Happy sigh. The Green Marble series has found a home. Sam and Rachel Moore will debut in the founding book of the series with Twilight Times Books under the Paladin Timeless Imprint. Ebook to be released October, 2007; Print version to follow. We may end up changing the title, so for those who have read it, start submitting names!

That's the best news I've had in a while. And for those of you who are still waiting for the next LeGarde Mystery, Mazurka - there is yet hope! Twilight Times Books as asked to take a look at it. ;o)

My agent, Joan West, will begin pitching Firesong: an unholy grave. This is the fourth book in the LeGarde series, although it may end up coming out as the "first" with a new publisher. Heard of prequels? That might work! LOL.




I also had a splendid evening at the Dansville Library last Saturday afternoon for their Winter in the Village Festival. Read to folks from Tremolo: cry of the loon and had wonderful discussions. Thanks to all who attended and a special thanks to Terry Dearing, librarian.



- Aaron

I was challenged to write a chapter in a book project at bookhitch. com that will donate all proceeds to literacy charities. After reading the first chapter of the "Community Project," and trying to maintain style and characterization, etc., I did it! It ended up being a blast - especially given the fact that we are able to choose genre and take twists and turns into whatever avenue strikes our fancy. Nine writers entered - my entry is number eight.

It's all for a good cause, so if you'd like to take a stroll over there and vote for you favorite, please do! And consider writing the next chapter yourself. It's great fun!

www.bookhitch.com

Hope you all had a luscious Thanksgiving, full of family and good food. We did. In between the cooking, reunited with our daughter, Melanie (we hadn't seen her in ages!), meeting her new Rat Terrier (weird name, cute dog!), "Toby," and eating our way through Tryptophane Heaven, we also had to deal with a sudden ER visit for Gordie.

He was running toward his mom (my daughter, Jenn) and tripped over her leg. Fell head first into the coffee table, split open his skin over his eyebrow. It bled like mad, but the doc at the ER used some of the new glue instead of giving him stitches. Thank God. He's fine now.

Here's a picture of Melanie's new baby:


















He's a real sweetie pie - loves to snuggle and sleep on his humans. We did a lot of "grandpuppy sitting" this weekend. ;o) Toby ended up getting into something bad - possibly chocolate that dropped off cookies the boys were eating - and we were worried for a day. But he's okay now.

We were blessed by a visit from Summer this weekend. Temperatures reminiscent of May or June - even got a sunburn. I worked outside all day Saturday and Sunday, weeding, raking, trimming, and generally getting the gardens around the house in shape.

We took Toby for a walk, too. He was great on the leash and ran after Allison who led the way.

I did get a chance to take a few photos.

















I also spent all of Saturday evening redesigning my website. ;o) I needed to make it crisper and cleaner, easier to navigate. See what you think, if you have time, at www.legardemysteries.com.

I'm not quite done with the makeover (my links page is all screwed up), but it's close. I'd love your feedback or suggestions to make it even better. Chose that simpler template (I was tired of the piano template!) as it seemed easier to set up and also had a white background which folks say is easier on the eyes.

Before I go, here's one more photo from the weekend. Take care, and if you're from the States, let me know how your holiday was!

- Aaron

The Bylines Writer's Calendar 2007, is rolling off the press as I write this. I was honored that my entry made its way to the final edition. For kicks, I've reprinted it below. You may order your own copy at www.bylines.com. Or buy a few for your crit buddies. ;o)

Word Paintings

Great novels are like photographs. The creative wells from which they spring are common to both writers and photographers.

It takes a special talent to snap that one-in-a-million, heart-stopping shot. It’s this same insight, that same extra-perceptive eye for the “visual feast” that allows writers to capture a scene. Of course, all senses must be employed. Sights, sounds, aromas, tastes, and touch combine to create a unique sense of place that may ooze pastoral sensuality, big city grit, or hospital room pathos; whatever locale is desired.

