Kim's Ramblings

      As this year and this decade draw to a close, we don’t have to look far to see all the problems and hurts in our community, nation, and world. It’s natural to want to fix things. It’s frustrating as well as humbling to admit there is very little we as individuals can do to solve these problems.        But if we open our eyes and our hearts, we don’t have to look far to find beauty and love. If we will look past the problems and hurts, we can see how blessed we truly are.        Each of us has a little circle where we live, work, worship, and play. We should each do everything in our ability to make things better within our own circle. We shouldn't compare our circle to anyone else’s circle, or envy someone else’s circle. If we each take care of our own little circle of the world, maybe these circles will grow and overlap, and make the whole world a better place.        We will wake up tomorrow to a new day, a new month, a new year, and a new decade. Instead of a New Year

There’s an intruder in the house. I huddle under my blanket, straining my ears for any sound of movement. The monster has not allowed me to see his face, but I’ve glimpsed him there, lurking in the darkness. I’ve heard his stealthy movements. I don’t know his identity or his intentions, but I suspect the worst. I fear he will come for me while I sleep. I dare not close my eyes, but I cannot maintain this vigil much longer. My body begs for rest, for peace. But how can I sleep knowing there’s a monster under my roof? I tense at every squeak or groan of the old house, sure my attacker approaches. Two guards are pledged to protect me. But I can’t fully trust them. They speak no English, and they’re given to loafing and sleeping on the job. Exhausted, I sink into fitful sleep. Morning arrives. My situation looks moderately better in daylight. The guards on duty appear alert and competent. A fellow prisoner bravely, recklessly conducts a search for the intruder, finding no

   Today as I bustle around the kitchen, I’m surrounded by some of my favorite aromas, vanilla, brown sugar, lemon, and yeast. Those aromas carry me back and I reflect on many hours spent with Mom, Grandma, and Granny in their kitchens, watching, absorbing, learning. Learning to bake, to create, to experiment, and to adjust as needed.    You see, neither of those women, so instrumental in my domestic education, practiced exact measurement. I’m pretty sure their measuring cups were being used to root plant cuttings or something. They used a dab of this, a scoop of that, a handful of something else. And it was delicious, without fail. They taught me to stir, observe, sample, and add a bit more of something to alter the consistency, flavor, etc. I was a Home Economics teacher’s nightmare, I’m sure.    For the most part, I still cook that way, especially on favorite dishes I’ve made countless times. I’m pretty sure I could make chocolate chip cookies in my sleep with just a bowl

I wrote this poem about a childhood memory of baking with my grandmother. It won first place in a poetry contest at Arkansas Writers Conference in June. I hope you enjoy it. Memory in the Baking     The scent of vanilla and brown sugar draws me into the heart of my grandmother’s house – toasty warm, rowdy Grandmother straightens and turns from the stove her aproned fists clutching a bubbling pie – golden brown, perfect Giggling cousins sneak a spoon into the bowl as the stand-mixer whirrs and spins – creamy, gooey batter Excited voices and laughter rise and fall against the backdrop of music from a transistor radio – static, tinny country Hot water cascades into the deep sink building foamy mountains of suds – snow white, steamy The boisterous scene evaporates leaving me standing silent in my own kitchen – modern, empty, cold

       Writers Conferences are a great way to learn more about the craft of writing. I try to attend a few local conferences or workshops each year. And I always leave renewed, encouraged, and excited. Ideas and techniques are bouncing around in my brain, triggering more ideas. But it’s hard to focus on just one of the ideas, and even harder to keep that excitement in the days following the conference.         If you’ve recently attended a conference, class, or workshop, and want to capture that creative high, here are some tips you might try in the days following the event. • Write it down. Jot down every idea, no matter how vague, strange, or unlikely. You may not have time to think it through or plot it right now, but write down enough to remind you of the concept you were thinking of. Some of these ideas are junk, but some may be creative gold. Keep this list, and add to it as ideas pop up. • Use free writing to spill out as many different ideas and possible directions

             On a recent random weekday, nowhere near any birthday or holiday, my dad gave me a gift that I can’t stop thinking about. He found a magazine photo of a place that I’ve expressed a desire to visit, a bucket-list place. He clipped the photo, placed it in a frame, and wrote the caption, “Why not now?”             I am beyond middle-age, but still several years from retirement. I’m of the generation that grew up believing you worked until you retired, then you traveled, chased your dreams, pursued hobbies, and volunteered for causes dear to your heart. He ought to know; he raised me.             But now, at his three-quarter-century mark, he’s changed his advice. You see, we aren’t guaranteed a certain number of years. And when you finally have the time, or the money, to go and do the things on that list, there’s no assurance that you’ll have the physical ability, or the good health, or even the loved one you long to share that experience with.             It’s cliche

