My Tribe

they say you need a tribe to help you grow. i don’t really have a tribe – at least not one that really understands how my mind works. i have a wonderful tribe who have carried me through heart break and the stress and dilemma of the joining the “sandwich generation.” but they don’t understand me. none of them are artists, writers or thinkers. none of them have truly put themselves out there. not physically, not emotionally, not spiritually. i am in search of a new tribe. one that will support my creative efforts without jokes and jibes. one that will take me at face value and also root out my depths. a tribe that will understand this insatiable desire of mine to create.

that dream again

Vivid brown lake water laps sleepily against the golden sand. Warm lazy breezes swim through the cattails along the shore. The pungent scent of ancient pine trees mingles with the sweetness of the white laurel. Fuzzy fat bees whisper somewhere nearby. Rugged birds conspire from the tops of the white oaks. She’s there. The soft billowy figure kneels at the foot of a brave pine sapling. She kisses something in her hand and talks to it. No – she sings to it. She sings and reaches toward the infant pine. Time hesitates. Everything is still. Quiet. Soft. The water shimmers, then glistens. Now, the sand. And the trees. Even her. The piercing blue sky exhales a comforting glow. And time resumes. A phantom wind chime calls from a distant bungalow somewhere across the lake. A creaky old wooden screen door opens slowly then bangs shut. She stands and smooths her cotton apron. She reaches up and brushes midnight curls from her face, still gazing over the lake.

Everything fades away.

trying my hand at poetry

Out of place


By the end of the day

it’s all the same.

Whether morning shines brightly

or clouds descend-

I am out of place.

Where others embark on their

chosen paths

I am fleeing the choices

made for me-

I am out of place.

When children dance and

elders smile

I struggle to keep

my heart still-

I am out of place.

When I should rejoice

my achievements reckoned

I weep behind my


I am out of place.

Only when cool breezes blow

and nature’s voice

is heard in stillness-

I find my place.

Comments welcome!

I’m trying out some abstracts and leaflets for my book. This is very rough – but no one is home to read it!  Please leave me some comments!


This is a story about the unbreakable connection between mother and daughter. It plays out over the course of 150 years, six generations of mothers and daughters. The story focuses on two silver lockets, made and given in 1859, each containing a lock of hair. One contains Beth’s hair, given to her daughter Elsbet. The other contains Elsbet’s hair, given to Beth. The lockets represent their love and timeless connection to each other. Beth and Elsbet are separated when Elsbet is five years old. The two never see each other again. Beth dies while on a trip to America from England. Beth’s locket is lost in a pine grove in New Jersey. Elsbet is mysteriously drawn to the place where Beth’s locket was lost. The story continues through generations of mothers and daughters unknowingly moving the search forward for the lost locket, reuniting mother and daughter.



What do a silver locket lost in the woods, an eerie dream about a young woman at the edge of a mysterious lake, and 100 hundred years of mothers and daughters stuggling to find their place, have to do with each other? Thats a question only one woman can answer. Ellie S________ is an energetic, creative and highly competetive twenty-something woman living at the top of the world in the beauty and majesty of the Pacific Northwest. But her perfect world comes to a desperate end, as she dramatically experiences the trifecta of bad karma: she looses her high powered job, her promising fiance, and her beautiful home all in one stormy Seattle week. And none of it is her fault. Or is it? Journey along with Ellie as she awkwardly tries to put her life back together. She grudgingly reacquaints herself with the vacation home of her childhood, half-heartedly struggles to reconnect with her eccentric mother, and perilously comes to terms with the disturbing dream that has haunted her all of her life.

hard to write today, but lots of words flowed yesterday. my mind keeps thinking back to stuff i wrote 40 years ago! some poetry – maybe i should pull it out and look it over? hmmm

gaining courage

well, Beth isn’t dead yet, but I now know how it will happen! it’s no simple thing to kill off a character – especially one as sweet and undeserving of death as Beth Anne Jackson. perhaps I will post the bud of the chapter here when I finish. it’s scary, but I need to start opening up to the “reading public”! cheer me on, folks!

I am a fifty-something literary amateur. I have always “heard voices in my head” – characters, stories and ideas that begged to be heard. I have attempted to do this many times throughout the years. In grade school. junior and senior high, college, even as a young adult. Now that I am retired, I finally have the time and psychological space to give them their voice.  Join me in my adventure. Listen as I breathe life into my dreams.  Learn from me. Teach me. Above all, be inspired to give a voice to your own dreams!