It seems as though every image ever impressed upon my brain finds its way into my work. Whether it’s the light dancing through stained-glass windows in a Parisian chapel, curly slate-green lichen covering a boulder at the edge of a pond in Maine, or hoarfrost dangling from a cherry tree branch in mid-winter, these images burrow into my memory cells. In time they bubble back, persistently itching, until they are poured out on the page.

These abundant, precious scraps of life are sweet fodder for your next story. Soak them up. Reach out all five tentacles with senses throbbing. Skillfully weave them into your fiction. Now, couple them with a bone-chilling plot, memorable characters, and convincing dialogue, and you’ll have the recipe for a sizzling word painting.

***********************

Aaron Paul Lazar works as an engineer by day but can be found on weekends in his gardens with his two toddler sidekicks, grandsons Julian and Gordon. His passion lies in writing, where he creates characters of depth, color, and substance. Lazar entices readers with intricate plots, lush imagery, breathless action, gourmet meals, classical music, bountiful gardens, and surprising romantic moments. http://www.legardemysteries.com/

Available now from Twilight Times Books

Click here to read an excerpt or order the ebook.(Print book to be released in 2007)


Tremolo: cry of the loon, is a coming-of-age mystery, a stirring and nostalgic trip back to the summer of 1964 when the nation mourned the assassination of JFK and American life was forever changed by the arrival of the Beatles.

Eleven-year-old Gus LeGarde is spending another glorious summer at his grandparents’ lakeside camp, along with his best friends, Elsbeth and Siegfried Marggrander. When their boat capsizes, Gus and the twins witness a drunk chasing a girl through the foggy Maine woods. She’s scared. She’s hurt. And she disappears.

On horseback and on foot, Gus, Elsbeth, and Siegfried search for Sharon Adamski, worried her brutal father will find her before they do.

During the hunt, Gus is faced with a number of personal dilemmas. He must keep secret his new friendship with “Mrs. Jones,” a woman in mourning who resides incognito. Gus also glimpses a slice of the twins’ life through their mother, who lost her family in a Nazi concentration camp. In a cruel coincidence, Gus faces the imminent loss of his own mother.

Reports of stolen religious artifacts reach the lakeside camp. New England churches have been ransacked, and missing is the church bell cast by Paul Revere, stolen from St. Stephen’s church in Boston’s North End. When Gus and his friends stumble on a scepter that may be part of the loot, they become targets. The villain turns on them, and all thoughts of a lazy summer whirl out of control.

"Beautifully written, with the perfect touch of nostalgia and suspense, the pages of this book tremble with a strong emotional appeal. As the plot steadily progresses, the climax explodes like a summer thunderstorm, clearing the air with the rush of truth. Tremolo: cry of the loon sings with the voice of love, laughter and the timeless power of friendship."Joyce Handzo, In the Library Reviews.

- Joyce Handzo, In the Library Reviews.

There's a new little guy in our house. He's soft, fuzzy, and loves to snuggle asleep on his people. Here he is, on his boy's feet. His name is Balto and he's a Cavapoo. (half poodle, half Cavalier King Charles Spaniel)

Sorry I've been so quiet lately - I've been swamped with life. Horrible and heavenly stuff. You know the drill.

At work, two of my best friends took the "early retirement" package. I was thrilled for them, but devastated by the loss of our daily fellowship. Three days later, almost all of the rest of my friends were laid off.

Those pre-lay off days can be extraordinarily stressful.

Will I get the axe this time? Will my friends? How will I cope, in either case? If I lose my job, will we lose the house? Will my three daughters have to leave college?

Then, when the long dreaded day comes, your heart hammers against your chest as you hear footsteps approaching your office... you just know it's the boss coming to give you the bad news... And when he passes you by, you hear an involuntary shout of "Oh, no!" a few cubes down and nearly jump out of your skin. Man, it was awful. We "survivors" are still trying to support the folks who lost their jobs as well as pull ourselves out of the depression that ensued. It's so quiet around work these days...

It was harder than any of the previous 17 layoffs we've ever had. And I pray that my friends find jobs much more rewarding and less stressful than the ones they lost.

