The Foothills

Every writer needs a support group. That's a given, especially for those who are just developing the craft. Let me tell you about one of the groups I belong to that has really stretched my writing abilities. We call ourselves the Foothills Writers. We meet weekly, in person for a year at the library, then by zoom for months and now in the fellowship hall of a local church, spread apart, an eight foot table per person. Yes, we do write, there, on the spot with topics thrown at us by devious prompt finders who snicker as they read the assignment of the week. Six minutes later we share our results. I am humbled at their responses. So creative. So polished. A complete story, plot, characters, dialogue. Six minutes! 

A year ago we self published a booklet filled with examples of our writings. By self published, I mean, Self. Published. As in run off, folded and stapled at one of our meetings.

This year we've had time to investigate a little more about self publishing and have moved up to independently publishing a book through a company. It's still in the works as each of us finish our particular submissions. We chose broad topics like sports, poetry, history, even sci-fi. (yes, me! See what I mean about stretching my writing.) The theme that ties those together is The Foothills with the majority of our entries somehow featuring the Foothills of North Carolina.

At our meeting a couple weeks ago we discussed how we would present the technical term of Foothills to the reader. We want to clarify exactly where on earth we are located. Since I am a former fourth grade teacher who taught North Carolina social studies for years upon years, I was tasked with writing a succinct definition of the Foothills using all our input. Easier said than done.

Fourth grade basic lesson here: North Carolina has three regions, the Appalachian mountains to the west, the Atlantic coastal plain to the east, and sandwiched between them, the Piedmont Plateau. Word derivation is one of my interests, so of course I taught my children a little Italian/Latin background, pied, pie, pede (foot) mont, montium (mountain). We even discussed the connection with the derivation of the word "pedicure." That, my students could relate to. 

In North Carolina the Piedmont Plateau is higher in altitude than the coastal plain and made up of rolling hills leading westward to taller foothills at the base of the Appalachians. The Blue Ridge Escarpment makes a definite cut out of the ancient mountains that clearly shows where the foothills end and the mountains begin. It can be seen in county after county along interstates 40 and 77, mountains in the distance, hills between.  

The Piedmont of the eastern United States

That's a bit TMI for our purposes. We want to show through our writings how hills have influenced the three counties making up our writer's group - Alexander, Caldwell and Burke to be exact. The reader is in for a treat! 

A sample of what our Foothills Writers see every day

I'm still writing and rewriting a definition of the Foothills to go in the introduction of the book. I'll keep you posted as to the progress of the book. Meanwhile in writing as well as in real estate, it's all about one thing:

Location. Location. Location.

Catch of the day, 

Gretchen

Opportunity to Zoom Along

Like most of us writers, my ability did not just appear out of thin air, or for that matter, out of this heavy, humid, southern air. I had the knack, true, but I soon found knack and desire don't add up to success. I wrote my first short story (beyond weekly spelling assignments!) when I was in third grade, went on to creative writing class in high school, became clerical assistant for the children's lit teacher at Appalachian State University, and during my pregnancy leave of absence, took a writing correspondence class. All this was before I ever submitted a single article for publication. 

I thought I knew writing by then. Wrong. I soon realized writing was not a magic gift from the muse of the day, but rather a developmental process that, in my case, I'm sure tired my muse as much as strained me. I joined a brutal critique group. I attended yearly professional writer's conferences. I worked through CD versions of writing lessons. I repeat: All this before I ever submitted a single article for publication. 

My first article was a long time coming. After years of rejections and rewrites and trash cans and bottom drawers, I was published in Highlights for Children in 2009, and then BAM, POW, WOW, things began happening. Since then, my work's been published in magazines, newspapers and online, in addition to four children's picture books and eight narrative nonfiction books featuring the western North Carolina mountain culture.

That last paragraph didn't come easy, believe me. I am still in the process of learning and if you are a writer, you should be, too. Look for opportunities to grow the skill beyond putting ink to paper, or fingers to keyboard, if you prefer. 

Whether you are a seasoned author or a neophyte waiting for your moment in the sun, you (we) need to be honing our abilities in a learning on the job kind of way. Let me tell you about one group of writers that has an online opportunity coming up September 19. While their focus is on writing for children, the lessons learned there will apply to all writers across the board. This is a writer's group whose foundation is on Christ and Christian principles. I've always appreciated their name, Write2Ignite. Imagine if your writing ignites a child into thinking and acting.  What more could a writer want!

Even though meeting for their typical writer's conference is not possible in this CoVid Era, they want to continue sharing and interacting with other authors by holding an online seminar. What an opportunity! This year, rather than being open to those who can travel, they are open to anyone who can sit in front of a computer and join in. September 19. World wide. Wow, God can make lemonade out of lemons.

