Posts Tagged ‘writers’


February 2, 2009



I really must break the best kept “secret” on the web. If you have any creative spark, juice, electricity – professional or just yearnings, please do check out Cafe Crem. This is an online, international  cafe of the kindest, most wonderful people who encourage all efforts at all stages of artistic development.

The sense of generous, artistic community is truly a gift.  It was created, and continues to be developed by Miki, an awesome artist, and Kev, her partner, an awesome musician and writer.  Miki is French, Kevin is English, and they both live together in Spain.

There are different “rooms” in the cafe depending on your interest.  There is the recently opened “Cafe Literati”( for the writers)  the “Cafe L’Arte”  (the Art  Gallery)  “Ca’ Puccini”(the Music Studio) and “The Mini Bar”( for teens and kids). 

I love it there. Hope you will too.


Writer’s Block? Why?

December 28, 2008

concrete_block1I’ve been laying on my bed with my laptop for the last 20 minutes, which have felt like an hour..I want to write a post today, but my mind keeps going blank..I tried to write yesterday but the same thing happened. Part of it, I guess, is I keep wanting to doze…a lupus flare, of course, after the holiday fun/chaos at our house this year…everything I think of writing about seems too much…too heavy…or I keep editing it before anything ever gets i’m just going to do stream of consciousness and see what happens…

My mother… 78 years old…for once I enjoyed her, felt the bond, it was as it should be all the time, wish it could be so, too much bad history, too much inner conflict for me…the kids, with their whole lives ahead of them, most of mine behind me, one newly married, the other newly engaged, the next generation getting ready to take center stage in our family life…well good, I hope somebody gets a bigger house because ours was too small to hold everyone comfortably this year, i remember when my parents did it all, way back when…and all of us young adults went to their house for the most wonderful Christmas Eve…my dad cooking the linguini with clams, and then the lobster tails, the traditional Italian Christmas Eve dinner…afterwards the extravagant exchange of presents,  each of us opening one at a time, my father reserving the right to open all of his last, then he died of cancer at age 52, diagnosed and told on his last Christmas Eve, a tragedy i cannot write about even 25 years later, but i do, i must, because how can i not wonder how different our lives would all be now, my mother over the years became a recluse, my son would have been in business with him, making lots of money,  rather than struggling to keep his head above water now…oh my, the head is falling forward again, the need to doze so apparent to me now for what it is, a block to painful feelings still locked away, to things i don’t want to think about…

And so I’ll stop writing now, because I don’t want to think about my dad anymore,  because it hurts, and I miss him so…

Is this what all writer’s block is about? A block to exactly what  needs to be thought about, felt, written about? 

We are all writers here. What do you think?

Best Advice I’ve Ever Seen

January 11, 2008
This is a speech by Anna Quindlen, Pulitzer prize winning author, at a graduation
ceremony at American University., where she was awarded an honorary PhD.
“I’m a novelist. My work is human nature. Real life is all I know. Don’t
 ever confuse the two, your life and your work. You will walk out of here
 this afternoon with only one thing that no one else has. There will be
 hundreds of people out there with your same degree: there will be thousands
 of people doing what you want to do for a living. But you will be the only
 person alive who has sole custody of your life.
Your particular life.
Your entire life. Not just your life at a desk, or your life on a bus, or in a
 car, or at the computer.
Not just the life of your mind, but the life of your heart.
Not just your bank accounts but also your soul.  People don’t
 talk about the soul very much anymore.
It’s so much easier to write a resume
than to craft a spirit. But a resume is cold comfort on a winter’s night, or
when you’re sad, or broke, or lonely, or when you’ve received your test
results and they’re not so good. 
Here is my resume:
I am a good mother to three children.
I have tried never to let my work stand in the way of being a good parent.
I no longer consider myself the centre of the universe.
I show up. I listen. I try to laugh. I am a good friend to my husband. I have
tried to make marriage vows mean what they say.
I am a good friend to my friends and they to me. Without them, there would
be nothing to say to you today, because I would be a cardboard cut out.
But I call them on the phone, and I meet them for lunch. I would be rotten, at
best mediocre at my job if those other things were not true.  You cannot be really
first rate at your work if your work is all you are.
So here’s what I wanted to tell you today:
Get a life. A real life, not a manic pursuit of the next promotion, the
 bigger pay cheque, the larger house. Do you think you’d care so very much
 about those things if you blew an aneurysm this afternoon, or found a lump
 in your breast?
Get a life in which you notice the smell of salt water
 pushing itself on a breeze at the seaside, a life in which you stop and
 watch how a red-tailed hawk circles over the water, or the way a baby scowls
 with concentration when she tries to pick up a sweet with her thumb and
 first finger.
Get a life in which you are not alone. Find people you love,
 and who love you. And remember that love is not leisure, it is work. Pick up
 the phone. Send an email. Write a letter.
Get a life in which you are generous. And realize that life is the best thing ever,
and that you have no business taking it for granted. Care so deeply about its goodness
that you want to spread it around. Take money you would have spent on beer and give
it to charity. Work in a soup kitchen. Be a big brother or sister.
All of you want to do well. But if you do not do good too, then doing well will
never be enough.  It is so easy to waste our lives, our days, our hours, and
our minutes.
It is so easy to take for granted the colour of our kids’ eyes,
the way the melody in a symphony rises and falls and disappears and rises again.  
It is so easy to exist instead of to live.  I learned to live many
years ago. I learned to love the journey, not the destination. I learned
that it is not a dress rehearsal, and that today is the only guarantee you
I learned to look at all the good in the world and try to give some of
it back because I believed in it, completely and utterly. And I tried to do
that, in part, by telling others what I had learned. By telling them this:
Consider the lilies of the field. Look at the fuzz on a baby’s ear. Read in
the back yard with the sun on your face.
Learn to be happy. And think of life as a terminal illness, because if you
do, you will live it with joy and passion as it ought to be lived.”