Kritique Kritics

It’s almost here.  I find I’m both excited and nervous.  The judges decisions are already made.  I can’t do anything about anything.  I stopped having any control the day I turned in my entries.  Why am I excited or nervous?

Excitement can be explained by being near other writers and meeting publishers, editors and agents.  Do I think I will be the first writer to meet an agent, editor or publisher and the meeting lead to a deal?  Could happen!

I figured out nervous.  I will make a fool of myself and never get that deal.

I’m thinking too much!  Or, my blood isn’t circulating properly because all my toes are crossed!  I can’t cross my fingers because I need them to type.

Tags: Cuesta Writer's Conference by debradavishinkle
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For those of you that know me, you know I love cats. In addition, you probably know that I’ve lost four cats to a mountain lion or a coyote in the last year.

I’ve had a feral colony for over three years and I raised three of my cats from small kittens. The balance were mature cats when I began to tame them.

One little kitten tamed quickly and easily. She was a rare orange tabby with mint green eyes; most orange cats are males. She loved to play. We named her Kinky after her first wood pile excursion ended in a large splinter in her tail. She was never as playful or as trusting after we removed the ¼” x 2” splinter from her broken tail.

My beloved Kinky went missing in late March. When she didn’t come back within a week, I thought a predator had gotten her.  I hoped I was wrong, but the longer she was gone, the sadder I felt. She was the third feral cat killed in seven months and then a fourth went missing on 1 August, my precious Buff Momma.

Today, I heard a cat meow.  So I meowed back. We meowed back and forth several times until I could see the small orange tabby. My male cats would not let the cat come into the yard so I got a can of food and a bowl and followed her meow. I didn’t find “the cat”, I found Kinky—my cat, six months after she went missing.

I never forgot the black spots on her nose and she never forgot her bed.

Buff Boy, Buff Momma, Speckles it’s never too late too come home.  I love you!

Tags: Animals by debradavishinkle
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Another poetry class, today.  I’m enjoying this class a lot.  All the students will get eight poems critiqued by four-five other students and one poem critiqued by the whole class.

That is a chance to have nine poems review by other poets.  I’m going to concentrate on having the other students review the poems I’m planning on putting in THE BROKEN CHAIN.

This is a great opportunity and I can’t wait for other students’  inputs.  I’ve already had several of the poems critiqued by the Friday Night Writer’s Group.

Tags: Poetry by debradavishinkle
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I leave hard cat food out, every night, for my ferals.  A possum and a raccoon family have been helping themselves to a late night snack.  The raccoons are a mother and her two large babies.  She had a third, but it disappeared.

The possum doesn’t come to eat every night, but the raccoons come nightly around 11:00p.m.  I can usually tell they are there because Pumpkin, my old domesticated cat, growls at them.  Last night the raccoons got chased away when I went outside.  They are afraid of me and left the deck when I opened the door.  I checked on Pumpkin and Big Boy, one of my ferals–they were fine.  But, the raccoons were mad–I could hear them growling, loudly.  I didn’t know they could growl.

I was worried about Pumpkin because she is 17-20 years old and doesn’t have any front claws.  She can’t defend herself.  I’ve heard raccoons can be mean, but Pumpkin was trying to get them to leave the food alone.  Pumpkin doesn’t know she is old and defenseless. She can growl with the best of them.

Tags: Animals by debradavishinkle
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I’M FINISHED!  DONE!  All my entries have been sent in and there are still fourteen hours until the deadline!  I am sooooooo proud!

Now, I can get back to the real world.  My house is dirty and my yard needs some gardening work.  The laundry is stacked up, too.  Thank God, Roland has been doing the grocery shopping.   I’m going to make him a wonderful meal this week-end to say thank-you for keeping me feed.

Tags: Cuesta Writer's Conference by debradavishinkle
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Jim Leonard and I start our third semester of poetry tomorrow.  I’m looking forward to a new class and the old instructor.  She always assigns a new book, so we get a different take on poetry instruction each semester.  Hope it is as good as the last two classes.

Tags: Poetry by debradavishinkle
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I’m still working on my contest entries.  I have two done in the creative non-fiction category. I have three more to submit, if I get them finished in time.

Over the week-end I organized all my poems.  I’ve only been writing poetry for two years.  I still have to choose my entries from the seventy-five poems I’ve written and then polish the ones I think I should submit.

Deadline is Friday at 4:00p.m.

Tags: Cuesta Writer's Conference by debradavishinkle
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I finally entered this years contest with one short story and four poems.  It might not sound like a big achievement, but I think it is.  I find it difficult to send my work anywhere.  I’m not exactly sure why.  It probably has something to do with rejection.  If my work isn’t published or I don’t win the contest, I feel like a failure.  A part of me knows that is crazy, but somewhere inside I still feel it.

I think I will put my energy into working on the pieces I’m going to send to the Cuesta Writer’s conference contest, instead of thinking about rejection or failure.

Tags: Cuesta Writer's Conference by debradavishinkle
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SUMMER FLU

Three wonderful summer days

Over hundred and ten outside

No air conditioning inside

Mosquitoes dinning at night through the open doors

Tried sleeping on the bathroom floor

It wasn’t close enough to the porcelain throne

Fell asleep on the commode seat

Woke up heaving

What a surprise

Water wouldn’t stay down

Gargled seven-up

Craved ice-cubes and gave them to the throne

Seven hours of empting my system

Buzzing mosquito just below the retching sound

Last two hours double-ended

Buzzing mosquito going in for another meal

Fourteen hours of diarrhea

Two dead mosquitoes and several bits

Muscles ached everywhere

Hard to feel them over the gut pain and burning throat

Migraine, too

After twenty-one hours there was nothing left to offer the white goddess

Crawled in bed and collapsed until the next day

Tags: Health by debradavishinkle
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