A Thought for a story... BY THE SEA

She was standing at the water’s edge, her feet rubbing against the rocky shoreline, cutting small nooks into her callouses, but the pain never registered.  She looked out at the raging waves that rolled in with a thunderous rhythm.  She wondered where he was right now.  Was he even still alive?  He left weeks ago with his crew.  They went out into the sea wanting to hook the catch of the season.  Her life hardened expression does not suite her finer structure, but this was the kind of life that aged a soul early.  She was destined to wait in pain, knowing her loved one may never return again to her arms.  The waves kicked up spray that left a gentle mist over her face; they blended with her tears, making them vanish to the eye.  If only she had the strength to stay away from him…. But alas, she was here, waiting for her man to return home.  She prayed that her heart would not be broken.  God speed, my love.

 

A vignette about a trolley ride by Elisabeth Zguta

Watching Black Birds From An Old Trolley

 

A short story by Elisabeth Zguta

A breeze whipped across the empty street causing the noise and clatter of paper and debris, as it hit the sidewalk’s edge, following its wake.  I felt the briskness of the wind hit my cheeks, and I knew from the stinging that my face was red from the weather.  I was standing at the curb, under the roof of the trolley stop platform.  I reached up and pulled my hat tighter trying to stay warm and crushed my long curled strands in the process.  I needed to catch the trolley to cross town and had been standing here waiting for the next train.  Minutes went by as I leveraged my weight from one foot to another, and kicked my tall leather boots together as I tried to keep the chill out of my bones.  Then I heard the ting ting of the trolley.  The wheels rubbed against the iron rails and the rolling rumble sounded soothing to my ears.  A deep vibration was felt by my cold feet as the old vintage trolley stopped in front of me.

The trolley screeched to a halt and I stepped up, holding onto the brass railing for balance.  The dollar I had been tightly holding in my hand was fed into the meter and I watched as it crunched the money into the slot.  The wooden slatted seats were mostly empty, so I maneuvered up to the front and sat behind the driver.  He was dressed in a dark blue uniform and matching jacket, and he spilled over the confines of his seat.  He wore a hat like security men wear, and then I noticed his eyes and his face which was lit up like stars, reflecting light on his sweating brow. There was one other man already seated up front.  He was young, his dark hair slicked back away from his face, and then curled at the ends.  The style exposed his sculpted facial features.  He was handsome, with a darker skin tone and a pleasant shade of hazel eyes.  His face was cordial and smiling.  He wore casual clothes, not expensive but trendy.  A camera hung around his neck by a thick leather strap, and he bobbed his head from side to side, watching the street as if looking for something.

The trolley moved forward and we both jerked a little as the tugging of the motor hedged forward.  Ting ting, again the bell was heard as the trolley passed through perpendicular streets and warned the pedestrians.  The windows were shut and the inside of the car had welcomed warmth.  The young man started to talk with the driver and they chatted about the downtown area.  Their conversation was friendly, peppered with distinct drawls and accents of the local area.  The driver was a big man, with a very friendly voice, and a content smile rose all the way up to his eyes.  He seemed to enjoy talking about the buildings we passed, and I too found myself listening to his guided tour.

In the first part of our journey we passed trendy cafes and sushi bars.  This was a newly remodeled area of Main Street, which attracted the younger crowd.  There were some art galleries and custom furniture stores too.  Then after Union Street we passed tall skyscrapers filled with office spaces.  The exterior walls were mostly art deco with prominent embellished details around the doorways and window jams.  There was one older building from the 1800's with a federal style, sporting long windows and scrolled edging.  Then we passed a few newer constructions, one a hotel that replaced an old torn down forgotten edifice.  This building had a newer modern twist to the design, with a chain store kind of appearance.  It could have been in any city's downtown, the same as in any other place, with nothing original to give it character.

Again some more clatter, ting ting, as we crossed another major intersection.  Then we changed direction and began to run down tracks leading us towards the city's river front.  The driver pointed out rubble of an archaic building, and he told us about how that was the place where slaves used to be sold.  A shiver ran down my spine as I thought of all the misery that had inhabited that space.  It was like looking at hallows of an old prison, with visions of death and injustice.  Now it was just cracked stone, and fallen crumbling walls, a reminder of an evil that once prevailed here.  Ting ting, we kept rolling along.

