Why do I do it?

Here I am again. It is 3am and I can’t sleep. My head hurts. I think too much.

Following another disappointment, I’m again asking myself why I keep putting myself out there. I have been asked this a lot. ‘Why not just do what you do for yourself and let that be enough.’ Well, first of all, I do do what I do (writing, painting, poetry) for myself. I delight in finding something special in the ordinary, those moments that give heft and contrast to my life. Having done that, I then want people to see what I see, hear what I hear etc. Oft-times it’s beautiful, light, ephemeral; sometimes it’s emotional, dark and painful; most often it means something, I gain perspective, or express how I’m feeling in that moment.

I have been reading a book ‘Special Moments’ by the American artist E. John Robinson. I love his seascapes and landscapes. In the book he talks about how we are part of nature and can be uplifted by nature; how we are part of nature not its master or superior. I too feel that thread of connection and revel in it.

E. John also talks about why he thinks creatives feel they must put their work out there, let me quote something that resonated with me…

“…But with all our insight, all our visions, we cannot keep it to ourselves, can we? Our obsession with creativity is matched only by our need and desire to communicate it to others. Perhaps that is why we are artists. We must tell our dreams, our visions, and we need recognition. We paint, write songs, poems, novels; compose symphonies, carve blocks of wood and granite and marble; then we must standby anxiously while others without our isights pass judgement upon our efforts. No matter; that is the way of artist and patron but it brings us face to face with a critical choice: to whom do we direct our creativities and for what purpose? Under what exalted icon do we place our offerings to be blessed?What shale our God? Public opinion? Income? Prestige and fame? Or is there a higher ideal?…We must paint first for ourselves…” and later “…No matter that we are never quite satisfied! That is a given and a good sign…’

I found it reassuring that others much more talented than myself grapple with this question also.I suppose I will keep doing and questioning why I do. I can’t help it. I suppose I want to share a little of myself with all of you out there, and must take criticism on the chin for doing so.

Early, early mornings are my time for contemplation. It’s been nice talking to you. Ciao for now Rosa.

Heeeerrreee’s Percy…

I know I said my next post would be for Percy Rose and be up Friday just passed, but  life…better late than never.

Percy Rose, my alter-ego, has been hard at work editing and writing getting ready to publish Book 1 of the Beaufort’s Landing Mystery Series–Psychic or Psycho–on Amazon in a few short weeks. The series will be easy reading; no blood and guts, no overt sex, just a cracking story with lots of suspects. See if you can discover ‘who-dunit‘. The front cover is ready to go, I think. Might put up a preview of that just before publishing.

Writing is well under way for Book 2, Killer Crocodile, and cover is ready also.

Covers are ready for the Psychological Thriller Series, R.I.P., D.O.A., & C.I.B.which will be published some time this year.

One of the hardest things I’ve found is knowing when enough editing and titivating is enough. I am going to bite the bullet … soon. In anticipation of that, I am going to put up the first page of Psychic or Psycho and ask you all for feed-back.

CHAPTER 1

Instead of getting on with the washing up, Xelma’s hands lay still in the warm, sudsy dishwater. She stood staring out of the window at the ocean and sky; thinking of nothing in particular, unless enjoying her freedom and safety counted as thinking.

It was strange that hiding out in tropical North Queensland, in the two railcarriages that had belonged to her grandparents, could be considered freedom. Al Gottoni, her ex, had a lot to answer for. Still, it could be worse. This place was full of the presence of her maternal Grandmother, Sally Beaufort. Xelma had loved coming to visit her grandparents when she was a child. Six weeks of running wild in the bush and on the beach every Christmas holiday was a true escape from suburban Brisbane.

Thank God, Xelma had inherited the property. Thank God, she had never told Al about it.

Xelma shook her head refocussing, and studied her reflection in the window. She touched her baldhead with a sudsy hand. All her hair, gone. Anxiety induced alopecia, the doctor had said. She looked like her grandmother.

The last time she saw Grandma Sally she didn’t look like Grandma at all. Xelma was ten. Grandma was laying in a box, dressed in her Sunday-best outfit, a neatly fitting dress of florals in her favourite shades of pink and soft purples on the darkest blue background. There were roses, stasis, bleeding heart, and ginger in her hands and all around her face. Grandma was justly proud of the flower garden framing her humble home. What a magician she’d been, to grow roses in such an unlikely setting. In the coffin, her lovely face was pale and slack-skinned instead of animated and kindly.

Young Xelma’s mind had filled with the white noise of confusion and anger; why had her Grandmother died? What did that even mean? Where had Grandma Sally gone? That empty shell could not be her.

It was weird that she should find herself back here now. She smiled and thought, thank you Grandpa Beaufort, you ill-tempered curmudgeon. Xelma’s mind again filled with the white noise of conflicting emotions.

The hairs on the nape of Xelma’s neck stood to attention. Someone was in her house. She felt their presence. Oh no. She spun around searching the interior of her little home.

In the far corner, leaning on the windowsill with her arms akimbo stood Grandma Sally.

 

Okay, if you read this far, you have to comment…please…

Ciao for now, Rosa

 

The New Year underway…

Well and truly underway, it is already almost mid January…yikes!

So some good news…I bought a second hand desktop so writing now is going to be easier.

I have finished re-editing ‘Sinbad’ since the Appraisal…am still looking from an indigenous reader from the Gympie area to do a read through and critique of the second half. If you know of anyone you think would be interested in being a beta-reader for me please let me know. I have changed a good deal or rather added further dimension to the first half of the book. I feel it is much better for it. Oh and I changed the title to ‘Sinbad’s Voyage to Da Nan Di (The Great South Land). It has been suggested that I get rid of the bracketed translation and just stick with the Chinese – Da Nan Di. What do you think?

I have added couple of new sub-pages to my alter-ego Percy Rose’s Page which contain some extracts. If you like Crime/Murder/Psychology check them out. Just remember, this is very adult content and if you don’t like the seamy side of life don’t go there.

I am now going to concentrate on collating my short stories and flash fiction anthology. I’ve forgotten everything on how to format for the various ebooks etc so it will be a long process again…sigh.

I hope your New Year is off to a great start…if not, just keep trying until it works for you.

Ciao for now, Rosa

 

 

RIP

I have just opened a facebook page for Ruth In Pieces.Please go and have a look. This may sound pathetic, but please LIKE me…on the page. I will be putting up excerpts every now and again and talking/whingeing about the editing and publishing process. I am, also, thinking hard about a cover. You’d think that it couldn’t be so hard but I am void of ideas at the mo. Off now to do more writing. Cheers, Rosa.