Ethid

My grandmother was never able to say the name Edith correctly.  She always said Ethid. So when I decided to relate this family legend I used the name as I do not know the name of the baby sister who died. This was written with the intent of presenting it to the Halloween meeting of the East Texas Writers Guild.

Ethid was pale, her lips dusky blue. She'd always been fragile. As the baby of the family she'd been Maria's secret favorite. Poor suffering child, she was safe at last in the arms of the Blessed Mother. But how Maria would miss her joyful smiles.

Adjusting the white frock she'd stitched for her sister, Maria determined Ethid was ready for the viewing tomorrow. Blinking back tears, she turned from the tiny casket. She blew out the oil lamp and tiptoed away, careful not to wake their grieving parents.

Crawling into bed with her younger sisters, Elizabeth and Catherine, she envied them their peaceful sleep. As the eldest, many tasks fell on her shoulders. Seeing Ethid properly attired for the grave was one of them. Snuffing the light, she settled into the warmth of their bed. Closing her eyes she slipped into exhausted slumber. If only she knew Maria had finished her new frock.

Tendrils of sleep took her down towards comforting rest.

"Maria..." a wispy child's voice called softly. "Maria..."

It was so painful to think she was hearing Ethid calling her name one last time from the gates of heaven. Tears pricked against her eyelids. And then, for some reason, Maria opened her eyes to what should have been a pitch black room. Expecting to see nothing, instead, she lurched up in bed. There, above her, was the new frock, floating in the air, illuminated with heavenly light. 

"Thank you, Maria..."

But she didn't hear the thanks of her sister's spirit. She had quietly fainted.

Not all Writing Exercises are Equal

Today I attended a writer's workshop and we had a flash fiction exercise. It involved each person in the room writing one related sentence on a piece of paper to make a story. 

I had a hunch when the first writer who got my paper said, "I see the words, but I don't understand them," that maybe I was in trouble. I did explain two mystery words. Nonetheless, the result of my starting sentence was somewhat like the end of a bad drug trip.  ;) 

Here's the story:

1. Chopin's Polonaise filled the air.  (That's my starting sentence. Chopin is a Polish composer and a Polonaise is a musical piece. I'm not sure saying: "Chopin Polonaise  Op 53" would have helped.) Its lovely, if  you'd like to listen while reading the rest of this. 

2. The sun broke through the clouds sending sparkling shafts to the ground. (What? Aren't these sentences supposed to be related and make sense?) 

3. Makalesh, the long brown-haired Coon Cat, at first lazily pawed at the light streaks, blocking them then releasing them creating strobelike effect. (Okay, we're doing light here...) 

4. With the appearance of the rainbow, the shards of light came alive and danced with Makalesh to the sound of the music. (Hey, we have someone who figured out that "filled the air" might mean music.)

5. Perhaps there will be a treasure at the end of this rainbow. (And thus ends the polonaise, cat and light show.) ROFL 

This goes to show how important it is that the reader has the faintest idea what you are talking about to begin with.  Elsewise, we have a lot of "sound and fury signifying nothing." (Shakespeare) 

Next time my sentence will be: Stop! 

I can think of so many things that could follow.

1.  Stop!
1. In the name of love!
2. Put the cookie down!
3. Hands in the air!
4. Don't stop!

Bridges

Bridges - 2016 Anthology: Selected works by the East Texas Writers Guild is now on sale through Amazon. 

This is a 374 page book by selected writers of the Guild. It has the most consistently good work of any anthology I've run into. I'm not saying that because I'm one of the authors. I'm saying that because the selection committee found authors who produce good quality work. It is as simple and as difficult as that. 

Unlike many anthologies (I'm not generally a fan of anthologies) there is a thread of quality that runs through it. There is no OMG this is so horrible selection nor is there a Pulitzer prize winner. What it offers is good, solid writing.

All of it. 

How do I know? I  read it.  Slowly. I've taken time to reflect on the quality of the writing. I was surprised at how good it was. I just met these folks a year ago. I didn't know them from Adam except as people who, like me, write. 

The children's stories are entertaining. The poetry (again, I'm not a huge fan of poetry) is surprisingly good. It contains fiction, non-fiction, poetry, and memoir. Everything from science fiction to stories about a child's imaginary worm friend. I love that children's story! 

This is a book that should be sold in airports. You can read complete stories on short hops or several on longer flights. It is a beach book. A nighttime book. A book to share with children or grandchildren. It is a book to give for a birthday to a friend who loves short stories. 

The quality of the printing and cover design is excellent. 

I wish there was a Kindle version. There is not. Maybe next year.