 

Finally the young man sat up and began tugging at the window.  This trolley was old, with wooden framed windows that had swelled through the years of humidity.  He tugged at the swollen frame until he gained purchase and pulled the window down to free his view.  Out came the camera and he snapped away at the scenes around the river front.  There were old steam boats in a distance, and some small islands off the shore, filling the middle of the wide river with a diversion, and breaking the view of the shores from the other side.  The bridge leading out of the city was high above us, it spanned across the wide river with rounded arches that looked like wings, and the young man snapped a few shots of that too.

 

The driver stopped at a light and we waited until it turned green.  I noticed a flock of blackbirds squawking away as they lay covering the lawn of the riverside park.  Their sound was heard through the open window, they were eerily loud.  Chirps and squawks filled the air; there must have been thousands of the birds all gathering together making a ruckus.  A few louder caws of larger birds overshot the others’ sounds and then suddenly, as if given a cue, the flock started to ascend in synchronized waves into the perches of nearby trees.  The branches were barren of leaves and stood stark against the blue sky in its backdrop.  The birds flapped their wings and in a smooth rhythm, moved from the ground to the branches, and then in one final swoop, from the tree to the sky they soared.  They took off, fleeting by each other and rising in a large cloud of fluttering black wings and squawks of ear piercing high pitched noise.

 

The light changed and the trolley tugged and jerked as it moved forward.  The birds flew swiftly and were gone, out of sight.  The camera man was snapping at the river front, and then sat back down on the bench seat after he quenched his curiosity.  He smiled, revealing deep dimples.  He was pleased with his shots and progress, and I was happy he found what he desired.  The driver smiled too, as he pressed on towards the bluffs.

I sat there wondering when the spring would be here.  I wanted the empty tree branches to be filled with greenery, enough so the birds were hidden in the bright colored camouflage.  I wanted to hear the birds sing songs to each other instead of flocking as a mad group that was migrating.  I wanted a southern wind to be warm against my face, and kiss my cheeks with sunshine and color, instead of a stinging frozen bite.  I longed for spring, the rebirth of warmth.

The trolley stopped, tinging its bell again.  This was my stop.  I got up, bent my head towards the men in recognition and left the trolley.  Hanging onto the handrail, I stepped down into the bitterness still hanging in the air.  Elusive spring, where are you?

 

 

A Short Story About Forgiveness

Forgiven But Can't Forget

By Elisabeth Zguta

 

I was sitting at the kitchen table pretending to read the newspaper.  I turned the pages and made crinkling paper sounds that implied I was involved in my task.  The kids were running in and out of the room as they got themselves ready for school.  Their feet made clattering and pounding noise like drums out of synch, no rhythm just racket to be heard.

My wife was gathering the lunch bags and handing them out as the last of them passed by her.  She gave them each a kiss on the head as they departed, and her face glowed with loving thoughts.  They were off as they raced for the bus, but I had no clue which one was in the lead this time.  For some reason I didn’t feel like watching them today.

Finally it was quiet.  You would think that the silence was just what I wanted, but somehow the house was too still.  In a few moments she would walk over and ask me ‘what's wrong dear’ in her nurturing voice.  Or she would at least try to start a conversation, both of which I was in no mood.  Hoping to beat the punch, I folded the paper, laid it on the table, stood up and tied my robe.  I shuffled in my slippers quickly towards the door, making my exit, hoping to leave the room without an inquisition.

"Are you alright dear?" she asked.

Darn it it’s too late.  The question was in the air before I was safely out of ear shot.  I slowly turned; hoping something intelligible would come out of my mouth.

“I'm fine dear.  I'm heading for a shower and then off to my desk."

I nippily left the room, ignoring her stare that was burning into the back of my housecoat.  She knew something was wrong, she always knew.  Either it’s woman’s instinct, or just her keen observation, but my wife always had the knack to know when something was amiss.  How do I tell such a sweet woman, the one with a kind smile and bending ear to all in need, how do I tell her I want to be alone?

I did as I said I would, and showered and dressed.  Now at least I felt human, but there was that nagging thought in the back of my head, Why me?  Why was I the one who ended up on the receiving end of this sentence?  Not literally of course, no one actually passed me the ball.  It was just genetics, from my mother's side.

