Excellent article on framing your conflict for your characters….something that generally gives me grief! Conflict. Ack!
Source: You Already Know
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A Creative Nonfiction ABC
This should make every writer smile…
Source: A Creative Nonfiction ABC
Do the Doing: An Actor Writes
Source: Do the Doing: An Actor Writes
In Defense of Platform
Source: In Defense of Platform
The Worst Book Openings Ever
Source: The Worst Book Openings Ever
Remembering Aunt Bertha
Dean, Bertha Mae (Larson) by Cheryl Dean
One of the most respected teachers in Torrance Co. passed away February 27, 2016.
Bertha was born November 24, 1914 in Moorhead, Iowa the daughter of Frank and Effie (Montgomery) Larson. Bertha, her parents and brothers Voyle and Merrill settled in the Estancia Valley in 1932. Bertha began her teaching career when she was eighteen in a one-room school house in Gran Quivera, NM with thirty students, grades one through eight. She also taught in East View and Pedernal. Bertha taught fourth and sixth grades in Moriarty, retiring in 1976 after thirty-two years in education. As a dedicated educator she served on the PTA book review and selection committee, participated on a committee for government aid for handicapped children and served as officer in the NM Education Association. She was honored in 1970 as one of the Outstanding Educators of America for her exceptional service and leadership in education, as Teacher of Today three times and represented Moriarty for State Teacher of the Year in 1975. Bertha received her degree in Elementary Education from UNM in 1959. Her students remember her as always there to help and inspire them to be the best they could be.
Bertha was a devoted Christian and always tried to teach good Christian values by her example to those around her. She was one of the founding members of the Moriarty Baptist Church serving in many capacities through the years. Bertha served at the state level for six years on the Board of Directors of the NM Baptist Children’s Home and six years on the NM Baptist Mission Board and was honored by the NM Boys and Girls Ranch for her many years of support. One of her favorite quotes was I have seen yesterday, I love today and I am not afraid of tomorrow.
She enjoyed playing the piano, her flower and vegetable gardens, oil painting, needlepoint and many crafts. Bertha and her husband Bruce traveled in their RV to thirty-five states. In 2003 she took a cruise to Alaska with her daughter Peggy. Her family has many wonderful memories of her “Grandma cookies”, waiting for her Christmas boxes filled with their favorite holiday cookies and candies and special times on the Dean ranch. She will be greatly missed by her family and her many friends.
She is survived by son Dr. Allen Dean and wife Cheryl of Albuquerque, daughters Peggy Dean and Judy Spangler and husband Randall of Dallas, grandchildren Jimmy Thompson, Debbie and Kevin Dean, Larry and Jack Saiz, Rhonda Orr, Brett and Scott Spangler, 8 great grandchildren and 11 great great grandchildren, sister- in- law Zelda Dean and many nieces and nephews. She was preceded in death by her husband of 62 years Bruce, brothers Voyle and Merrill Larson, sisters-in-law Lois and Frances Larson, Ellis (Dean) Neel, brothers-in-law Crile Dean and Bud Neel and grand-daughter Lisa Spangler.
The family would like to thank Montebello Skilled Nursing for their kindness and care these last years. Also thank you to Ambercare for their support to Bertha and her family these last weeks.
In lieu of flowers you may make donations in her memory to The Ranches, 6209 Hendrix Rd, NE, Albuquerque, NM 87110 or NM Baptist Children’s Home, P.O. Box 629, Portales, NM 88130.
Ear Buds
google images:earbuds
There’s a whole world that travels
from computer or smart phone up the thin
cords through the rubber ear buds
where it bursts into life and dance and frolic
that careens around the gray matter of my brain.
I’m wrapped in the swirling strains of Beethoven
and Adele and Liszt and the Beatles and Shostakovich and 60’s Doo Wap,
my imagination freed from the blare of the cooking show
Mother watches on TV, freed to the music,
alive with moods,
images,
words
and letters afloat.
The music pulls me into dank, deep forests of
unrealized goals where I wallow, gasping for air,
until weak armed I reach for lofty peaks
of hope in the strife to survive,
until I’m caught and gathered up
on the wisps of daylight
of tomorrow’s possibles.
They press glimmers
against the drag of the schedule of care
for this ancient house,
this fading generation,
this memoir to a way of life
that seems stilted to great-great grandchildren;
or to anyone with energy and stamina enough
to venture out into the frantic rush
of the city traffic that’s still alive
in its bustle of existence
and that continues
without either Mother or me.
These ear buds keep me tethered
to the expectancy that life won’t always be this.
Be here. Be staid. Be constricted by age and frailty.
The ear bud wires hum,
my ears tingle,
the floating fragments settle
gel and ooze
down my arms
out my fingers on the keyboard
to live again in words on the page.