I did manage to find a weekend to bring my lovely wife to Honeoye Lake. There was a strange lack of sound there... I think it's called "quiet." We broiled some killer swordfish and drank our share of Gewurtztraminer from the Finger Lakes wineries. ;o) Thanks to our friend, Ken F. for the low cost getaway weekend at his cabin.

Gorgeous, isn't it?

I've also spent last weekend helping a friend go through her novel outline - hoping to make some useful suggestions. Sometimes you just have to stop writing and dig into someone else's work to give a little back, you know? I don't do it often, but she has been a wonderful crit buddy, and I'm glad I took the time.

If I haven't visited your blog or commented lately, I apologize. I hope to get back to "normal" soon. I'm working on my eleventh book now (tentitively entitled "Lady Blues") and need to completely revamp my website. I'll let you know when it's ready for a peek.

Thanks for hanging in there with me!

Aaron

Title: Pervalism
Author: M.E Ellis
Publisher: Wild Child Publishing
Publisher's Address: P.O. Box 4897, Culver City, CA, 90231-4897
ISBN number: 1-934069-21-3.
Price: $15.99
Publisher phone number and/or website address: www.wildchildpublishing.com

Pervalism
By M.E Ellis
Review by Aaron Paul Lazar
Author of the LeGarde Mystery Series


Pervalism is a gripping journey into the tortured mind of serial killer John Brookes. Abused by an odious mother and adored by a doting father, Brookes’ psyche is scarred from childhood. His sins begin with animal torture, which gives him a weighty sense of power and a bizarre sensual release. Although the torture scenes were tough to read, the story beguiled this reader with ghoulish fascination and it was impossible not to read Pervalism in one sitting.

Pervalism is not for the faint of heart. Brookes’ vile behaviors escalate as he reaches his teen years. When his promiscuous mother bears a child, resultant from an affair, his jealousy erupts into obsessive rage. She appears to love the new baby. Yet Brookes is riddled with questions, ripped apart by the disparity. How could she have hated him so much, yet love the squalling baby who now rides in his old pram? His hostility and excessive envy push him to stalk her, and when opportunities ripen, he drives her to a ghastly deed.

Oddly enough, Brookes matures into a seemingly normal man who marries, has a child, and holds down a job as a hospital janitor. Yet, perhaps it isn’t really so strange, when one considers the current day killers who are unmasked and found to be living sedately in suburbia, reportedly considered “nice, quiet neighbors.” Brookes holds out for several years without giving into his baser needs. The devil quiets when he learns to love his wife and son with ferocity.

When Brookes’ family is treated poorly, a rumbling sense of outrage collides with old feelings of violence and revenge, and the grisly deeds of his earlier life are perpetuated.

As the body count rises, Ellis exhibits a unique talent in her ability to provoke understanding and empathy for her homicidal protagonist. Brookes’ pain is palpable. His fears understandable. His rage predictable. Each time he kills anew, however, the horror escalates to unpredictable levels.

M.E’s skill is consummate. Her voice, consistent and eerie, will ensnare the most reticent reader. An English setting, the backdrop for Brookes’ heinous acts, provides a rich tapestry of British culture that weaves depth and a strong sense of place into the work. John Brookes becomes eerily lifelike in this potent and unforgettable thriller. Watch the book trailer at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0-eAbASGTVk and purchase either the ebook or print book at: http://www.wildchildpublishing.com/.

**********************************************************************

Aaron Paul Lazar resides in Upstate New York with his wife, three daughters, two grandsons, mother-in-law, dog, and four cats. After writing in the early morning hours, he works as an electrophotographic engineer at Kodak, in Rochester, New York. Additional passions include vegetable, fruit, and flower gardening; preparing large family feasts; photographing his family, gardens, and the breathtakingly beautiful Genesee Valley; cross-country skiing across the rolling hills; playing a distinctly amateur level of piano, and spending “time” with the French Impressionists whenever possible. Although he adored raising his three delightful daughters, Mr. Lazar finds grandfathering his “two little buddies” to be one of the finest experiences of his life.