Yesterday I had been diagnosed with a progressive disease, one that would ultimately lead to my demise.  I had some time left before the end of my days, not sure exactly how much, but some is better than none.  Unfortunately it will be a long journey filled with prescription bottles, blood tests, x-rays, sonograms and whatever else they dream up in the very near future.

So how do I tell my family?  I don't want to spoil their lives, as well as mine, do I?  ‘They have a right to know’ my doctor emphatically said to me.  ‘The brave person would find a way’.  Was this to imply I was not brave?  I wasn't sure if I was.  Maybe I am faint in heart, but at the moment I didn't care much.  It was my disease, it was my problem.

Okay, all right - I knew I had to tell her, she did deserve to know.  My wife would hate to be left out of such a life changing event.  She would be sad if I didn’t trust her and shared my problem, I knew that much.  She was a lovely person, and strong.  I would find a way to tell her soon.

Eureka -I needed to make a plan to make sure they were all taken care of when I was gone.  I gulped at that thought, the finality of it all suddenly felt real.  I was going to die.  I needed to deal and prepare, and find a way to survive the time I still had on this earth.  I certainly didn't want to waste my time, becoming a person looking for pity.  A bucket list was the last thing I wanted to do.  I went to my desk to think.

I pulled out a binder and grabbed a ballpoint pen and started writing.  First I drew up a list of things I wanted in my will, easy enough since I had no pot - not even piss for the pot.  Shaking my head, I decided to focus on what I did have, and what was most precious to me.  My thoughts were flooded with everyone I wanted to get in touch with while I still had all my facilities left, and the capability of movement.  One last chance to see the people I cared for, and tell them so.  Tears rimmed the edges of my lids, and I wiped them as quickly as they appeared.  No pity here.  I cleared my throat and thought more intently.  What was most important to me?

Of course I wanted to spend more time with my family, and give them the quality time the kids deserved.  I needed to tell my wife how wonderful she was, and that I would be waiting for her on the other side - so stay happy.  Maybe a few more unforgettable nights together could be shared.  I needed to touch base with my siblings too.  Maybe we could do a few reminiscent visits together, that would help keep my spirits up.

As I sat there writing this all down in my wire bound notebook, I began to get a nagging jag in the back of my mind.  Nothing painful, just that nuisance feeling when there was something you were forgetting even though it's right in front of you.  I hated that feeling, but it was not to be denied.  It followed me through the rest of the day.  It lingered in the back of my mind as I went to bed that night.  I was forgetting something - something important.

That night when I finally fell asleep, I had a dream.  Maybe it was more like a vision.  I could see it plainly in my sleep's vision.  It was a reenactment of something that happened to me long ago.  It was an accident.  It happened before I was married – No, that's not right, I was engaged.  Yes and there was my wife, then my future wife.  She was holding my hand and crying.  I had been hit by a car and badly hurt.  My body was mangled and twisted.  There was blood everywhere, no wonder she was so afraid.  I remember that day well, and now the entire emotional trauma that swished back and forth in my mind was being relived in this dream, this vision from the past.

In my dream, I remembered my fear.  I thought I was going to die that day too.  The pain seared through my legs and my head was pounding, it felt like it was going to explode.  My forehead was ready to burst out and splatter over the pavement.  Then there was some noise, sirens coming and going.  The sounds were loud one moment and fading the next.  I tasted the blood in my mouth, like I drank rusty water.  I wanted to spit it out, but was afraid to because I would get my lovely girl dirty.  I had thought she shouldn't have been there, to see me like that, all covered in dirt and unsightly.  She sat beside me holding my hand.  I was frightened, but glad she was there giving me support.

I woke from the dream with a start.  Sweat was pouring off my forehead as if I had a fever, soaking my pajamas.  I was breathing heavy, like I had been crying.  I hoped my sobs didn’t wake the wife.  I gently pushed the sheets away from me, and quietly slid out of bed.  Pushing my feet into my slippers I watched my dear wife, who was lying there so sweetly beside me, like an angel dreaming.  I hoped - deep in my heart - I hoped that I would come out of this situation too.