(I originally wrote this post for THE WRITE WAY, the blog on the White County Creative Writers website. If you're interested in writing, definitely check out that website.) It’s November, and that means NaNoWriMo.  For those who don’t know, that’s National Novel Writing Month. If you’ve never heard of it, you’ll probably be surprised to learn that there’s an online community of writers who pledge to complete a novel in only thirty days. Sounds crazy, doesn’t it? But every year since 1999, thousands have proven that it can be done. The idea started small, but has continued to grow every year. Hundreds of those novels have gone on to be published by traditional publishers, while hundreds more have been self-published. The goal is a complete first draft, a minimum of 50,000 words in thirty days or less. That’s less than 2,000 words per day. Anyone can enter. There’s no entry fee, and it’s simple to participate. • Sign up on the website  nanowrimo.org • Describe your novel

The Flash Fiction contest challenged writers to tell a complete story in 99 words. It’s a lot harder than it sounds. The following took an honorable mention at Ozark Creative Writers Conference. It also brought a few gasps at the White County meeting this week. I consider both a success. The Last Breakfast             Bill plopped into the chair. Joyce poured coffee into his cup. He grabbed his fork as Joyce slid a plate of fried eggs and sausage in front of him.             “Biscuits are almost done,” she whispered.             Bill swept the plate to the floor and backhanded Joyce in the mouth.             “Again? You know I can’t eat without biscuits,” he growled.             Joyce ducked and hurriedly filled another plate, adding a steaming biscuit straight from the oven.             Bill gobbled breakfast and left without another word.             Joyce cleaned the mess, then crushed rat poison and stirred it into Bill’s whiskey bottle. Then she waited.

For a writer, I can think of nothing that compares to a good conference. Imagine two to three days filled with sessions, workshops, and panels where authors, publishers, and agents teach and interact with writers of all levels and backgrounds. I was on cloud nine. The creative energy was electric. Brainstorming sessions resembled a shared-consciousness. Pens scribbled notes and ideas bounced around like racket balls. Sometimes a great idea practically hit you in the head. New contacts were made and friendships forged. New information was absorbed and unfamiliar ideas explored. I took the opportunity to listen to some of the most productive writers in the country, and I also visited with several writers just like me, who struggle to get anything completed. And I’ve reached one conclusion. The opposite of productivity is not busyness or laziness. It’s not disorganization, lack of commitment, or even lack of knowledge or inferior talent. The opposite of productivity i

            Many of you may know that Gary and I have been writing stories and poems for local contests. For the last few years we’ve attended writing conferences in Searcy and Little Rock to learn more about the craft and improve our writing.             This year, we’ve taken advantage of the opportunity to attend even more conferences and workshops. Next week, we will be attending the Ozark Creative Writers Conference in Eureka Springs. It’s a chance to take a short vacation and enjoy the beauty of the Ozarks, hear some good speakers, and meet some other people who share our love of writing.                 It is also a chance to test our skills against writers attending from other areas. There are several writing contests being awarded at this conference, and we hope to make a showing in the awards. But I admit, I’m nervous about it. We’ve had some nice wins in the last few years at both the Arkansas Writers Conference and White County Creative Writers Conferences. Our writ

             Cleburne Countyians and visitors turned out in record numbers Saturday for the seventy-third annual Shine Festival, held in rural Cleburne County near the community of Floral. Event organizer Dub Stone said this year’s festival included entries from as far away as Kentucky and Illinois, as well as several local producers. The festival included a friendly competition among batches of homemade "shine” with prizes awarded for appearance, flammability, and of course, taste. The overall grand prize went to Skeeter T. from somewhere in Independence County. First place in taste was won by Lizzie L. from Hazard County, Kentucky. First place in appearance was awarded to Bubba G. from Jackson County. The prize for flammability goes to the family of the late J.R. Smith from right here in Cleburne County. The prize money will go toward rebuilding the family’s home. Judging for the annual event is done by a panel of volunteer judges, who are sequestered for several days up

When my daughter was young, we were active in a local church. We tried to teach her to have a relationship with the Lord and pray regularly. She has always been a kind-hearted and loving child, and frequently felt led to pray for her friends and family. Animals have always been a part of our family, and we’ve always treated them with kindness and care. So it was not surprising to me that she often prayed for a beloved pet. At one point, a Sunday School leader told her she should not pray for animals, only for people. She was confused, and I was disheartened, to put it mildly. It was and still is my belief that a loving and caring God understands the heart of a child. The lesson we were trying to teach was that you can take all of your cares, concerns, and worries to the Lord. Philippians 4:6 tells us, “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition and thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” If we devalue the prayers of a young child, h

