FRIDAY STIR FRY - Writing Is Hard (or is it?)

http://morguefile.com

No, writing is not like digging ditches hard. Your life isn't on the line like a police officer's every time you sit down to write. There isn't a dangerous flame licking at you like it does a firefighter.

It's brain hard. Trying to come up with the right word, the perfect twist, the heroine's snarky comeback. And that's just the creative phase. Then you have the edits and the edits and the edits.

Sometimes it's hard just to get started whether you're in the middle of a story or the beginning. The fear of failure can seize your brain power and make it impossible to come up with even one word let alone a whole page.

Then (and this is the magic part), other times the words flow out your fingers like a rushing mountain stream. Nothing gets in the way and the exhilaration you feel has no equal. This is what keeps us coming back. What wakes us up in the morning and keeps us up late into the night. This is the joy of writing.

Wouldn't it be nice if we could bottle that feeling up and just pour it out when the writing becomes hard?

FRIDAY STIR FRY - Celebrity Deaths

https://www.morguefile.com

When a famous person dies, some people really freak out. Like last week when Prince passed, the sister of a co-worker totally lost it, couldn't work, couldn't sleep, couldn't stop crying. The memorial at his home keeps growing, and the tributes keep coming. I wasn't a big fan. His music came around in my life when I was in the middle of raising kids. New music somehow becomes less important. The old stuff is what we cling to. The music of our own youth. But, I get the grief. I really do.  

John Denver's death hit me hard. He, like Prince, died way too young and suddenly. I probably played his music for weeks after. I would get teary eyed and my voice would crack when I sang along. I actually met him once and have his autograph. So, silly as it sounds, I felt I really knew him.

Music has a way of connecting our memory with our heart. It embeds its words and melody in our very being. Plus, when the musician who brought it to us is kind and gives of their time and money to good causes, we tend to connect with them even more. From all accounts, Prince was very charitable. John Denver fought for the environment, bringing awareness to what we were doing to the planet.  

While we mourn, let's try and carry on the work they did to help others. There is no better way to remember them. 

Which celebrity death hit you the hardest? I would love to know. 

FRIDAY STIR FRY - On Saturday

I don't know what to write. That seems to be a pattern with me lately. Thus this blog is a day late - actually several weeks late. So, since I have no clue what to write about - I'm just going to give you an excerpt from my current WIP - Coming Home. Hope you like it.

“Ron,” Jennifer's voice trembled in her ears. “It’s good to see you.” She squeezed the lie out between her teeth as she slung her bag over her shoulder. “I heard somebody bought the Satellite. I didn’t realize it was you.”

“Yep, signed the papers about three months ago.” His smile faded. “Sorry to hear about your mom, Jenny.”

“Thanks.”  Jennifer realized she was going to have to get used to hearing that sentiment for the next few days.

Ron held the motel office door open and motioned her in. “I've got big plans for this place. Of course there is still got a lot of work to do. You'll be happy to know I started by replacing the mattresses.”

"That's reassuring." She felt a sour taste in her mouth. Heat flooded her cheeks as she remembered the last time she was here ... prom night … with Ron, on a lumpy, broken down mattress. Did he mean to reference that night or was it an innocent comment?

He cleared his throat and she noticed a blush cross his cheeks matching her discomfort. “Do you know how long you’re staying.”

“Not really." She shrugged. "As few days as possible but, this is my first time dealing with anything like this, so who knows?"

Ron reached for her hand, then pulled back. "Wow. Is that what I think it is?"

Jennifer fidgeted with the lose ring wishing she'd taken it off before coming to town. "Yes." Her voice sounded faint and far away.

“So where is the lucky guy?" Ron craned his neck to look around her out the windows.

"He had some business to finish up. He should be here in a day or two."

“Must be a rich man to afford something that big and shiny. Looks like you did okay for yourself in the big city."

Something in the tone of his voice made her gut clench. “I did okay for myself by working hard, not by gold digging if that's what you're insinuating.”

Ron cleared his throat. “Sorry. I guess that came out wrong. How about we start over and I'll try to keep my foot out of my mouth." He handed her a pen and registration card. "Welcome to the Satellite Motel. I hope you'll enjoy your stay."

Start over. There's no starting over when somebody you trust hurts you. Jennifer grabbed the pen, scribbled her information down and reached for her wallet. She felt the need to get away from him before things got any weirder.