A to Z: Letters to Dead Writers: Gwendolyn Brooks

This month I'm writing one post for each letter of the alphabet, all on the theme of "Letters to Dead Writers." You can see my theme reveal post here and learn more about the blogging challenge here.

Today's writer is Gwendolyn Brooks
_____________________________________

Dear Ms. Brooks,

I came to your work rather late. I encountered your words in the 1990s, when I was a young poet and English major at Morehead State University, when I was young and naive enough to believe that the Civil Rights Movement was over, having accomplished its goals.

It took a while for me to realize that we'll still be fighting those battles for many years to come.

The first of your poems to catch me was your most famous one: "We Real Cool."

Deceptively simple, but so loaded. Such bravado in the voice and such fatalism. Laughing in the face of pain and hopelessness. Damn. You were so good.

I found so many heart-rending stories in your poetry. "The Mother." "The Vacant Lot." "A Song in the Front Yard." "The Lovers of the Poor."

These were poems that begged to be read aloud, to be held in the mouth, the ears, the throat.

This was all new to me, though I'd been writing poems since I was a child. The "spoken word" tradition hadn't made it to my little town in Kentucky and the English classes there.

 You showed me the power in expressing anger, and the importance of keeping a sense of humor in the face of utter nonsense.

Thank you,
-Samantha

Guest Post: Celebrating a New Release with D.M. Burton

Hello regular readers! I'm handing over my blog today to show you what a writing friend and colleague has been up to. D.M. Burton's latest is a middle grades science fiction adventure! Read on to learn more! -SB

_______________________________________

Her father is gone! Taken by the Queen of Compara’s agents. Mara has to rescue him before the Queen tortures and kills him.

Instead of the kind, loving father she’s always known, he’s become demanding, critical, with impossible expectations—not just as Father but also as the only teacher in their frontier outpost. Mara would rather scoop zircan poop than listen to another boring lecture about governments on Central Planets. Give her a starship engine to take apart or, better yet, fly, and she’s happy. Now, he’s gone.

Never mind, they’ve had a rocky road lately.

Never mind, Father promised she could go off planet to Tech Institute next month when she turns fifteen, where she’ll learn to fly starships.

Never mind, she ran away because she’s furious with him because he reneged on that promise. Father is her only parent. She has to save him.

Along with her best friend, eleven-year-old Jako, and his brother 15-year-old Lukus, Mara sets off to find her father. Her mentor, old spaceport mechanic, seems to know why the Queen captured Father. In fact, he seems to know her father well. But, does he tell her everything? Of course not. He dribbles out info like a mush-eating baby. Worse, he indicates he’ll be leaving them soon. And Lukus can’t wait to get off our planet. Mara’s afraid they will all leave, and she’ll be on her own. Despite her fears, Mara has to rescue her father.

_________________________________________

Excerpt: 

At spaceport, the sound of voices, two male and one female, make me stop. They’re coming from the back side of ‘port and speaking Coalition Standard. Strangers. Nobody in our village uses Standard. After school hours, Father teaches those who want to learn Standard—like Lukus and Wilanda. He makes me stay, too, so whether I want to or not I’ve learned the language of the Central Planets.

The speakers pass within a meter of where I’m making like a statue. They’re so busy talking in low tones about the target and their mission they don’t even look my way. As they head toward the village center, I slip around to the back of the ‘port building. I gasp at what’s parked there. A sleek Gilean Cruiser. What a fine ship. Jako would go ballistic if he knew. I’d seen one before, just once when Magistrate from the Consortium of Mines came after the riot. Basco let me work on it.

Okay, not really. I got to hold his tools as he repaired a small leak in the hydraulics. Father thinks I don’t want to improve my mind. I sure do. I want to learn to all about starships like this. And fly them, too.

I linger for a moment, wanting to reach out and touch the shiny skin of one of the fastest ships in the galaxy. Only the thought that they might have left a guard on board prevents me. Reluctantly, I make for the hills and the safety of the scrub trees. They offer some concealment, especially now that the clouds are breaking up. Looks like no rain tonight. First Moon is setting behind the mountains. Soon, larger Second Moon will rise in the south. When it does, it will flood the farmland and illuminate the foothills.

Heavy footsteps come from the southeast. I crouch under the thickest scrub tree in the copse and hear grumbling. The Dunpus brothers. If they catch me out alone, I’m done for.

“. . . gonna get that Teacher’s kid, teach her a lesson.”

“Yeah, and the little brat, too.”

“It’ll take too long for that little brilium rat to come out of the mine tunnels. The girl is easier. We’ll wait outside her house, and when Teacher leaves . . .” The oldest one’s voice trails off as they stomp away.

I’m clutching the tree so hard I have splinters. Jako and I’d better make sure we see them coming or we’re going to be in deep planetary poop.

After I climb toward a mine that was played out years ago, I crouch behind a rock near the entrance. I don’t want to run into any packs—especially not the two-legged variety, like the Dunpus brothers. Gangs usually roam the village late at night, searching for anything people haven’t locked up or just wreaking havoc. I’m lucky I haven’t run into them. Whoa. Maybe that was why Lukus pulled a knife.