           As I stepped onto the porch, I noticed the package leaned against my door. Curious, I grabbed the padded envelope and carried it inside. I tore it open and squealed when I saw the trademark black and silver packaging.   The new Kat Von D lipstick and gloss duo!             I dialed my best friend Julie. “Thank you! You shouldn’t have; but thank you!” I gushed as soon as she answered the phone.             She laughed. “What are you talking about?”             “The lip duo kit. It delivered today. It’s the perfect shade too. I can’t wait to wear it.”             “Why are you thanking me? I didn’t send you anything.”             “Seriously? We were just talking about this exact product Friday. You seriously didn’t send it? But then who did?”             “I don’t know, but it wasn’t me. Maybe you have a secret admirer,” Julie teased.             “Well if so, they’ve got good taste. And a good eye for color. It’s Coco Rose.”             “I’m jealous,” she chuck

            Terri awoke to stabbing pain behind her right eye. She raised her hand to her temple, felt a slight tug, and blinked at the IV needle in her wrist. Fighting to focus her heavy-lidded eyes, she could see the double layers of clear tape that held it neatly in place. What? Where am I?             “Where am I?” she croaked, the sound barely audible through her dry, irritated throat. Her parched lips stuck to her teeth. She raised her head a few inches and looked around, seeing no one. Bright light glared in the small cubicle where she lay on a gurney surrounded by beige curtains.             She could see that she was in a hospital. The fog in her brain, sore throat, and pain told her something had happened. Something bad. She fumbled around the edge of the bed for a call button, but found nothing. “Hello? Nurse? Anybody!” The fog was moving back in, and she fought to stay awake. What’s going on? What happened? The light grew dimmer and she slipped into the dark. S

The cactus died today. Following just a week after the loss of the cat, it seemed sadder than necessary. Though she never really cared for the cactus, she'd learned to love the cat. The double loss drove home the fact that there is not one single living thing left that has ever lived in this house. Other than her, of course. The recent ones she knew of first-hand. The sweet little old lady died from a sudden aneurysm. The gruff but kind-hearted old man grieved himself into a heart attack not a year later. Earlier inhabitants are all gone too - cancer, car wreck, even a suicide. Maybe not suspicious, but certainly unnerving when she thinks about it. Especially if the thinking about it occurs in the middle of the night, when sleep plays hide-and-seek and old houses creak and groan. Distant thunder grumbles. She fluffs her pillow and turns it over for what must have been the hundredth time. She ignores the red numbers glowing from the clock on the nightstand.  She doesn’t eve

I’m Not Allergic                         “Be careful! You know what that is.” Mom took a step back and pointed to some prolific vines in my overgrown flower bed.             “Oh, it’s okay. I’m not allergic. It’s never bothered me at all.”             “Well, I break out just walking by. I have a terrible reaction. You can’t imagine how awful. You should wear gloves when you work around it, just to be safe.”             We continued our tour of the neglected yard, listing everything I needed to get accomplished. We said our goodbyes. I waved as she pulled out of the driveway, then grabbed my clippers and hoe.             Before long, I could feel sweat tracing down my back and torso. I hummed tunelessly as I snipped, clipped, pulled and dragged. I was as out of shape as these flower beds, so I knew this was going to be a long process. But I was determined to get at least the first bed cleared out before collapsing for the day. Sweat poured down my face as I carried the

       I have been writing for as long as I can remember. After being recognized for my writing during school and college, I spent several years working in bookkeeping and raising a family, which left little time for reading and writing.       Now days, I make time to pursue my passion for words. I write poetry, short stories, and essays, usually with one or more rescued animals offering their assistance. I am also working on, or at least threatening to work on, two novels, however those may have to wait for retirement. I enjoy entering writing contests as a way to stretch my creative muscles and try new types of writing. My husband Gary and I challenge each other by competing in some of the same writing contests. Our win ratios are pretty close .       My poetry and short stories have won several local, state, regional, and national contests, most notably the 2015 Lucidity Ozark Poetry Retreat Grand Prize.  A few of my short stories and poems have been published in anthologies, a

        Autobiography A daughter, a mother, a poet A writer, a dreamer of dreams A wife, a sister, a best friend She's so much more than she seems. Confidante, comforter, caregiver Teacher who makes time to play Encourager, lover, leader Who will she be today?