Double Forté is the founding book of the LeGarde Mystery series and was released in January, 2005. Upstaged, the second, was released in October, 2005. His third, Tremolo: cry of the loon, was released via Twilight Times Books under the Paladin Timeless Imprint in fall, 2006. Mr. Lazar is currently working on his eleventh book, Lady Blues. He is a regular columnist for FMAM (Futures Mystery Anthology Magazine) and The Back Room, A Cozy Retreat for Writers and Readers. Contact him at: http://us.f387.mail.yahoo.com/ym/Compose?To=Aaron.Lazar@yahoo.com or via his website at http://www.legardemysteries.com/

In the Mood for Haiku?


(See contributions from friends at the end of this post.)

Red berries

Cold with morning dew

Quench my thirst

This morning, while waiting for hours at the doctor's office, I read more from Wabi Sabi for Writers by Richard Powell. This book speaks to my writer's soul. Its inspiration is pure and true. As I stared outside the window at a holly bush, hanging heavy with red berries, the above Haiku came to mind.










































































































The above images were snapped during the past week. Do they inspire your writer's soul?

If Haiku is your thing, try your hand at it.

Remember, it's either of the following formats (in syllables):

three
five
three

or

five
seven
five

Post your Haiku here, and also send them to SW Vaughn, who will post them on her Haiku site and marry them with one of these images or another of her own choosing.

********************************************

From Kim Milgate:


Granddaughter
Lovely wide-eyed lamb
Clean clear soul


















From Allison Lazar:

Agony stricken
Finally time to dispose
of all that is bad




















From Jude Hardin:

Fuzzy orange worm
Climbs a stairway to nowhere
Dreaming of white wings

















From Jeanne Fielding:


Fearsome Haiku land
Faint of heart be wary now
Nature's featured here




















From Lesia Valentine:

Sweet kitten
lithe bundle of fur
has sharp claws









Sweet kitten
curious and brave
eats orange worms

Book Trailers If you enjoyed the movie below, wait 'til you see the ones created by Lesia Valentine adn S.W. Vaughn (aka Sonja Baines). These two great writers inspired me to try my hand at it. Please check out their trailers at:

Rain Coming, by Lesia Valentine









Soul Haven by Sonja Baines











Let me know what you think, and be sure to post on their blogs to give them feedback!

Okay, this is the third version of the trailer. I hope this is the final one, I need to start on trailers for individual books!

Hi everyone,

Just a note to let you know how it all went. Dale's surgery started at 4:30 (only one hour late!) and ended at 5:45 - precisely what the doctor predicted. Dr. Jeffrey Jones was excellent all round - we would highly recommend him for hand surgery. He screwed in a t- shaped titanium plate along her wrist and arm and said it went perfectly. They ended up giving her general anaesthesia because they couldn't isolate a good vein for the local block. All her fingers are working and she has good sensation in them as well.

I coudn't see her until 8:30 last night (they don't let you go into the recovery room) - I was stuck waiting in the main lobby until then. But luckily they found a private room for her and let me stay with her in another hospital bed. I was glad I could be there for her - everything takes SO long in a hospital. "We'll bring your meds soon," means "In two hours!" Everything took two hours. No wonder they need more nurses out there!

They were all very nice. Dale slept with the help of the pain killers, but I slept only about three hours. They came in the room to check her every hour or so, which was good. All signs were good, and we finally were released by noon and headed home to crash.

Her arm looks awful - it's black and blue all the way up her arm and her fingers are purple, too. The worst part right now is the pain, but she has pills to take which should help ease it for the next few days.

Funny how I feel like I've been through the ringer and all I did was wait and watch. She was a real trooper, though. An amazing woman. You can see my sweetie pie above. But it's all good now and we're just glad it's over.

Talk to you soon,

Aaron

It's been an interesting weekend. Aside from another trauma at the ER, everything went according to plan. Sort of.

