Etc. (No Math)

Today I attended the 3rd annual BookMarks Book Festival in town. Lots of interesting things. Orson Scott Card was the keynote speaker. Nice!

I attended several workshops, taking 2 1/2 pages of notes of golden wisdom by a publishing house owner.

One workshop was "Writing to Art Ekphrasis" which we all know (har) is exemplified by "Ode To a Grecian Urn." So we did a little writing exercise. I chose a photocopy of Van Gogh's "Starry Night" with its swirls of sky and the village in the valley in the foreground and came up with a 10-minute story. Oh, do indulge me.

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"Pastor, Louise was not supposed to do the flowers this past Sunday." My sheep, they tear at me. How much must I give?

So, I slipped out of the parsonage while the village was asleep, climbing the hill above the green valley. A storm was coming, probably the next morning. I sat quietly beside the fir tree arrowing into the sky like a dark, dark green flame. There was a mist. The stars seemed to swirl randomly, blanketed by the mist. Bright light pierced through the mist - darkness with swirls of light.

Oh! This is God in action, answering my unvoiced prayer. Thanks be to God, a starry night.
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Another workshop was "Overcoming Writer's Block." As I pointed out to the speaker, only one other person was writing in eraser and pencil. The rest were using pen. That would block me instantly. Anyway, we were to pick a word from a long list and write 10 minutes. I picked "closet." So indulge me!

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Nothing more can fit into the closet. Keep? Throw away? Maybe? Boxes, trash bags, markers. So she starts.

The first dress on the rod brings back the memory of candlelight dinners and cleaning baby cheeks of her grown daughter. Keep the dress. The next item is a pair of bellbottoms long outgrown, worn to concerts, hikes, and frizbie games. Keep the pants. Next is a skirt worn years ago to the first day of teaching. Keep the skirt. Shut the closet door.
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There was a speaker talking about writing children's books. I stayed because I didn't want to give up my chair, waiting for the publisher to speak. The children's book writer had written a rhyming book geared to first graders about....ta da... math. So I asked questions about audience; got her business card with email address.

Now I have lots to think about.