Sunday morning a bird became trapped in our pool’s screened enclosure.  I’ll admit the screen needs some maintenance.  Our screen’s battle scars include a tree tear, squirrel nibblings, and even a three cornered tear in the roof from an angry cat. Despite four hurricanes trailing over us in 2004, we didn’t experience enough damage to call in the insurance company. So we’re waiting out hurricane season 2009 to see if we get a new screen or not. But, back to the bird. 

The little Carolina wren alerted us to his plight by bumping into the window several times. The poor thing was already frantic by the time we noticed him. I opened the screened doors and waved my arms in the direction of freedom, but he simply flew back and forth, ever closer to the hole through which he most likely entered, but never quite finding it. 

Finally, I went back inside, leaving both doors open hoping for the best. A few moments later, I glanced through the sliding glass doors to see the wren walking out the door. Once outside, he immediately dove headfirst into my herb garden, chirping happily as he hid in the dewy parsley. 

Which made me think of some of the other tiny, fragile things in my life that I try to manuever and manhandle, sometimes to the their sad demise. Like ideas.

Ideas–specifically story ideas–beat at the confines of my brain just like that poor trapped bird. And, it seems the more I work at them, trying to push them in my direction, the more frantically they flutter and fly until they become exhausted. I’ve learned that if I watch the idea as it makes itself at home in my brain, if I study the flight pattern and gently nourish it–maybe with some research or day-dreaming–the Idea Bird relaxes and grows confident. And then one day, when it’s ready, it walks right out of my head and marches across the keyboard and onto the page.

Oh, this sound so sweet and wonderful, doesn’t it? 

But the trick is, that once the idea is free on the page, then I’m the one who’s trapped, beating my wings against the screens of good storytelling, compelling plots and dynamic characters. And that takes work. Hard work. But eventually we walk through the door together, with our feathers in place, our hearts beating at a normal pace and our breathing steady and calm.

The story is free of its cage and flying out in the world. Just like my little Carolina wren.

So the woman returned from San Francisco with her Good Fortune pillow and added it to the collection on the daybed in her office. While a worthy addition, the Good Fortune pillow didn’t quell the desire the woman had for a romantic, spectacularly tacky pillow like the one she remembered from her childhood. 

Still seeking the pillow of her vision, she searched the cyber world for a substitute, but found nothing to match her imagination. She expressed her disappointment and her unfilled desire in a blog post, sending the wish into the ether, hoping for some insight, some direction, some retail outlet to meet her need. 

Months passed and nothing materialized. No direction via comments on her blog. No insight. No retail outlet. She should give up , she told herself. Be satisfied with what you have, her conscience commanded. After all, she possessed the kitschy, romantic Texas pillow. She had her Good Fortune pillow. Most of all, she had the great good fortune of her life–her husband, her sons, her home, her good friends. She was happy with these things. 

She tucked away her vision and gave up her obsession, settling into the daily routine of her life. Writing in her office, she’d gaze at the Texas pillow and think of romance, of love, of innocent sweethearts and delicate passion. The Good Fortune pillow inspired her to work harder for surely good fortune would follow. And so the days passed and the work progressed. 

Then her son, Jon, brought home Lisa–a golden princess of great beauty and greater compassion. Unbeknownst to the woman, Lisa understood the woman’s desire for the unusual. Lisa related to the pretty side of ugly that creates tacky. And she took it upon herself to find a pillow that might fill the void in the woman’s pillow collection. 

On Christmas morning, the woman opened a gift from Lisa. It appeared to be an ordinary package. Possibly a sweater. Perhaps a scarf. But, beyond the wrapping paper and beneath the tissue lay an exquisite gold fringed, gleaming satin pillow with the Golden Gate Bridge embroidered in glittering red thread! A sparkling clear stone lit the topmost point of the bridge and a tiny blue truck traversed the span.

The woman gasped with delight! It was the pillow she’d wanted. Too beautiful to be tacky, but exactly right. And Lisa, the good, golden princess beamed with joy. The two women understood. 

