On Paper

We've had more snow in our area, just over the last week, than I can ever remember having in one stretch over the years. It's a lot of snow, a lot of cold, the need to think about when you're going where, and what you have on hand in case you can't go.

I just got off the phone with my mom, and we talked about those things. About how, because we're to get yet more of this white stuff, a trip to the store for supplies and such is gonna be necessary.

Toilet paper. I need toilet paper and I have to write that down, I said, because I don't want to be snowed in without any.

Which led to a discussion about what if you did run out of it while in a snowstorm, what then? What if you have no Puffs, no Kleenex (or have worked your way through them)?

Paper towels? Too scratchy. Maxi pads? Perhaps, but try talking my husband into that.

Hmm... Fabric would work, though. Say you have flannel sheets tucked away, haven't been used in years. Grab some scissors, cut into squares. And there you have it.

And there it was, the swift realization that one of my characters (in a current WIP) will go through this predicament. She'll be home, alone, snowed in. And she has nothing. But ta-da! A stray thought that, yeah, just might work, will work. It'll be a small scene, and I can already see it building. It'll fit with things, with the story, so well.

My mom, as I blabbered all this in her ear, was quiet. Like why-would-you-put-that-in-your-book quiet.

Stuff like that just doesn't convey well when you share it with others. I'm sure she didn't know how to respond. Maybe she couldn't imagine it.

But I can. Oh, I can. And it'll be great on paper.

Perfect Presents

Did you ever open a gift that, if it could vocalize, would scream your name?

Sometimes there's something you didn't even know existed, you'd never seen anything like, but the second you open it, you know it was meant to be yours.



My sister gave me this box for Christmas. It's heavy with a beautiful bronze finish, felted interior (ideal for stashing, oh, I don't know... chocolate?), a pile of pens on top, and is engraved with the quote THE WRITER MUST WRITE WHAT HE HAS TO SAY, NOT SPEAK IT. - Ernest Hemingway

I'm still speechless. And it looks perfect at its place of honor in my writing space.


What did you receive that couldn't have been more perfect?

Missing Person, A Writer

I already posted today, I know that. Right now I don't even care if you don't read my Christmas story. Read this. Read it first. I've just learned something that devastates me, and I have to share with anyone willing to read about it.

Kathleen McBroom, Kathleen McBroom, Kathleen McBroom. I will continue saying, thinking her name.

She is a mother, an Air Force veteran and a writer. She disappeared in October 2008, just vanished. While her husband and children wait, hope, question, pray, imagine, her case - while still considered "open" - has gotten little follow-up. There's been minimal public/media attention, even at the beginning, and none of the national missing persons websites list her case.

For more informational/background detail, visit Slam Dunk (thank you, new friend). He's a former policeman with special interest in such cases, and he's put a lot of time and effort into Kathleen's story.

Friends, any one of us from the writing community could have crossed paths with Kathleen. She had a blog, dabbled in fiction, wrote poetry. She NaNo'd. Just like you, just like me. I am mourning a friend I never had, but easily could have.

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Her posts can been seen here. I ask you to visit the site, to pull the warmth and love from her words. Honor her. And spread the word. What good are we for, dear writers, if we can't spread this word and continue the search for Kathleen and pray for her family?

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The last post (first visible when you go to her site) was published by her daughter, just days after she went missing. In the months past, 288 comments have been left, with well wishes and prayer.

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This, all of this, I had to share. I will be thinking of Kathleen. I will be praying for her and her family. Won't you join me?

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Photo one of her own, from her blog.