I left church feeling renewed, hopeful, and energized to enjoy a sunny walk through Jack London Square. The Farmer’s Market was abuzz with activity this Easter Day. Little girls in bonnets and bunny ears hopped through the marketplace sampling fresh sweet strawberries. Little boys a bit less inspired, especially this one. It’s sad to see such unhappiness on such a beautiful bright day.
Everyone has been waiting with great anticipation for my A-to-Z theme reveal. I have a list of 26 words. While most can be found in a common dictionary, some appear to be Internet manifestations. I’ll reveal these words and tie them to my memoir writing in sixty-seven words a day. You get to dog ear your dictionary to figure out – proper word or manifestation.
My most important accessory these days is one of those healthy back bags with twenty some pockets. I sling the heavy bag over my shoulder everywhere I go. Tucked in each individual pocket, is a card for every opportunity from grandma to Enrolled Agent.
Queen Moll still rules her Red Hat Society chapter. Maybe it’s the the conspicuous red and purple attire, or seeing aging ladies in red hats and plucking bling that draws the interest. Once they observe the laughter and antics of our crowd, women by the hundreds beg for information. A flick of a card and they are on their way. We’ve been known to hand them out to men “for their wives.” And then there was the man who begged to join us once his estrogen kicked in.
Witts End Grandma and Grandpa will be on duty for a while. I made those cards and stuffed them in Little J’s pockets every day in case he wandered off. I told him to hand them out to all his friends so he’d get lots of play dates. It worked great until about 3rd grade. It was tolerated until Little J celebrated his 13th birthday and then suddenly he wasn’t little anymore. Now we fondly call him Mr. J. Except for a few hidden in the bottom of my bag, the cards have mysteriously disappeared.
Witt’s End? Well that became history when I renamed my blog Witt Bits. Witt’s End had a ring of finality, maybe not a good idea. It’s a long story – the one to be written.
As long as real work remains on my desk, the Enrolled Agent card will continue to be renewed. Speaking of work, I’m finding that writing is interfering with my money making opportunities. I’m getting old and tired. I want to retire sometime in the next decade or two. There may not be enough time to finish the trilogy of my life so I’m concentrating on that one perfect memoir. I have made that commitment. With a deadline. Sort of. Chapter One must be written within the next seven days or my memoir coach may send me off to seek another avenue.
Being a business card junkie and the ace of procrastination, I decide I simply must design another card. Conventions, conferences and classes are in the works and I need put on a new face. Problem is, what do I call myself? Blogger? Too casual. Writer? I used that one when I thought I might yield some magazine credits. Contributor? That went the way of ThemeStream.com (but not before I received a check for $72.38 for my penny-a-read stipend). Then I got an idea. Why not just call myself “Author?” After all I was paid for my work, once. Doesn’t that qualify? So here I am using the “A” word. Just don’t try to find me on Amazon… yet.
With a littl
e bit of luck I left Reno on the Zephyr yesterday morning with enough cash in my pocket to buy lunch in the dining car. Not so for grandpa and he’s the one who begged us not to honor, “Open Your Umbrella Indoors Day.” Little J and I took our chances.
Okay, so I have to admit I did win the money the day before and grandpa may have been right. Luck turned a corner upon arrival at the Amtrak station.
First off, trains don’t recognize Daylight Savings Time. Think about it – how can a train leave Chicago on schedule, arrive at all the westbound stops according to time table commitments, and make up an hour between Winnemucca and Reno? The wait at the station… a little over an hour.
Second, near blizzard weather. Two buses cancelled the trip over the summit leaving two busloads of passengers the opportunity to observe the winter storm in the comfort of a coach seat. Finding three empty seats together in a sold out train? We took our chances behind a young man determined to catch up on all his phone calls between Reno and Sacramento. Eric commented that the foul mouth, drug dealing, gang influenced blather would stop once we reached the non-service areas. He was right about that. These were the opportunities to admire the young man’s latest rap tunes. Apparently when he wasn’t doing back flips off the stage, he was a musician, of sorts. Reminder to self – do not sit anywhere near young men wearing black fedoras, black leather jackets, black leather pants, skinny underwear (now how would we know that? – first time I ever saw baggy low rider pants in leather), jewels on every finger, ear buds implanted.
Third, dinner in the diner. The goal was to show Little J what dining on the train is all about. It seemed our discourse about fine dining on our honeymoon trip 46 years ago was as uninspiring as the drug induced rap job two cars behind us. Little J, as unimpressed as he was, did point out that the NON-silverware did still have an Amtrak emblem and the not-so-fine linen PAPER table cloths and a couple of pens provided artistic distraction while waiting patiently for the fine mac and cheese dining experience.
Fourth, delays. What more can I say other than one must always remember there is such a thing as “train time.”
Fifth – back to the umbrella – would it open once we arrived at our final destination in a deluge of rain? Of course not.
The memoir writing slows as I spend more time researching how to do it rather than adding words to the book. Memoir accountability this week – zilch. Research accountability – hours. It’s a good thing the memoir class begins this Friday.
Meanwhile, Amber Lea Starfire has an inspiring article on her Writing Through Life blog today. Learn What Makes a Memoir “Good” here.
Aboard the Zephyr yesterday, I finished reading Why We Write About Ourselves: Twenty Memoirists on Why They Expose Themselves (and Others) in the Name of Literature. It’s excellent. But, I may need to read the 20 something memoirs before I write mine. Incentive to write: strive to be in the 2nd edition.
WittBits 