I guess I've become used to these events. Yesterday, when my daughter screamed into the house shouting, "Mom fell! Help me!" I hardly felt the usual jolt of adrenaline surge into my blood. Calmly, I asked, "Where is she?" and then proceeding to ask my twenty-one year old daughter why she left her outdoors.

"I heard the bone snap!" she sobbed.

I looked into her eyes and realized that this was one of her worst nightmares. Before she'd dragged my wife outside for a walk, prodded and encouraged by me, she'd asked, "What if she falls?"

I'd shrugged it off. "Don't worry about it. She'll be fine. Just go slowly." We'd decided that in spite of the multiple sclerosis that it was time to add a mild exercise routine into her day. With high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and diabetes, it seemed essential to try. Besides, I want my sweetie around when I retire in fourteen years. I didn't want to think back and regret not urging her to pursue a healthier lifestyle.

Two years ago she fell, dislocated and broke both shoulders, and had surgery on one. That was a tough one. Oh yeah. Some day maybe you'll read about it in One Potato, Blue Potato, the second book in my Sam Moore paranormal mystery series. ;o)

An operation is looming, full of words like "very bad break," and "pins to hold it together," and ... well, you know the routine. We're greatful that this time it's a bit easier. Only one arm to worry about.

I'm stopping the guilt right here, though. There's enough going on. I don't need to blame myself, do I? It was an accident, pure and simple. Right?

Right.

I was kind of proud of how I didn't lose it this time. You know, the gut-clenching worry that consumes all else? Instead, I read to her from her James Patterson book while we waited. And waited. And waited. Found about a dozen examples of words that are not in favor in the writing forums these days. Like "suddenly," and tags that stand out like, "he barked," "she choked," etc. Four paragraphs in a row starting with the same name. Just like my friend Val always says when she discovers hot new writers who use all the forbidden words and excel in spite of it, it's all a matter of balance. And James Patterson can do whatever the hell he wants to do. His readers don't give a darn!

When they set her wrist in a cast (temporary measure), I took the laptop into the waiting room and began to feverishly plan the next LeGarde book. I'd just sent off my current project (The Green Marble) to my publisher for consideration (her request) and was at the "inbetween stage." You writers know what I mean. One project is finished, ten others clamor for attention.

"Should I go back and tear into one of the older books? Or should I... dare I... start a new one?" The creative thrill afforded by writing new stuff is too alluring. I find it hard to say no to myself. So, instead of another edit (I just got through doing that for the past two months), I'm on to a new book. Dear Siegfried is finally going to find love - but only after some nerve-wracking and dangerous challenges are thrown his way. (evil chuckle here.)

What do you writers do between projects? Do you need time to recharge, or do you dive right into the next one? Does it last a day? A week? Months? Do you keep notes about books you're dying to write like I do? Tell me about your processes.

More Bubbles... couldn't resist!

After spending a delightful weekend on Keuka Lake in the Finger Lakes region of Upstate NY, I'm trying to get caught up!

I'm in the final phases of polishing The Green Marble: A Sam Moore paranormal mystery to send to Lida Quillen at Twilight Times Books. I added a few new chapters to the end and am currenlty purging forbidden words. LOL!

Also, I just submitted Mazurka through my agent, Joan West, to Archebooks Publishing. Has anyone experience with them? I've heard good things about them and enjoyed the interview with owner Robert E. Gelinas in the Voice in the Dark ezine last month. They seem like a top notch small press.

I went crazy this weekend with my newly discovered macro mode on my camera, (I know, I should have read the manual when I bought the camera a few years ago, but I'm a GUY!). Thought you might like to see a few of my favorite shots.

Aaron

\

The Oak Ridge Drive Book Club, Sept. 8, 2006

What a lovely evening we had! Great wine, lots of laughs, and connecting with readers. That's what it's all about!

Who’s that Knocking?

by Aaron Paul Lazar


Living in an antique home has its problems, especially when you’re not a handyman. My father taught me all sorts of wonderful things when he was alive, including passion for the arts, gardening, nature, gourmet cooking, and a good mystery. He didn’t know much about mechanical, plumbing, electric, or woodworking skills. Though I’ve tried to learn over the years with self-help books and advice from friends, I remain singularly unhandy, perpetually bowing with an unholy need to the whims of the local plumber and electrician.