I decided to go back to my desk and write.  It was better to quietly pen away in my office than to clunk around the house, possibly waking the gang, and disrupting the schedule.  A brood like ours desperately needed that schedule to keep the sanity for us all.

I pulled out a fresh piece of paper and started to write.  The dream had opened my eyes, and now I knew what I wanted to do - what I needed to do.  All these years had gone by since that day of the accident.  The day I almost died.  First I had been in pain, and then I healed my body.  Then I was angry, and then I just tried to forget it ever happened so I could get on with my life.  That was what I needed to do.  Deep down inside I knew I had forgotten a step.

It wasn't all that important to me, at least I didn't think it was until after that dream.  But now I realized it needed to be finished, I needed to do this one last thing to close the door on that day, that accident, that first time I faced death.

I started to write the letter to the man who was driving the car that hit me that day.  He had been reckless, yes.  He was charged and went to court, and fined, all of those - yes.  But never in all these years had I ever forgiven him.  Now I realized I needed to do that, as much for myself as for him.  So I wrote...

     Dear John Smith,

 

     I forgive you for your reckless act.  I hope you have forgiven yourself too, and moved on to become a better person.

 

     Sincerely,

 

     Your Victim from the car accident

After I signed the letter and addressed the envelope, I thought to myself that I truly hoped he had become a better person.  I think I was improved and had become stronger, and now I have the strength to face this new challenge.  I felt positive all of a sudden and knew I would talk with my wife the next day.  Together we would get through it, with love never failing to keep us together.

I turned off the light and went back to bed.  Now I was able to sleep soundly, with a positive thought and a hope in my heart.

 

 

Very Inspiring Blogger Award

I would like to give a BIG THANK YOU to Daron Henson for nominating me for Very Inspiring Blogger Award.  Please find his blog post at http://newkidintown1995.blogspot.com/

 

Daron was the first person to read and send me a response to my first blog post.  He has been very supportive and he is an active member in the Aspiring Writer's Blogs group on LinkedIn, among other groups.  Daron also writes great short stories, breathing depth into characters, with feelings instead of names.  My favorite so far is  "Not A Tear To Shed" http://newkidintown1995.blogspot.com/2012/05/not-tear-to-shed.html

 

Here are the Rules of the Award Blog:

Display the award logo on your blog post. 

1. Link back to the person who nominated you.
   
2. State 7 things about yourself.
   
3. Nominate 15 bloggers to the award.
   
4. Notify those bloggers of the nomination by linking to one of their specific posts so that they get notified by ping back.

Seven things about me:

1. Favorite classical composer is Tchaikovsky.http://www.tchaikovsky-research.net/en/index.html
2. Favorite world music composer is Yanni, went to two of his concerts.http://www.yanni.com/
3. Favorite Finnish goth artist is H.I.M. .http://www.youtube.com/user/him
4. I love all types of Mediterranean foods, and I make a great lental soup.  http://www.mediterranean-food.net/
5. When I was younger I rode a motorcycle.
6. My favorite coffee is hazelnut, no sugar.
7. I love architecture.  http://archrecord.construction.com/
 


 

Fifteen bloggers I nominated  and you should check out:

1. Neil D. Ostroff  http://neilostroff.blogspot.com/2013/02/so-you-married-writer.html#comment-form
2. Khanh Ha   http://authorkhanhha.blogspot.com/2013/01/oh-mr-perkins.html
3. Beth Camp http://bethandwriting.blogspot.com/2013/02/row80-check-in-and-shades-of-gray.html
4. Kathleen Kaska http://kathleenkaskawrites.blogspot.com/2013/01/mystery-trivia-tuesday-who-is-this-gal_29.html
5. Jodie Renner http://crimefictioncollective.blogspot.com/2013/02/research-and-realism.html
6. Sarah La Polia http://glasscasesblog.blogspot.com/2012/12/the-year-of-self-publishing.html
7. L K Watts http://lkwattsconfessions.blogspot.com/2013/02/how-to-become-more-efficient-writer.html
8. F. M. Meredith   http://marilynmeredith.blogspot.com/2013/02/i-believe-in-community-colleges-by-john.html
9. Leighton Gage  http://murderiseverywhere.blogspot.com/2013/02/the-triple-frontier.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+blogspot%2FWoas+%28Murder+is+Everywhere%29
10. Tara Tyler http://taratylertalks.blogspot.com/2013/02/winter-is-on-outs.html
11. Samantha Stacia http://samantha-stacia.blogspot.com/2012/09/helping-ghosts.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+TheBloomingLateJournal+%28The+Blooming+Late+Journal%29
12. Christine Henderson http://thewritechris.blogspot.com/2013/02/longing-for-romancewriting-that-is.html
13. John Austin  http://johnaustinblog.blogspot.com/2013/01/covers-for-books-and-magazines.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+blogspot%2FGfBgDK+%28Writers+Welcome+Blog%21...A+John+Austin+blog%29
14. Maureen  http://writingwithoutpaper.blogspot.com/2013/02/wednesday-wonder-music-from-garbage.html
15. Dana Sitar http://danasitar.com/2013/02/04/video-book-trailer/