Jako lives in one of the tunnels. He would be good company. With Lukus at the café, Jako will be alone. Finding him is my biggest problem. I could search the tunnels, call his name. But then I might run into a gang roaming the mine. Or, the Dunpus brothers could return.

When I took off from home, I didn’t think about the dangers. I guess I didn’t think, period. Running away is a stupid idea. Coming up here alone is even dumber. It’s one thing to come with Father or to explore with Jako during the day. Everything looks different at night.

I square my shoulders. I can’t depend on anyone except myself now. Father forbid me to go to Pamyria, to the Tech Institute. I’m going anyway. I just have to figure out how.

_______________________________________

About the Author:

The first time D.M. Burton saw Star Wars IV: A New Hope, she was hooked on science fiction and space travel. The Star Trek movies made her want to travel to other planets. Alas, she is still Earth-bound. D.M. and her husband live in Michigan, close to their two children and five grandchildren.

Join D.M. Burton's readers’ group on Facebook.

For more info and excerpts, visit D.M.’s website: http://www.dmburton.com

She writes adult fiction as Diane Burton, where she combines her love of mystery, adventure, science fiction and romance into writing romantic fiction. Besides writing science fiction romance, she writes romantic suspense, and cozy mysteries.

For more info and excerpts from her books, visit Diane’s website: http://www.dianeburton.com

Connect with Diane Burton online.

Blog:  http://dianeburton.blogspot.com/

Twitter:  http://twitter.com/dmburton72

Facebook:  http://facebook.com/dianeburtonauthor

Goodreads: Diane Burton Author

Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/dmburton72/

Sign up for Diane’s new release alert: http://eepurl.com/bdHtYf

GIVEAWAY

A $10 AMAZON e-GIFT CARD

Many chances to win.

a Rafflecopter giveaway OR: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/16cf1daf22/?

A to Z: Letters to Dead Writers: Anne Frank

This month I'm writing one post for each letter of the alphabet, all on the theme of "Letters to Dead Writers." You can see my theme reveal post here and learn more about the blogging challenge here.

Today's writer is Anne Frank
_____________________________________

Dear Anne,

I'm still so sad that you didn't get to grow up. Clearly, you were going to be an amazing person. Your kindness and thoughtfulness shone through your words. I'm so grateful that you wrote them, even while the circumstances make me sick. Your diaries have been so important to helping generations understand the experience of Jewish people during World War II.

It's a hard topic, especially for children. But your personality came through your diaries so strongly. Reading them, a child like me could easily find herself in the pages and imagine what it might have been like to go through what your family did. You could have been us. We could have been you.

You held onto hope in the darkest of circumstances. So many of us could learn from you in that way. We become bitter and ugly when we've faced so much less.  But not you. Hiding, at risk of your life, you still wrote things like:

"I keep my ideals, because in spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart."

"How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world."

"No one has ever become poor by giving."

"The young are not afraid of telling the truth."

I haven't re-read your diaries as an adult. I'm not sure I could take it, now that I'm a mother myself. It's too horrible to contemplate. I miss you. I grieve for you and all our people. I'm grateful for your words.

Love,
Another diarist,
Samantha

A to Z: Letters to Dead Writers: Emily Dickinson

This month I'm writing one post for each letter of the alphabet, all on the theme of "Letters to Dead Writers." You can see my theme reveal post here and learn more about the blogging challenge here.

Today's writer is Emily Dickinson
_____________________________________

Dear Ms. Dickinson,

I was only six when I met you--through your work. My first grade teacher, in an attempt to improve our minds and our penmanship had us copy and illustrate classic poems.

I don't remember for sure which of your poems I copied now. I remember that two of my early favorite were the one on solitude and one that starts "Because I could not stop for Death/He kindly stopped for me." I remember that I thought you were a kid because the picture of you provided in my book showed you looking so very young.

I was already a word nerd by age six, raised on Mother Goose, Dr. Suess, Shel Silverstein, and Amelia Bedelia, with a love of rhyme and wordplay. I was fond of puns and enamored of long, elegant and unusual words that felt nice in my mouth. Our librarian helped me find a collection of your poems and I loved reading them out loud. Something in the rhythm and diction made my heart sing even when the content was beyond my comprehension.

When I talked to Mrs. Alsdorf about how much  I liked your words, she said, "You know, if you want to, you can write poems, too."

I felt like the top of my head had come off. What an idea! So, I did it. I wrote so many poems. My relatives were probably tired of me asking if they wanted to hear my poems, but they were nice about it. A lot of them sounded like you: quatrains with an A/B rhyme scheme and a philosophical bent (as much of one as an elementary student can have).

Your poetry still speaks to me today, forty-some years later. I have several different editions of your poetry and more than one biography. When my mind feels unsettled, I can choose one of your poems at random, and I am instantly soothed, intrigued, and inspired. I'm so glad your words made it out into the world and across so many years into my young hands. It's part of why I write today.

