So not only did you teach me about writing memoir, you also taught me about reading and thinking about how others write memoir. Thank you so much! Rebecca

Accepting what is to come

You can’t change the direction of the wind, but you can adjust your sails.

Wednesday, January 1, 2014

Robert Burns, poet, gave us Auld Lang Syne.

Why do we sing the popular Scottish song, Auld Lang Syne, as each year passes and each new year begins?
Robert Burns is the man who brought us Auld Lang Syne Scottish bard Robert Burns brought us Auld Lang Syne.
He wrote the lyrics in 1788 but the tune we know now does not first appear with the song until after his death.He was inspired by fragments of traditional songs from earlier times.

Now countries all around the world sing this song, some with different lyrics, but with the same meaning as the original.

Read here the history of how this song became an international hit


Auld Lang Syne always makes me sad. Here is a poem I wrote:



On New Year's Eve I Cry

Auld Lang Syne provokes my tears.
Old friends, dear ones from
years gone by appear
at midnight in my mind.
Rowdy revelers, my peers begin
a bright new year.
They raise champagne and toast.

Unique moments good
and bad, will not come back
this way again. I grab
and hold on tight to golden
highlights darting by,
fleeting, disappearing
like foxfire in a mountain wood.
This party is a wake.
It must be mine.
                     ---Glenda Council Beall






Sunday, December 29, 2013

Everything you want is on the other side of fear.  
                                                                                                    --- Jack Canfield 

Think about it. Is fear holding you back? What is the worst that can happen? If you fail, will it matter to anyone other than you? Will it matter in six months or a year?

Go for it!!

Friday, December 27, 2013

What will 2014 bring?

We will soon begin a new year.

Looking back on 2013, we have enjoyed the many writers and poets who have come through our doors this year. Joan, a student at Writers Circle said, "You have brought us so many good poets that we would not have been exposed to if it were not for Writers Circle."
That is our purpose  - to bring excellent writing instructors here to this area because we can't all travel long distances to classes and workshops in other cities. We keep our fees reasonable, but offer teachers enough to make the trip worthwhile for them 

This area is jam-packed with experienced published and non-published writers. Often we overlook what is in our own back yard. We don't want that to happen here.  We provide the opportunity for our local writers to teach what they have learned in their studies of poetry and prose. 
Around our table we give instruction to those beginning poets and writers who have not yet made the step to publishing their work. No one should ever be fearful of what they might encounter at this studio. We are non-competitive. We encourage each other and we give constructive feedback, in a gentle manner. 

The coffee pot is ready and some goodies are on the table. Ice tea is in the fridge.

We hope you will come and take a class with us in 2014. 


Wednesday, December 18, 2013

Lighthouses just stand there shining.

“Lighthouses don’t go running all over an island looking for boats to save; they just stand there shining.”
                                   ― Anne Lamott

At times I wonder how I can better use the last part of my life. I believe we should live our lives as a lesson for others. I did not do that for many years even though I was an elementary school teacher and a kindergarten teacher. Although I didn’t recognize it, fear ruled my life until I was in my middle years. 

In high school, I wrote an essay that prompted my English teacher to request a meeting with me after school. I had written about my fear that my mother would die. That fear crashed into my mind so often, even I knew it was irrational. It wasn’t that she was a sickly person. In fact, she was the healthiest of my parents – both mentally and physically. I did not meet with my English teacher. I did not want to discuss it with her.

Because of my low self-esteem in my teens, I feared being without a boyfriend when other girls and my sister always had someone. I went to my first school dance with other girls – not with a boy – and felt humiliated the entire time. Looking back I realize I was overwhelmed by fear of what others might think of me. In fact, that was my greatest fear most of my life. I wanted my family, especially my father, to be proud of me, and I’d not do anything that might bring disgrace on myself or on those I loved. 