Take, for example, the twenty-six windows that are crumbling as we speak. The six by nine inch panes are coming loose from their wooden mullions with alarming frequency. Or the floorboards in the bedroom, a lovely old yellow pine, that poke up like teepees when it’s hot and muggy. Yeah, they need to be treated with poly something-or-other, but for now, the moisture makes them swell. Consider the two wells that sometimes work in concert – except for the hundred times a year I have to run down to the cobwebbed cellar and reset the breakers or tap on the pump to make it work. The disadvantages are many.

But there are also great benefits, such as the three working fireplaces. Or the soil that surrounds the property, rich and black, untouched by bulldozers. It’s not like the hard packed fill they put in the new housing tracts. I don’t need to “amend” this soil. I just need to keep up with the produce and flowers.

Most intriguing of all, however, is the rich history.

Our house was built in 1811 by Dr. David Hunt.

Okay, so compared to the homes in Europe, it’s just an infant. But in terms of our country and its young age, it’s amazing. Think about it. This house was built and lived in more than fifty years before the civil war!

Imagine the births, deaths, dramas, romances, and heartaches that occurred within these rooms. Did the inhabitants suffer from small pox? Starvation? Were they affluent? How many horses or cows did they own? And… how many ghosts linger in these plaster and lathe walls?

Let’s examine the past 100 years. According to an elderly neighbor, over seven people have died on Hunts Corners. Traffic accidents. Drivers not stopping for the all-way stop signs, or sliding on ice, or drunk drivers plowing right into the telephone pole. Sad to think about. Makes you wonder about their spirits. Did they ascend to Heaven? Or do a few guilty souls remain in the area, confused and wandering, seeking the path to redemption?


Recently, I began to ponder another death disclosed to me by a young neighbor friend. We began to correspond after he read a few of my books. He’s a bright and entertaining young fellow who happens to be a voracious reader. We clicked. And we chat back and forth about books and life and sometimes… about the history of our area.

It seems Hunts Corners has a mystery all its own, stemming from the early 1900s. As the story goes, my young neighbor’s great grandmother noticed something odd one day. (I’ll invent names to “protect the innocent!”) While going about her daily duties, Mabel realized she hadn’t seen the young girl who lived next door in a long time. Anna no longer attended school, and rarely made an appearance outside the home. When she did, Mabel noticed a thickening in her middle, well-wrapped by heavy garments. She suspected the girl was with child. In that era, a pregnancy out of wedlock was unthinkable. Shameful. A sin. The family would endure public humiliation if news got out. So Anna was sequestered for nine long months as Mabel watched the child grow in her belly.

When the time came for the baby to be born, there was no activity in the house. No child was seen. No doctor arrived. All was quiet.

Speculation grew. Was the child stillborn? Or worse, was she murdered by a family cloaked in shame? Rumors were that the little baby was buried behind Anna’s house.
Since then, there have been reports of children pointing behind the house, exclaiming about the “little girl in the weeds.” The adults couldn’t see her.

But I think I might have, last winter.

I rose early to photograph our Christmas lights. They were unusually festive last year, better than all past years. We’d added a few lighted deer for fun, and I was bound and determined to capture the beauty in the blackest of night. It was a clear, chill morning. Five A.M. Not a breeze stirred. Most households were fast asleep. Few cars passed by.

I brought my trusty Canon Powershot outdoors and shot dozens of photos. Later, when I viewed them on my PC, I saw the ghost. There she was – looking straight at me with wide open eyes. Filmy, transparent, but with a clear face and body. Only two shots revealed her, although I took dozens that morning.


The photos are untouched, straight from the camera card. And yes, I know there’s probably a scientific explanation. Maybe the light from the flash illuminated ice crystals in the air, causing a momentary illusion. But I’d like to ignore that for now and just consider it a visit from my friendly little ghost.

