My Book

My Book
The Long Night Moon

A Writer's Prayer

As writers, we put ourselves out there for all to see, and the only dressing we finally get is in the comments coming our way; comments that layer our nakedness piece by piece until we are dressed. And when we are fully dressed we do the process all over again. For what worth is a work if no one touches it with their eyes, if no mind falls into the story, and in the leaving no weight of connection propels a response? Elizabeth
March 2, 2010

Elizabeth

Elizabeth
Photo

The 'walks' of my mind!

Many things walk through my mind; it changes with the choice of time. For instance, during the day, I tend to write with a conscious eye, with a temperance toward word choices, almost as if I've an invisible watcher editing my thoughts before they find print; now, night time offers a different stage for my writing, I feel the mellowing of my words, my fingers fly across the keyboard with the courage of a Delilah, and thoughts sing a purer truth as the cover of darkness cheers me on. It seems most problems find an answer with only the light of the monitor in front of me. The darkness of the room lets my imagination have a free hand, no censoring of ideas, or judgment sitting on my shoulder.

The 'Memory Chair' - text from The Long Night Moon

"This...sitting around the fire," Wa`si said, "reminds me of my father and his friends. They would sit around the campfire gathering up its energy and before long there would be sharing time. The one designated to talk held the 'memory chair' until his story ended." He paused, as though his story mimicked the moment as the fire's strength entered into him, giving his words newly found power. "When I reached manhood, at sixteen, I was allowed to sit with the group. It was from these stories passed around from the one in the 'memory chair' that I learned the meaning of honor, and the importance of everything relative to what's around us. Best of all, I was taught that a strong man can show meekness without being weak...and shed tears without feeling shame....

Cherokee Proverb

Don't let yesterday use up too much of today!

Sunday, December 4, 2011

A Trip into new places

I am finally getting myself back on line, and not only is this a new site, but my password has changed, and I am working with a new laptop PC, so feel handicapped all the way around. I am also writing again and am excited with my new characters. This feels like someplace I've been before, but still has unfamiliar fragments walking the edges.

Friday, March 5, 2010

The Wolf comes again

The Wolf--appearing...in The Long Night Moon


The long hair around his mouth glowed stark white against the blackness of his squared off nose; the glaze from his topaz and onyx eyes speared the air. His raw, wild, stench spread out around him....

A Revisit with Alex

Another of our lovely animal characters--text from The Long Night Moon


This is Alex, an African Grey...and a smart bird, he is.


Under head feathers of a startling white, his onyx eyes looked out with keen awareness; his head tilted to either side, his stare fixated on Darcie.

He began lifting his feet, one at a time, his body rocking from side to side. "Hey, hey, hey, it's her Norman, I tell you...it's her."

He gave a sharp snap of his bill, and went still.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

A New Year/ A New Day

Hello New Day/New Year

January 12, 2010 by etelizabeth

‘ Tis the 12th day of January…the time nearing mid-month of a new year; my tree is still up, and a few packages, sitting around the edge of the plaid, red, tree skirt, await to find their proper place in drawers, or on shelves. Candy fills some containers, and chocolate coated pretzel sticks shine from one opaque round plastic jar. The tree lights brave the whispers of ‘overly spent time’ amidst a room that has only this one show of a past holiday gear. No matter, they help to foster cheer in my brain that needs the dancing lights on the ceiling; a mound of joy that waits in the corner by the window to pop with color when I turn the switch.

For the last couple of days, I am into new work, my mind like a camera as I write the scene; this time of living in my story delights me to no end. I lose hours fast…like ice cubes melting in boiling water. All thoughts fall away of self, time, and place; I’ve slipped inside my imagination’s location. Thanks to the powers that be for giving me this lovely game to play, this ability of shape-shifting that strokes my soul time, and time again