And, oh, my goodness, look at the name of the leader, Joyce Hostetter. I've read her books and seen them used in classrooms here in the county where I live. I even attended a play based on her book, Blue. She has so much to share with others. Check out this youtube video of Joyce and you'll see what I'm talking about. Here's what they sent me explaining the one day zoom conference:

What to Expect from the Sessions (NOTE: These are linked to Joyce’s blog posts on these topics.)

·         Creating Memorable Characters — Tried and true strategies for creating characters.

·         On Writing Plot: What’s the Problem — Structure and the power of conflict in creating a great plot.

·         View Point and Dialogue— Dialogue that works overtime and strategies for creating an authentic narrator.

At Write2Ignite, we strive to create a constructive schedule of events that will help you increase your knowledge of writing Christian literature for children and young adults. Each of our events is created with you, the writer, in mind. 

Check out this schedule (based on eastern daylight time)

Registration is open now. Click here for something you can take advantage of to up your writing game while being in the goodness of your own space. Enjoy. Learn a lot. Write often.

Catch of the day,

Gretchen

Practicing a Little Garbology

Staying at home during this Covid Era has brought out the best and the worst in people, and my husband and I have seen a bit of both recently. Isolation is not for the human soul, to be sure, and we humans are stretching the limits put on us. Like getting in the car and just driving for no purpose other than getting in the car and out of the house. Like going out for ice cream and forgetting there is a mask on my face. Like walking in the southern heat and humidity.

We began walking last spring and have slacked off since the daily temperatures rose, and since a few outside opportunities came open to take up our time. Sadly, we've held off the daily hike except for Sunday mornings, seven o'clock, when we walk the mile and a half stretch (down and back) of a side road running near our house. As we walk, we pick up trash using what is known as a "standard trash grabber." He walks ahead, grabs the trash with the stick, and I hold open the bag. No physical contact and plenty of sanitizer, I might add.

Here's the picker-upper we use, and the picker-upper in use!

Through the months, we've noticed people are improving on the courtesy of not throwing litter out the side windows as they drive by our development. Week before last we barely filled one grocery bag. Yesterday, however, was a different story. Here's just one bag:

I'm a story catcher. What I don't hear first hand, I imagine. So as we pick up some trash, I can't help but wonder what the story is behind it being tossed away. Mostly I attribute an item's presence to lack of intelligence, caring or civic duty on the part of the litterbug. 

Other items, I'm not sure I really want to learn the story behind, like this empty bottle of lice elimination.

Or why this mattress was on the side of the road, no we didn't pick it up. So when the people arrived at the destination, were they shocked to find no mattress on the roof of the car? What would they do, drive back looking for it, or go buy another? Or were they just too lazy or thoughtless to drive to the dump in the first place?

Which leads us to begin questioning the story behind other castaways. The nearly full bottles of beer. What's up with that, a policeman on the bumper? The fast food litter. Where's the sense of responsibility? The cigarette butts. No comment.

An interesting find yesterday was a CD, not that it was an interesting CD. I didn't recognize the artist. Rather that it was the why. Why would a CD fly out the window. Was the passenger tired of hearing the same old songs? Why didn't the driver stop the car and retrieve it? What were they saying to each other? Inquiring minds (and story catchers) want to know.

 

Not fifty feet down the road, we found another CD? Or did we?

Not a CD, it's a mushroom. Nature laughed. It's still there. And so is the white morning glory that fooled us into thinking it was a wadded up napkin.

There is a science to studying trash. Garbology.

This discipline looks at how trash affects the world and all its assorted problems and solutions. It's also a modern archaeology science, studying what people throw away and looking at a civilization through its leftovers and left behinds. 

Trust me, people leave plenty behind. I could sure write a story or two just from what is in the trash we find. 

Catch of the day,

Gretchen

Cats, Squirrels, and Helicopter Seeds

My cat, Patches, is a gifted hunter who has more than earned her keep by eliminating the moles in our yard and the mice in our basement. In her hunting frenzy she has unfortunately killed enough birds that I have had to shut down my bird feeders. She treated them like her own personal smorgasbord.

I've realized yet another impact this cat has made, an indirect impact, but still, an impact. There have been fewer squirrels in our back yard lately. They have migrated away from our property, at least I would rather think they moved away instead of been eaten as dessert. That cat!

Today I noticed something else cat/squirrel related as I was pulling weeds around our brick patio. Many of the weeds were not really weeds, but tiny trees. So, is a tree a weed? It is, if it is growing amok in a place where it should not be. So I pulled. And pulled more. And more. There were tiny trees everywhere. I had never noticed so many, so I began investigating and connecting dots.

Beside one tiny tree was a clue. Laying next to it was what my children called helicopters, tulip poplar seed pods.  In our side yard is a huge tree, and its seeds that spin like helicopter blades were play toys for our neighborhood children. My son and his friends climbed into the tree and dropped them, aiming to hit the top of passing cars. Target practice.