THE  END

The Third Pillow

Together at last

After reading a wonderful Flash Fiction piece by  Sally Franklin Christie, I remembered how much I love this form of fiction for the extremely short attention span. In case you aren’t  familiar with the concept, Flash Fiction is a complete story with all the necessary elements: plot, characters, etc. contained in 1000 words or less. If you’d like to know more, check out Flash Fiction Online. My story weighs in at 364 words. Tell me what you think.  

I Know What It Looks Like

By Teresa Elliott Brown 

My morning chores in the vegetable garden complete, I decide to shower. The phone rings and I let it go to the machine while I shampoo and rinse. Wrapped in a towel and dripping, I check the message. He wants a haircut. Big date tonight and he’s short of cash. Okay.

“Why don’t you come over around two o’clock? While the boys are asleep.” I braid my hair and dress in white shorts and a peasant blouse. I know what it looks like, but it’s just a favor for a friend—a haircut.

 When he arrives we gossip about our mutual friends. He rants about what’s going on in our theater group as we move toward the kitchen for the shampooing.

While he’s leaning over my kitchen sink, surrounded by children’s utensils draining in the rack on the counter, I realize how broad his shoulders are. I notice the curling gold hair, like wispy smoke clinging to his tanned, hard forearm. I want to touch the gold smoke. We’re no longer speaking. I massage his scalp with soapy fingers. I know it looks like I’m shampooing his hair.

My friend brings one of the dining room chairs into the kitchen. With a towel wrapped around his shoulders, he tells me about the new girl he’s dating. I cut his hair, slowly moving around him. My arms and legs and hips moving rhythmically to the clicking of the scissors. Up and down to the rolling pitch of his voice. I know it looks like I’m concentrating on this haircut. 

How long since I’ve been on a date?

Almost finished now.  I always have trouble cutting the hair over the ears, and wish I had real training. I step closer. Move slower. Try to do it right.  I know it looks like I’m telling him a secret. 

Brushing away the clipped hair with flicks of my fingertips over his eyebrows and ears. Neck. Throat. His lips. I know it looks like caressing strokes. 

I stand in the doorway with my two sons, waving goodbye. I’ve given a friend a haircut—a small favor between us.  

The girl grew into a woman, and she did travel. She journeyed by car, train, and by airplane. She went North and South. She went East and West. Her collection of travel treasures included trivets, towels, t-shirts. Sometimes she brought home salt and pepper shakers or postcards. Her shelf of memories contained a miniature Chrysler Building, a tiny Statue of Liberty, and a glass apple. From Mexico City she brought a three inch pyramid and a tiny stone Olmec.

But search as she may, she never found a pillow like her mother had showed her as a girl. Of course, now that she was a woman she knew her mother’s pillow was NOT beautiful. In fact, it was spectacularly tacky. But she still loved it and wanted one of her own from one of her trips. 

Eventually, she traveled to San Francisco. Here, she thought, is where I will find a wonderful, tacky, glorious pillow. After all there was the Golden Gate bridge, the hills, the trolley cars, the bay. All of those thing together with gold fringe would be just the thing. 

In San Francisco, she searched high and low. She scoured Chinatown and all the linen outlets she could find. She and her friends spent hours looking for the pillow of her imagination. It seemed that no one else had the vision for tacky pillows she had. So she bought a pillow in Chinatown that said, “Good Fortune.” Maybe it would bring her good fortune in her search for THE pillow. To be continued…

Once upon a time a young girl knelt on the floor beside her mother as the woman opened a deep wooden chest. Trembling with curiosity,  the girl leaned forward to see the treasures in the chest. A shimmer of gold beneath an old book caught her attention. “What is this, Mama?” 

Mama laughed and tugged the fringe from the bottom of the chest. “Bobby gave this to me a long, long time ago.” Mama flattened the fabric across her knees and smiled. Letting the silky fringe slip over her fingers, she said, “Bobby was my first boyfriend. Long before I knew your Daddy.” The fringe was attached to a colorful picture of a far away place–Texas. 