 I truly enjoyed these posts listed above and hope to keep reading more of these fantastic people's wonderful insights and information.  They are all truly inspiring and helpful to the community of writers. 

Best Regards All  - Elisabeth

 

What Will You Cross Off Your Bucket List in 2013?

BUCKET LIST CHALLENGE BLOG HOP

With Dana Sitar to celebrate the launch of "A Writer's Bucket List"
http://writersbucketlist.com/challenge

   

HELLO FRIENDS - We all have our BUCKET LISTS

As writers, our lists usually involve publishing a piece of work, our ART. This is the year I plan to release my first novel,

“BREAKING CURSED BONDS”

 

It is a manuscript that has been on my writer's bucket list for a while now!

A work in progress for three years, finally I see the end of the tunnel. 

 

Now only two more items to check off my list in 2013!

#1 Sending free copies to a few choice friends and readers asking for some final feedback, and hopefully a review or two.  I have it formatted, so anyone interested, please send me an email.
 

#2 finalizing my cover design – currently there is a working option, but the final cover is not chosen, hoping for a few more choices.  I plan to use a designer to check the final file and formatting.

 

With all the steps below already checked off, and the last two soon to be done, I am confident I will be releasing the novel this year.  How do I feel about it? - SCARED!  It is difficult to let go.

My first work has been a labor of love, and I have enjoyed the process.  I have two more manuscripts in the works and hope to follow shortly with another release after “BREAKING CURSED BONDS”.  I hope you will enjoy my work in the near future.

 

THE PROCESS:

Working on my manuscript part time while working a full-time job for two years, I am now writing full time. I decided I needed to finish what I began, and give it my best effort.

I have a lot I can check off as accomplished, and that makes me feel good.

ü First Draft Finished

ü Requested Feedback & Comments from First Readers

ü Revised and Added Material

ü Printed and Made Corrections

ü Sent Copy to an Editor

ü Reviewed Editor’s Report and Revised Manuscript

ü Rewrite & Self Edit (this actually was done in a few cycles!)

ü Then it was converted to epub and mobi format to view and edit again, checking how the new material added looked.

ü Then I read it aloud and made more changes to dialogue

ü Again edited and checked for straggling mistakes not caught with built in spell and grammar checks

 

Best of luck to you and YOUR ART! Keep Writing.

 

 

Support our Blog Tour Host:

 

A message from Dana Sitar-

Thank you for your support of “A Writer’s Bucket List” throughout this journey. I’m so excited today to announce the book’s OFFICIAL RELEASE!

You can buy it here: http://e-junkie.com/danasitar

Today through February 12, the book is 30% off the list price. Get “A Writer’s Bucket List” plus a free copy of the DIY Writing “Brainstorming Workbook”, the “Bucket List Workbook”, and “Bucket List Exercises” for $6.95 -- so be sure to share the book today, so no one misses out on the discount!

How To Be More Productive (Book - "Extreme Productivity" by Robert C. Pozen)

Every day we are bombarded with meetings, get tons of email and face deadlines.  There are ways to help stay focused, so we can be more productive.
 

First and foremost you must know your GOALS. If you haven't already, write down your long term goals, yearly goals and then monthly & weekly goals. Breaking them down to the smaller element, helps you organize and identify your work.