I figured out the connection between the cat, the squirrels and the helicopter, so here goes:

A couple years ago I was preparing a power point presentation for an author visit to fourth graders. I wanted to illustrate word choices I made in writing my picture book, When Christmas Feels Like Home.

To give the reader an image in his mind, I used figurative language to describe the seasons of the year: when pumpkins smile, when trees look like bony fingered skeletons, when words float like clouds from your mouth, when mountains turn the color of the sun...leading up to Christmas, when trees ride on cars.

To illustrate how authors revise, I introduced the children to figurative language I wrote that didn't make it into the final book. One was about those helicopter seed pods: when helicopters spin from trees. In the end I didn't use it because not that many readers would connect the image of a helicopter to seeds spinning from the sky. They had to live in our corner of the world where poplar trees abound and where each new spring season brings the joy of spinning seeds. By the way, the children knew exactly what I was talking about when they saw them. They had spun the seeds themselves.

As part of the power point I wanted to show a picture of the seeds. I went outside my house back then, looking for seed pods to use.

But when I threw them into the sky, they didn't spin. The seeds were missing from the blade and the helicopter pod fell to the ground without spinning. Almost every single one was empty. I had to search to find enough to take that picture to show the children.

But what happened?

Easy answer. Squirrels. They had dined on my tulip poplar seed collection and left the empty hulls behind.

That was pre-cat.

Patches the cat arrived later that year and wreaked havoc with the nature in my backyard. With the squirrel population diminished, the seeds fell undisturbed the next season. Left alone, they sprouted.

Here are a few of the weedy trees I uprooted today, in various stages of germination. I'm talking hundreds of them.

These seeds had two purposes on this earth, beyond entertaining children. Feed for animals and becoming majestic trees. When they avoided being fodder for squirrels, they went on and did their thing and started the miracle process to become trees.

And I pulled them up.

Bummer.

Catch of the day,

Gretchen

Pedestrians Prohibited, Except in the Age of Corona

When the Blue Ridge Parkway closed in response to Covid-19 safety concerns, I was disappointed. For years, that road has been a resource to my family for fun, relaxation, and renewal. It is easy access to us, less than thirty minutes from home and we'd be cruising at the top speed of forty miles per hour, enjoying unbelievable vistas accented by fall colors.

With the stay-at-home rule in effect, I really didn't feel a loss for the parkway specifically, as much as I did for my get-up-and-go life I left behind.

But.

Sometimes when one door is closed, another one opens...or when one road closes, a once in a life time chance opens.

And I took it.

There is a section of the Blue Ridge Parkway called the Linn Cove Viaduct. Click on over and look at its beauty. It's a work of engineering marvel that clings to the mountains around it. I've driven over it many a time. I've hiked beneath it from the visitor's center. I've just never hiked on it because it is closed to pedestrian traffic.

There I am, getting ready to break the useless rule of no pedestrian traffic. I'm not a protester, but this was different. This was my only chance to walk on this part of heaven on earth, and I wasn't going to pass it up.

Who wouldn't want to be on the top of this world looking down on the view of a lifetime. No cars allowed.

We parked at the entrance ramp where a barricade blocked traffic from entering. Let me add, we parked with at least fifty other cars at the entrance ramp.

We walked the three mile round trip with other pilgrims, passing families pulling little ones in wagons as bicyclists sped silently past us. Skateboarders, too. We socially distanced from friends we saw by chance on the other side of the yellow line. There were encounters that brought tears to my eyes: Graduating seniors in their caps and gowns posing for a never before imagined portrait with the vista behind them and sparse crowds of strangers cheering for them, clapping, seeing their pride in celebrating an accomplishment.

In this one day in the Age of Corona, I escaped.

There is a scripture in the Christmas story in the book of Luke, something to the effect that Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart.

Me, too. I will forever remember this day.

Catch of the day,

Gretchen

Zooming Right Along

Among our many teacher's lounge topics over the years were things "they" never taught us in teacher's college. First on my list from the first day of my career way back when, was how to deal with irate parents when they find the nephew of their older daughter's killer assigned the seat next to their younger daughter in my fifth grade class. My baptism into teaching came fast.

I later learned the skill of hunting for lice on a child's head using the eraser end of a pencil. There is a technique, let me assure you, an on-the-job one I learned from fellow teachers probably the second week of my teaching career.

And then there was Swish Day Wednesdays. Our school community was not on city water at the time and therefore our good old country water was not laced with fluoride. For the dental health of our children, once a week we mixed a powder with water and squirted one pump's worth into each student's disposable Dixie cup. The teacher beside me prepared the solution in the bottle, served her class, and sent to mine. The troublesome preparation was one task I learned early on I could pass along to the classroom helpers of the day, and they didn't like the chore any better than I did. The students didn't like the once a week minute of swishing the solution around their mouths any better than I did either. Yes. Me. In a spirit of comradery designed to encourage even the most reluctant swisher, I took a sip, swished for the required minute and spit it back into the cup, on full display in front of the class.