Mama read the poem on the pillow cover.

Sweetheart

I thought that you would like to know

That someone’s thoughts go where you go.

That life is richer sweeter far.

For such a sweetheart as you are. 

The young girl sighed with the romance of it. This boy had loved her mother enough that he thought of her while he was so far away–in Texas. The pillow cover with all it’s bright colors and sweet words and gold fringe seemed to be everything interesting and romantic and adventurous to the young girl. She determined that one day she would travel to far away places–like Texas, and even beyond–and she would collect beautiful things to remind her of love and adventure. 

Mama folded the cloth and put it back in the chest. She closed the lid, trapping the glimmering golden fringe and cedar aroma until the next time the treasure chest would be opened. The girl locked away in her memory the image of the pillow cover and planned her journeys from the swing set in the back yard.

To be continued…

The Texas Sweetheart Pillow

You know it’s almost fall when the kids head off to school and yet-to-be published writers begin to think about whether to enter Romance Writer’s of America’s Golden Heart Contest. This is the premier contest for us. If you final in this prestigious contest, your work has risen to top of about 2,200 entries. After being judged by your peers, your partial manuscript then goes to the final judge–an editor who can buy your work if he/she likes it. The Golden Heart Contest is a great opportunity.

But you need to make a few personal decisions before you send in your registration fee, and to help you make those decisions, I’ve come up with two T’s Top 10 Lists. Today I’ll give the reasons to enter. Check them out and see what you think.

Come back tomorrow and find out why you might want to wait. 

By the way, I’ll be entering again this year with a new manuscript I’m in love with! I’m hoping for final number 4 and a sale this year!

T’s Top 10 Reasons TO ENTER the GH

ENTER BECAUSE YOU ARE READY

1. You’ve gotten feedback from other contests, made revisions

The Golden Heart judges give you a number score only. I suggest entering contests that give you an in-depth critique and concrete suggestions for improvement. Enter several contests to compare and contrast comments–if something comes up several times, FIX IT.

2.Your manuscript is complete and error free

One of the rules of the GH contest is to submit a completed manuscript, so finish it! And of course, you always want to present your best work. Always!

3.You know which contest category to enter

Very important! Study the RWA definitions available on the website (www.rwanational.org) or in the Romance Writers Report magazine. These are the standards you’ll be judged by. Don’t blow your chance by entering the wrong category.

ENTER FOR THE NEWTORK

4. Your GH class is an important network of support and publicity

The Wet Noodle Posse, the group of finalists in 2003, changed forever the value of the GH class by establishing one of the first group blogs. Besides a communication loop, this on-line presence is great publicity for published and yet-to-be published writers. Check out the Posse at www.wetnoodleposse.com. Coming soon from MY class of 2007 is www.nobodywritesitbetter.com, where I’ll be a regular contributor. My 2006 class’s group blog is www.romancebandits.blogspot.com. You can bet the Banditas are always rockin’.

5. The Golden Network offers unique support and education

JOIN the special interest RWA chapter for GH finalists as soon as you get your invitation.It’s always a great party at the conference and The Golden Network retreat is an outstanding opportunity for education and networking with industry professionals. This year’s retreat was Speed Dating–three minutes to pitch your story to editors and agents. What a great opportunity!

ENTER FOR THE APPOINTMENT OPPORTUNITIES

7.Wear your Golden Heart and your ribbon on your badge and be ready to talk 

Plan to enter the RWA National conference if you are finalist. When you wear that pink ribbon as a finalist, everyone will be congratulating you, including editors and agents. If they happen to ask about your manuscript have your 30 second TV Guide pitch ready. Check you TV Guide description for your favorite show. Copy that style.

8.Take advantage of early registration for editor and agent appointment

You’re GOLD! You get to register first and usually have a one-on-one appointment. Be prepared, be confident, hit the important points. Don’t just pitch, ask questions and listen.

ENTER FOR THE VALIDATION

10. Enjoy and treasure the validation of your peers. Soak it all in and have fun! 

Good luck!