Making excellent grades in school brought praise from my mother. I could hardly wait to show her the marks on my papers or the report cards sent home by my teachers. I now know why that made me feel so good. For that short time, my fight or flight mode disintegrated, and the calming parts of my brain worked overtime. Those happy feelings dissipated as soon as Mother sent me to show the results to my father. He barely glanced my way, murmured uh-huh, and returned to his newspaper. I walked away feeling, once again, that I could not do enough to gain his approval.

Probably the reason I loved reading was that during those hours when I lost myself in another’s life or in another place, I had no fear. In a way, it was like meditation. What we need most when we are weighted down with fearful thoughts is distraction. Reading was my distraction. It let my brain rest from my self-imposed stresses.

In my forties, I turned to oil painting after my mother suffered a cerebral hemorrhage that robbed her of her independence. I signed up for lessons with an artist who taught me more than how to use a brush and paint. We became good friends. She saw talent I had not known I had, and built my self-confidence when she invited me to join her in judging a contest at the local Art Museum. 

I loved creating paintings, especially when my family bragged on them. I gave one to my mother and it was hung in a prominent place in the family room where, at every gathering, my brothers and sisters saw it. I donated a painting to our church for a fundraiser and puffed with pride when I was told it sold before any other. I was asked by my sister-in-law to paint something to hang in her house – the house that looked like a picture in Architectural Digest Magazine. 

Fear came roaring in after I said to her, “Yes, I will be happy to paint something for you.”  It had to be large, rectangular, and of a certain size to fit the space where she wanted it to hang. At night I'd lie in bed, unable to sleep, and wondering why on earth I ever said I'd do that. I was not that good. I was such a rank amateur and there was no way I could paint something she would like. Fear of failure kept my fight-or-flight brain chemicals flowing like a raging river. 

Maybe she will forget about it. Maybe she was just being nice and wanted me to think she would like one of my paintings. She couldn’t possibly want something I had done hanging on her wall, along with expensive paintings she had collected for years. Oh, Lord, help me think of some excuse to give her. What can I say that will not hurt her feelings – I mean if she really wants a painting – but please help me get out of this.

I prayed back then about everything. That was before I knew that whatever will be, will be to quote a Doris Day song. 

When my sister-in-law passed away a year ago, her daughter told me she had that painting with my name on it, the one that had hung in her mother's house all these years. 

By the time I was fifty years old, I had experienced what I considered my worst fears and I had lived through them. I considered myself, finally, grown up – an adult at last. Although I had thought myself as mature as I could be, it took losing my mother for me to realize that I had some serious soul-searching to do. My worst fear had come and taken its toll on me. Grief almost crippled me, but I recognized the need for counseling. I was fortunate enough to find a sensitive young man, a psychologist, who recognized in me, many things I had not seen. I am a stronger person today for having sought his help at that time. 

When I suffered the absolutely worst experience of my life, the loss of my husband and my way of life for 45 years, that strength and the way to deal with it, was embedded deeply in my conscious mind. I did not fear that I would never overcome my grief. I knew I had to endure it, take on the pain, not hide from it, and that in time I'd come through it, not the same as I was, but I would make it.
I also knew it was all up to me.

Looking back, now that I know fear is my worst enemy and one that I can conquer by being mindful, living in the moment and being present in my own life, how I wish I could go back and share this with the young woman I was. But I cannot.

I can, however, live my life as a lighthouse for others who need what I can offer, who follow the light, and observe.




Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Deadline approaching for The Southern Poetry Anthology, Vol. VII North Carolina


William Wright is one of the editors for this anthology for North Carolina poets. Will taught at Writers Circle this year and his students were very impressed with him. They want him back. You have until January 15. Get those poems in now.


CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS: The Southern Poetry Anthology, Volume VII: North Carolina

DEADLINE:  JANUARY 15, 2014

Editors William Wright, Jesse Graves, and Paul Ruffin now seek submissions for the seventh in our series, The Southern Poetry Anthology, featuring North Carolina poets. The anthology will be published by Texas Review Press in 2014.