Not on the teacher preparation list.

Fortunately, when city water became available in homes, swishing became a thing of the past only to be replaced by new, never-taught-in-teacher's-college challenges.

Never in a million years would any college or university conceive of their teacher training including a unit on "How to teach during a pandemic." This turns the lice hunting and the swish mixing into child's play. This is serious. This is the new reality, and teachers have adapted beyond imagination. I am so proud of those in my chosen profession.

They have innovated. They have adapted. They have gone beyond what any professor in the ivory tower could have guessed possible. They've helped with food distribution. They've prepared assignments students can do at home that are related to the curriculum, not just busy work to keep them out of their parents' way. They have packets prepared and set on the sidewalk for parents to pick up, and included little personal notes of love and encouragement to the children. They've posted signs on the school windows in case the stay-at-home child just happens to be fortunate to get a break and drive by with the family. They have formed caravans, and escorted by the fire department, driven in one long parade of cars past every home of students on the bus routes. Best of all, they have used every resource available to virtually meet with each child several times a week, either individually or in a classroom setting.

All of this with a broken heart.

I was fortunate to do an author visit zoom with a first grade class in Florida. Wow, what an experience. I've done author visits in person, but this is a different ball game. This is meeting children in the privacy of their homes as they sit in their own comfort zones and participate in morning lessons with their classmates.

I read my book, Hoop Hike, to them.

The premise of this book is to go on a hike with a hoop in tow, like when I took my students on a field trip to the local state forest. One assignment my class always did there was to throw a hoop into the grass or leaves or creek and record what they found inside the hoop. The characters in my book went on the hike and made all kinds of interesting discoveries.

After we finished the book, the children's assignment was to take their own hoop hikes around their yard or neighborhood (if they could) and take a picture of what they found in their hoops. Those who didn't have hoops innovated, using a lamp shade frame or a belt, more possibilities to be creative thinkers!

When they got home, they were tally what they found, graph it, take a picture of their work, and submit to the teacher. First grade!

This week was Teacher Appreciation Week, and this corona year called for new and innovative ways to honor the teacher in each child's life. What I've seen on the internet through facebook and youTube brought tears to my eyes and a warmth to my heart that I never before experienced.

It took a plague to show teachers they are really, really appreciated.

Thank you to each and every one.

Catch of the day,

Gretchen

Who was that masked man?

Confession: When I was a little girl, I enjoyed The Lone Ranger, probably not because of the story, but the extras. True, the stories kept me staring at the old black and white tiny box screen, and no one could bother me during that thirty minutes of my life. But beyond the stories were the horses, and how the Lone Ranger jumped into the saddle from the back end, and how he yelled "Hi-yo Silver, Away!" And how the William Tell Overture played in the background.

The justice of it all. The admonition, "Return with us to those thrilling days of yesteryear." The loyalty to Tonto. Was this the influence that made me what I am today, a loyal, fair minded historian-wannabe?

And then there was the mask. I never heard why he wore the mask, and I really didn't care. I assumed he wanted to be anonymous, but the reason didn't phase me. In writing this blog I ran across an article by Andy Lewis, "Six Things to Know about the Lone Ranger," that explains it all, from the beginning, and answers many questions I didn't realize I had. So now I know, and now I appreciate the show even more.

And now, like him, I wear a mask.

In public.

I never in my wildest imagination as a child sitting in front of the television set considered that when I was an adult I would wear a mask. Only mine doesn't wrap around my eyes, but my mouth. And my nose.

I'm not sure if anyone has to ask after they had a conversation with me, "Who was that masked woman?" I haven't run across anyone who knows me in order to find out. Self distancing, you know.

But I do want to pay tribute to those many people in my community who have stepped up and used their sewing talents to mask us all. First there are the professionals in the furniture factories in my county who were, as the book of Esther wonders something to the effect of, "Who knows but that you were created for a time such as this." Rather than upholster beautiful stuffed couches and chairs, they have repurposed their machines to meet the mask needs. How providential in a time such as this!

Who is that masked beauty?
My beautiful daughter in her protective gear at work in the vet clinic

And then there are the women and men across the nation who are providing this mask making service from the safety of their own homes. The one I'm wearing in my picture above is from a friend who belongs to a quilting group at my church. I have another made by a friend who is a wizard at sewing and is the costume designer for our church's outdoor Christmas Trail. These ladies have taken their discipleship to a new level.

Not to forget thanking those with 3-D printers producing face guards. And those graduating seniors who are donating their useless graduation gowns to hospitals in their communities. Who knows but they were born for a time such as this!

I am in awe.

Catch of the day,

Gretchen