiding a lot. My dog is getting her cardio work in running to the door to greet/interrogate delivery and construction people; and I am falling into a schedule of trying to write before it all begins and after it ends…so… I’m a little busy. It’s a really good busy though.

And like all things that need to be born into the world or transformed, there is disruption. There is chaos. There is pain (hammer…thumb). There is exhaustion. There are tears. And then…there is something worth every minute and every stupid crappy thing it took to get there.

I’m smiling through the plaster dust and typing like a mad woman with band aides on my fingers.

Happy Fall.

Happy everything new.

On wings of words I fly into your heart…

on wings of words I fly into your heart

P.S.: If you want to see a snip of the new novel, go to the home page and on the top you’ll see the appetizer menu- a taste of Touching the Bones. You can read chapter one there.

or click here………   https://wordninjagirl.com/appetizer-menu-a-little-taste-of-touching-the-bones/

 

The Story I Tell

The story I tell

So, what is the story that you tell?

If, every single day, the story you tell starts with, “You never…” or ” You always…” then THAT is what you create and what shows up, in your face, every…single…day.

Want the world around you to show up differently? Tell a different story; a better story…about good things.

Magically, THAT is what will begin to show up, in your face, every…single…day.

Poetry……I’m

Cathead Bay Michigan

I’m

I’m a Galleria Mall in a National Park,

a French film noir in a grocery store,

art school in the kitchen,

An erotica book on a Wednesday noon,

And a heated debate at 2 a.m.

I’m the cookie baker

trouble maker

heart breaker

claim staker-

I want everything to change

While the good parts stay the same.

I want the freedom of the road

while harvesting the flowers I’ve sowed.

I want a home that feels like love

and all the laughter it’s made of-

I want a soundtrack worth a movie

And then I want to leave behind

A mountain of creations

For my progeny to find.

That’s all.

Poetry Day- America: The Long Dream

 

usa night

So, this poem arrived in a dream, intact, and I grabbed a piece of paper and wrote it down, just like this. There’s music too, but since I can’t write music, its just in my head. I wrote this in 1998 but I think about it every 9/11.

America: The Long Dream

America,

as we awaken from this long dream

we look around to see what’s happening

and wipe the sleep out of our weary eyes.

 

Long ago,

we came from every nation on the earth

our skin is shaded like the mother lands

our eyes reflect the places of our birth.

 

We’ve lived for years a nation under God

but never dared to say which one that was

now deep from sleep a restless voice is heard.

 

Until we see,

we came together here to start anew

and find the likenesses in me and you

we’ll never reach the point where love is true.

 

The purpose of our lives has always been

to learn to love regardless of our skin

 

The God we call out to is all the same.

The only difference is the man made name.

We bow our heads and ask

direction for

our lives again.

 

And in the middle of the darkest night

we hear the whispered voice and see the light

that fills our hearts and somehow makes it right.

 

This is the dawning of a brand new day.

Our turmoil leads us to another way-

to handle change with grace.

 

America,

as we awaken from this long dream

and look around to see what’s happeneing

we see the truth within our open eyes.

We’re standing truly at each other’s side.

Our learning hearts are finally open wide

to let the new day in.