SUBMISSION REQUIREMENTS:

Please submit your poems electronically to Series Editor, William Wright, at vercimber@hotmail.com and Jesse Graves, Volume Co-editor at gravesj@mail.etsu.edu
Please type "North Carolina Poetry Submission" as your subject heading, then include your first and last names in parentheses. For example: North Carolina Poetry Submission (William Wright). Unfortunately, snail-mail submissions are not an option given the nature of our editing process.

Please include a short cover letter within the text of the e-mail, as well as the names of the poems submitted. Submit a maximum of five poems, and ensure that the poems are sent in .rtf (Rich Text Format), .doc (Word 1997-2003), or .docx (Word 2007, 2010, 2012, etc.) format. Please include all submitted poems in only one attachment (this is important).

All submissions should include a recent bio (up to 150 words) after the poems, on a separate page. Please italicize names of publications.

We welcome both new and previously published work. However, if poems have been previously published, submitters must hold rights to them and provide full publication data (journal and/or book publisher, title of book/journal if applicable, date of publication). Finally, please make sure that each submission includes a preferred e-mail address and street mailing address within the text of the e-mail and on at least one page of the attached submission.

William Wright, Ph.D.
Contributing EditorShenandoah
Founding EditorTown Creek Poetry




Saturday, December 14, 2013

Mourning Dove by Estelle Darrow Rice

I had the pleasure of spending a few hours with my friend, Estelle Rice, this week. 


We have known each other for years, having met through NCWN West, and I love her dearly. She is a full time caregiver for her husband now, and seldom gets to our Netwest events, but she continues to write and we hope to publish a book with some of her stories. 

Often we know so little about the pain even our close friends are feeling, but if they are writers and poets, they have a way to tell us. This lovely poem by Estelle is for her granddaughter. I don’t have that experience – having a granddaughter, or losing a child or grandchild, but Estelle gives me a moment of knowing.



Mourning Dove
For Tara  1964-2003

A Mourning Dove was my companion.
She strutted and cooed
outside my window.
I fed her crumbs from my morning toast.

She returned in the evening
and a gray mantle enveloped
the distant mountains.
I sustained her. In some ways
I cherished her.

Then I remembered
peacock colors covering the hills,
tinting the trees, the clouds.
I sang again. Thanked my companion
and let her fly away.


Estelle is a native North Carolinian who has a BA in Psychology and a MA in counseling. She is a retired licensed Professional Counselor. Her poetry has been published in The Back Porch, Southern Review, and the Freeing Jonah anthologies. Her short stories have been published in journals and anthologies including Lights in the Mountains and Echoes across the Blue Ridge
She is a long time member of North Carolina Writers' Network West.

Sunday, December 8, 2013

HAMs - when communication was simple.

When I married Barry Beall way back in the sixties, he was already into communications which became a major interest that he pursued all of his life. I paid little attention but was somewhat impressed when, on our first trip to his home in Rockmart, Georgia, while still miles away, from his car he talked to his father, Hugh, on a citizens band radio. Today we have cell phones, but before cell phones we had mobile phones, and before that we had CB radio and HAM radio. 

Barry usually bought the latest electronic device on the market. Today, if he were here, he would probably have us in the poor house because he would want the newest gizmo that comes out. He did have a Blackberry when few people I knew had one.  

As a child he had been impressed with his Uncle Ralph and Aunt Mildred who had set up a HAM shack in their home. According to Barry, Ralph and Mildred talked to people all over the world from tiny Cedartown, Georgia.

A few years into our marriage, my husband met some local HAM radio operators. Before I knew it, he had invested in all the paraphernalia it takes to get on the air, including a huge antenna on the house and another on his car. To go beyond the novice stage in amateur radio, one must know Morse code.  One night I went with him to a class, and the men there insisted I should learn it as well. Just for fun, I said I would try, but had no real interest in it. The dots and dashes made absolutely no sense to me.