Last night I woke to a tapping sound. Usually it’s Max, on his chair, scratching an itch and thumping up against the armrest. I rose to check, but he lay still, mouth open, breathing evenly.

Could it be my grandson knocking on the door? I looked. No one was there. All was quiet, no little boys or cats were hoping to gain entrance.

I went back to bed. The tapping resumed. Looking out the window, I noticed headlights flashing by, briefly illuminating the darkness. Was that a flash of white? A face? Or simply the reflection on wet streets?

The tapping resumed. Outside my window. On the second floor.

Could it be?

I buried my head beneath the covers and said my prayers.

Savor the Moment: inspiration for writers

by Aaron Paul Lazar
August 31, 2006


It’s the last day of August. Autumn has already stretched tentative tendrils toward us, cooling the evenings and drenching the morning with heavy dew. Today, as I rounded the top of a hill overlooking the valley, my breath caught in my throat. Before me lay the snaking path of the Genesee River, previously hidden from casual view behind fields and woods. Nebulous clouds of fog hovered above, revealing the river route that quietly meanders out of sight most of the year.

My soul exploded with a sensation of splendor best described by the Japanese philosophy, wabi sabi*. This was a wabi sabi moment – a fraction of time linking nature and man, steeped in intense sensual beauty…so full of wonder it transports you to a moment of spiritual enlightenment.

In addition to the vapor-bound river, the countryside was punctuated with farmers’ ponds, exposed via banks of fog steaming overhead. Normally hidden by tall fields of grass or corn, the wisps of moisture called attention to the quiet shallows, home to frogs and watering holes for livestock.

Stunned by the beauty, invigorated beyond belief, I continued on the drive that I’d taken thousands of times before. Heading north on River Road, whispers of “Thank you, God,” floated in my brain. Still and amorphous, the words vibrated in syncopation with stirring grasses.

Once again, nature presented a feast so lovely I choked with emotion. There, to the east, clusters of wheat waved in the sunlight with heavy heads bowed under the weight of soaking dew, their curvatures swan-like as they moved in glistening silence.

The ephemeral nature of this phenomenon is part of the allure. That precise moment of intense immersion, that amazing connection with nature, will never repeat. The suns rays may not hit the grass with exactly the same angle or intensity. The grass will change tomorrow, perhaps drier, taller, or shorn. This transient moment of staggering beauty must be absorbed and cherished.

What path do writers take to experience this? How do they open the channels in the brain that might have been content to listen to Haydn’s 19th Symphony in C Major, but blind to nature’s offerings? (this was playing on the radio when I delighted in these visions today.)

First of all, one must be a “visualist.” That isn’t a real word, but it describes what I mean. A person who is stunned by physical natural beauty (certainly not at the exclusion of aural, tactile, or emotional stimulate) possesses visual aqueducts to the world through his or her eyes. Infinitesimal flashes of stunning images move him beyond belief. These impressions are captured in his mind’s eye, never to be lost, forever to be savored. And often, when this type of writer is creating, they see the “movie in their mind,” pressing from within, allowing readers to feel intimate and involved in a scene.

What type of a reader are you? Do you soak up scenes written by others? Imagine them for days on end? Find choice gems of passages that affect you for life? Do you want your readers to feel this way about your own prose?

It is this deeply felt appreciation for nature, for life, for wonder, that promotes a good writer to potential majesty. Perhaps not to best-seller status – that illusory fate is in the hands of a publishing industry often not tuned into art, but focused solely on profit. Try to ignore that aspect when you are creating your next masterpiece. In time, if the stars are aligned and you achieve this pinnacle of greatness, it may happen.

Open your eyes. Reel it in. Absorb the beauty around you, whether it is the flash of love in an old woman’s eye, or the fragile petal of a tiny orange cinquefoil. Allow yourself to be in that moment, record it in your soul, and play it back for your readers for the ultimate connection.

You can do it. Just try. And send me what you’ve written. I’d love to see it!


* Wabi Sabi for Writers, by Richard Powell, Adams Media.