Love,
Your life-long fan,
Samantha

A to Z: Letters to Dead Writers: Daphne du Maurier

This month I'm writing one post for each letter of the alphabet, all on the theme of "Letters to Dead Writers." You can see my theme reveal post here and learn more about the blogging challenge here.

Today's writer is Daphne du Maurier
_____________________________________

Dear Ms. du Maurier,

My mother gave me your books to read, having loved them herself. They were dark and brooding and dreamy all at the same time. The settings were sweeping and emotions ran high. Mom was right. They were perfect for me.

Rebecca is the one I've read the most times since, though I have now read nearly everything you published. I have a hardback copy of Britannia, but I've been putting off reading it, because then I'll be out of your words to enjoy.

Recently, my classics book club read Rebecca, and there were some among our group who thought your book too light to be considered a classic, but I think they underestimate you, as unfortunately, critics long have.

The menace that emanates from the pages is astonishing, considering that the titular threat is dead before the first page of the novel. Rebecca is not a ghost in the traditional sense, but she haunts the halls of Manderley, and dogs the steps of her former husband and his new wife all the same.

Mrs. Danvers is one of the most terrifying villains I've ever read.

You were amazing Ms. du Maurier as were your books. I'm glad to see your work finally getting the recognition it has always deserved.

Love,
Samantha

IWSG: When part-time isn't enough, but you can't afford full time

Welcome to the first Wednesday of the month. You know what that means! It's time to let our insecurities hang out. Yep, it's the Insecure Writer's Support Group blog hop. If you're a writer at any stage of career, I highly recommend this blog hop as a way to connect with other writers for support, sympathy, ideas, and networking.

If you're a reader, it's a great way to peek behind the curtain of a writing life.

This month's wonderful co-hosts are J.H. Moncrieff, Natalie Aguirre, Patsy Collins and Chemist Ken!

Be sure to check out their blogs (and others on this great blog hop) when you're finished here!
_______________________________________

This month, I'm feeling the crunch of time.

Since I began to see my work into print (my debut was in 2015), I've been building a writing life that involves public appearances, judging contests, teaching classes, keeping up a social media presence and--oh yeah--writing!  I love nearly every aspect of it.

These little tastes of fame, like appearing as a guest on a talkshow or speaking as an expert on a panel, when they come are validating and invigorating. Coupled with my innate desire to help (it's in my DNA, and why I'm also a teacher), it's a beautiful thing.

A beautiful and exhausting thing.

I could easily fill all my working hours each day with my writing life. Unfortunately, I can't yet also fill my bank account with full time pay for that work. I don't yet earn minimum wage when you average it out as hourly pay.

I'm not a trust fund baby and my "sugar daddy" husband (whose support I'm very fortunate to have) isn't one either.

We have children, which turns out to be a very expensive hobby, especially when one of them grows up and goes to college.

So, I'm holding down a demanding (and underpaid) day job (teaching middle school in "Right to Work" North Carolina) for half what my husband makes for the same education level and half my experience, while also trying to build up my second career and occasionally play with my dog, talk to my children, or date my husband or something.

I was patient with getting this far, and I'm trying to be patient still, trusting that the balance will skew in my favor given focus and hard work. But it's hard, when it feels like I lose opportunities for my writing life because there are simply not enough hours I can devote to it each day.

So, that's my insecurity this month: trying to hold on to the hope that I can make my passion into a paying proposition that justifies the hours and effort I put in.

I'm starting by being more intentional and regular about submitting my work. After all, no one can read it and decide to pay me for it if I don't submit it!

How do you hold onto your dreams when they're seeming to take too long to come true? I'd love to hear your advice!

A to Z: Letters to Dead Writers: Patricia Clapp

This month I'm writing one post for each letter of the alphabet, all on the theme of "Letters to Dead Writers." You can see my theme reveal post here and learn more about the blogging challenge here.

Today's writer is Patricia Clapp.
_____________________________________

Dear Ms. Clapp,

I read your book Jane-Emily at the perfect impressionable age to set my tastes for life. I think I was about twelve.

Maybe I would have been a fan of gothic romance and stories with evil children in them anyway. Maybe it's just me. I also loved the Addam's Family and Dark Shadows when I was a kid, after all.

But I think you get at least some of the credit for my interest because of the vibrant world and wonderful sense of menace you created in that novel. I've read it twice since, and it holds up for me as an adult. That's not something I can say about everything I loved as a child.

The edition of Jane-Emily I read as a child came compiled with another of your books, The Witches' Children. That one came more from history, taking the reader with you back to Salem, Massachusetts, during the years that made that city a household name. It started a fascination with that case and that section of history that lasted many years in me.

But Emily! I still think of her every time I see a gazing ball in a garden. She was wonderfully malevolent, and because she attacked a child, it was so nearly a tragedy. No one ever believes the children in time! 

So, thank  you Ms. Clapp. You opened up a world of story for me that still bring me joy and cold chills today.

Love,
Samantha