For weeks we listened to an audio tape of Morse code. It was fun to talk about and see how much I could remember. Barry taught me why the code was created and how it was used during war, etc. Finally the day came when Barry thought he was ready to take the test. I said I'd take it at the same time, not caring if I passed or failed. When we were done, the instructor surprised me when he said, “Glenda, you passed. You are now eligible to apply for a HAM radio license.”

Shocked, I heard him say, “Barry, you didn’t pass. You can take it again later. I’m sure you’ll pass it next time.”

I felt awful. Barry was crestfallen, to say the least. I think he was a little embarrassed that I had passed and he had not. Barry had been a German Linguist in the Army and worked with highly classified information. He was intelligent and much smarter than I in this kind of thing. I think he tried too hard because it meant so much, while I hardly tried and was not a bit anxious.

He passed the test the second time and we both received our licenses and call numbers. He was WA4KCL and I was WA4KCK. I think he was pleased that I became a HAM even though I never got on the air. I went with him to HAMfests and social events. I loved meeting interesting people, and we made some good friends. One couple, both doctors, were amateur radio operators in our group of friends. 

Barry's HAM call sign. I lost mine somewhere along the way.
Call Sign: WA4KCK
Grant Date: 07/25/1996, Expiration Date: 07/25/2006, Cancellation Date: 07/26/2008
Registrant: Glenda C Beall, 445 Chatuge Ln, Hayesville, NC 28904
Call Sign: WA4KCL
Grant Date: 07/11/1996, Expiration Date: 07/11/2006, Cancellation Date: 07/12/2008
Registrant: Hugh B Beall, 445 Chatuge Ln, Hayesville, NC 28904

I had no interest in talking to a person in Japan at 3:00 a.m. I think Barry enjoyed listening more than talking. I still preferred to use the telephone when I wanted to hear from someone. I complained about the time he spent in his upstairs HAM shack, and I teased him about his hobby. Little did I know the boom that was coming in communications, and Barry and his friends were forerunners. He bought one of the first computers on the market, the Commodore 64. His interest sparked my own, and I eventually learned how to use a computer as well. 

The biggest thrill for our local HAMs in Albany, GA was the night of the presidential election when they set up a station outside of JimmyCarter’s home in Plains, Georgia. Barry and several others stayed up all night and reported around the world what was happening on that auspicious eve. They were among the first to spread the word that our own South Georgia neighbor, one of the most compassionate people to hold the office, would be the new President of the United States.

These memories came back to me today as I read a funny,interesting essay by Bob Grove on his experiences with early radio and his interest, from childhood, in communications. Read his bio to see where it took him. 

My next post will be a poem I wrote, tongue in cheek, about Barry’s love for early radio communications. Stay tuned. 

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Journal of Kentucky Studies

Years ago, when I was beginning to submit poetry for publication, Carol Crawford told me to try the Journal of Kentucky Studies, published by  Northern Kentucky University
Picture
Carol Crawford
She had met an editor at Appalachian Heritage who said he would soon be an editor there. He had invited her to send some poems and she suggested I do the same.

I have always admired Carol's work so I followed her advice and was overjoyed when one of my poems appeared across the page from Carol's in this nice book.

Dr. Gary Walton is the editor for Journal of Kentucky Studies. 
Their writing program has evidently grown quite a bit since those days when they published several of my poems. I visited the site and I see they have a good creative writing program. In fact, the editor of my chapbook, Now Might as Well be Then, Leah Maines at Finishing Line Press, is listed among their faculty.

I read their English Department blog and found this post that might be of interest to my readers. One of the college's alums is an older woman, Mary Anne Reese, who went back to school after years of working as an attorney. She lives in Cincinnati, OH, and earned her MA at Northern Kentucky University. She gives some good advice, I think.
http://nkuenglish.wordpress.com/2013/10/21/alum-feature-mary-anne-reese/