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Showing posts from April, 2009

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Writing from the Dark Side

Heh! I started out calling this blog post "Blogging from the Darkside" and then went to "Writing from the Darkside" and then went on to finally arrive at "Pubbing from the Darkside".  This little tidbit of information should be able to give you a little hint over what has been happening at the Oliver Homestead since I last posted.

Big News! I am part of a great collaboration with a collection of Writers who decided that if a romance book should be done, it should be done by us! Hence, the beginning of what is now know as Welcome to Serenity Harbor, Maine.

This is huge! This is ginormous! All of the books are set around the fictional coastal Maine town of Serenity Harbor. We didn't limit genre, only that their characters fall in love in Maine.

For me, this was a return to something that I love... well, yes... it was a return to writing. I've blogged a little bit about some of my struggles with illness that left with being unable to write for a whi…

Florida teen finds rocks in Nintendo DS box - plugged in - Yahoo! Games

Florida teen finds rocks in Nintendo DS box - plugged in - Yahoo! GamesWhy am I posting this? Because I can sympathize with the poor kid. But in my case it was a coffee maker and it was substituted with old sneakers and a towel. And yes, they do look at you funny when you bring it back and tell them that it bought that way.

Picture of the day: For Dad

I spent some time yesterday in Rockland, Maine. Very nice little place. Lots of museums and a wonderful Coffee/Bookshop called Rock City Coffee Roasters. The wind was howling and the rain slashing down, but I had an enjoyable time with my laptop in their coffee area. After that I rode around the waterfront area. It's one of the largest working waterfronts still left virtually intact in Maine. I love it. It's also home to the Lobster Festival every summer. I think, if I had to live somewhere else in Maine... it'd be Rockland.

Anyway, this picture is for my Dad... who, when times get rough and he feels the need to go to camp would usually say that he was headed for "parts unknown". So, here you go, Dad. Here's your boat to take you there....

Totally off Topic: The Holiday

Never mind that I was mostly asleep when I saw this movie, my apprehension had nothing to do with my lack of sleep or the fact that I was waiting for my daughter to arrive back from her trip to New York and the midnight hour was fast approaching... My apprehension had to do more with the confluence of info I'd seen about the movie when it first came onto the screen. I had dismissed it as jus another chic flick. Another attempt to make a feel good movie that had little to do with lasting impression and more to do with showcasing some of the most noteable faces of the time.
I was wrong. I was going on preconceived notions.
Let me say, I loved the movie. I laughed more than I had in a very long time. It wasn't a breathtaking movie that stirred me to tears. More a quiet upheaval of ideas that twisted me into a deep contemplation of the movie. You see... I never just sit and watch anything. I'm always doing something else. Whether it's writing. Knitting. Making jewelry. I&#…

The Offshore Islands by Ruth Moore

The offshore islands belong to themselves
They stand in their own sea.
They do not inherit; they leave no heirs.
They are no man’s legacy.

Blazing volcanos, cooled and dead,
Marked nowhere a boundary line.
The rise and fall of oceans left
Not one no trespassing sign.

The money was never minted,
The clutch of its greed so strong
It could honor a deed: TO HAVE AND TO HOLD,
And keep these wild lands long.
The first cummer people were Indians.
For some five thousand years
They built up shore-line shell heaps before
They lost to the pioneers.

The white man took what he wanted.
He had privilege, laws, and guns.
He made fast his own boundary lines
And his property went to his sons.

From the west they sailed in Chebacco boats,
And the high-sterned pinkys, Essex-made.
In harbors where water was deep enough,
Their schooners carried a coast-wise trade.

The homesteads they made were study,
But those who built near the shores
Had to dig, if they didn’t want Indian shells
All over their cellar floors.

Then time slipped by, as…

High Clouds Soaring, Storms Driving Low

I went home the other day. It's really not that far for me. An extended trip from the everyday. By home, I mean less the actual building where I grew up, but the area that I love so much. We, and I still to this day consider myself part of it, are those that live on an island, connected to the mainland by a thin bridge that skips over vast, troubled, rushing waters. If you want a euphemism for life then this one is very apt in description. You see... when I cross that thin bridge... I take a deep breathe, my heart rate slows, and a wealth of long dormant emotions filter through every cell of my body. It's a quiet hum that reverberates long after I've trudged back across the bridge. Sometimes, for days the feelings continue, making me feel like a boat tethered with a finite rope to the shore.
The title from this blog is the title from the compilation of letters of Ruth Moore, put together and edited by Sanford Phippen. I claim a distant relationship to her, since originally…

My Heroes Have a Terminal Illness...

I found out quite by accident. I had set up a Google Alert for my book The Three Truths of Katie Talmadge. When it came through my email there was a quip from the posting that included the title. It said... “Don’t make me into some sort of knight-in-shining-armor, Katie. Believe me, I’m not any closer to ..."
I froze. Naturally, I knew it was from my own book. But what surprised me was that something very similar had been in the book I just finished. My first thought was that I had plagiarized myself. I went back to the recently finished book and did a search & find on "knight". Sure enough, there were three references to it. The wording wasn't exactly the same as in Three Truths. Most of the references in the latest book were internalized thought designed to torture my hero. But I soon came to the realization that I had saddled all my heroes with the same terminal illness... KISA. Every single hero that I'd had over the years had been fighting to be anything…