· Prioritize your work

· Spend the most time on the most important tasks & goals

· Don't watch the clock, manage the clock

When you prioritize your responses to emails, or which meetings you attend, you in essence spend your efforts in the most critical places first. This will help you achieve your goals.

 

Many have used the 80/20 rule. Spend the first 20% of your time getting rid of the smaller stuff, or at least identifying them. Then spend the 80% of your time working on the most important tasks that are prevalent to your goals. 

 

Robert Pozen (lecturer at Harvard Business School)  uses the 80/20 a little differently.  He says you probably have to respond to only 20% of emails, and could disregard the other 80%.  Either way, 80/20 sounds like a good way to sort.

 

We all love to track. We watch the clock and think we spent so much time on something we must have accomplished a good days work. Not always so. If we waste our time working on reports that are not needed, or we spend too much time 'socializing' which sometimes is referred to as building bridges, then we have not always spent our time wisely.

Ask yourself the hard questions –

Will this task help me achieve my goal? Will this task make a difference?

 

If not then stay away and focus your time elsewhere. 

To be productive a person needs to manage their time, not be overwhelmed by tasks.  

Keep the perspective.  Step back and ask yourself the right questions. 

 

 

 Most important, always move forward.

CLASSIC READS - Some Things Never Change

Today more people can communicate their thoughts into words and those words can easily end up in books.  It is a liberating time, a cycle of change and freedom.  In many ways it is times like this, with so much change, that we need our classic reads.

 

 

The past few years have been dynamic for authors. There are more writers being published via eBooks and print on demand (POD).  Exposure of existing authors is heightened with the rampant growth of social media and marketing via author platforms. 

The classics help our society remember what we are gauging our future against. 

Classics are a reference to excellence that we can use as a measure of our own success today and in the future. 

The classics prevail over time and language, with truth exposed in the characters and story.  Some basic human truths make a story appeal over centuries.  No matter the date written, the human spirit is visible in a classic, and is readily identified. 

There are obvious classics which we have probably all read from Homer’s Iliad to Stephen King’s The Stand.  Some classic writers that quickly come to mind are listed below, trying to find at least one author per letter.  There are many more: 

 

 

 

Agatha Christie	H.P. Lovecraft	John Steinbeck	Sidney Sheldon
Arthur Conan Doyle	Harper Lee	Jules Verne	Stephen King
Bram Stoker	Henry David Thoreau	Kurt Vonnegut	Thomas Hardy
C.S. Lewis	Herman Melville	Leo Tolstoy	Truman Capote
Charles Dickens	Homer	Mark Twain	Udall, Brady
Dan Brown	Ian McEwan	Mary Shelly	Ursula Markus
Dante Alighieri	Isaac Asimov	Nathaniel Hawthorne	Uzma Sadaf
Edgar Allan Poe	J.D. Salinger	Oscar Wilde	Victor Hugo
Emily Bronte	J.K. Rowling	Percy Bysshe Shelley	Virginia Woolf
Emily Dickinson	J.R.R. Tolkien	Philip Pullman	William Blake
Ernest Hemingway	Jack London	Plato	William Faulkner
F. Scott Fitzgerald	James Joyce	Quinn, Spencer	William Shakespeare
Franz Kafka	Jane Austen	Ralph Waldo Emerson	Xavier, Francis
George Eliot	John Grisham	Ray Bradbury	Yann Martel
George Orwell	John Irving	Robert Louis Stevenson
H. G. Wells	John Milton	Rudyard Kipling

I had difficulty finding a classic author for the letter Z.  I humbly hope someday my name may be used to fill in this gap, not presuming classic status on my part. 

Please in the coming year look for my book debut…  

BREAKING CURSED BONDS by Elisabeth Zguta

Happy reading and writing to us all! 

Best of luck in your 2013 endeavors.

 

Enjoy the clip from the 2009 Wuthering Heights - one of the best versions on screen.  The rest of the clips that follow can be found on YouTube - find listed in my channel.

http://www.youtube.com/channel/UCSayPBDIpl739kcswMsFopA

 

 

Reviews.library journal.com Best books-2012-top-ten

Amazon best-sellers-of-2012 books

 

Visit the hoppers!

Participants in the Classic Reads blog hop (#NewClassicReads).