Blue Sky Dreams

All my blue sky dreams
surviving despite the rain
startle me. To think
I almost let them wither
fearing an endless winter.

Photo by Ritam Baishya on Unsplash

Song Choice: Can You Feel a Brand New Day from the Wiz

Liner Notes for This Groove: This song is linked to Poets and Storytellers United's Friday Writings prompt. LOL, I did not in fact follow my own prompt (this song is one of my favorites), but I did feel like celebrating hitting a milestone for a work in progress I had to be goaded into starting. Thank you Magaly, for kicking my butt to the 40,000 word mark. 😜

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Breathless

Some memories

are sharp enough to cut

off my breath,

 

leaving me

gasping

like a fish

who just wants

her ocean

back.

Photo by Joseph Barrientos on Unsplash

Song Choice: Breaking Down by Florence + the Machine

Liner Notes for this Groove: I know I'm getting serious about a new writing project when I start writing poetry in the voices of my characters. Rina has a some serious inner demons to face (and several fae beings are just complicating the situation). But I'm deep into the super ugly rough first draft and enjoying getting to know her world.

This poem is linked to Poets and Storytellers United's Friday Writings prompt, Writing About Writing.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

The Sound of Rain

The sound of the rain
feels like a blanket of words
I thought I forgot
under over-strained sunshine.
Lost stories come home sometimes.

Photo by reza shayestehpour on Unsplash

Song Choice: Here Comes The Rain Again by Eurythmics

Liner Notes for this Groove: This tanka is linked to the Friday Writings post at Poets and Storytellers United.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Today's Story

What story will I tell myself today?
I wonder,
smelling spring green
mixed into November leaf piles.

Will this be the one
about the dancing trees
with the tempo of their sway
commemorated in the bark?

Maybe I’ll think about the lost
autumn wind that shaped the dancers'

trunks and branches
and how it will return
like no time had passed
between meetings.

You sound like a woman who hasn’t given up,
I say, letting my heart take comfort
in the hush-shush song

my feet make when I ramble on
though a field of leaves
only slightly out of my way
on my walk home.

I answer back,
I really haven’t,

at least not this time.

Maybe I really never will, I add,

making another satisfying crunch

in last year's leaves,

while knowing my pen and notebook
are still waiting in the place
I last set them down.

Photo by Konstantin Dyadyun on Unsplash

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Anne with an E soundtrack suite.

Liner Notes for this Groove: This poem was created for Poets and Storytellers United's Friday Writings prompt, Dialog.

Overheard Myself

I overhear my own words
from the past wriggling through
my multi-muffling and insulating layers

and wonder
what happened

to make me forget
I too could take comfort

in their life-giving warmth?

Photo by Brecht Denil on Unsplash

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Where Did the Rock Go? from School of Rock the Musical

Liner Notes for This Groove: This poem was created for Poets and Storytellers United Friday Writings post, So, I Overheard...

This Was (2021)

This was the tower,
all lightning struck and crumbling,
only knowing I had fallen
when the rubble broke bone.

This was the color of sky fragmented
by the prism of a bloody setting sun
that I had mistaken for a new day.

This was the sound of air
rattling in my chest
around the stalagmites
of unfinished conversations.

This was not the end
of the music in words
demanding to be recognized.
This was not the end of the story.

This was when I knew

some words deserved to be freed

to see what they will bloom into next.

This was me
making paper boats out of all my stories,
hoping one was sturdy enough
to carry me to the next shore.

Photo by Joyce McCown on Unsplash

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: The Next Right Thing from Frozen II

Liner Notes for This Groove: This poem is linked to the Friday Writings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United.

Bloody Unusual

My
uncanny heart
is a lair
for numerous bloody unusual
tales.

Photo by Dmitry Vechorko on Unsplash

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Spellbound by Siouxsie and the Banshees

Liner Notes for this Groove: This poem was created for the Weekly Scribblings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United - Unusual, Uncommon, Uncanny.

Also, on the advice of cleverer poets, a last minute word swap was made which makes it much better IMHO... "several" for "numerous".

My Stories

They come to me,
whether I am looking for them or not.
Stories always find me, especially
when I swear I have no time

to entertain strange mythologies.
I don’t have to set out the fancy dishes.
They eat well enough
from the things that nourish me, 

and do me the courtesy
of skimming off the poison
leaving their warmth in its place. 

They know how much I need them,

especially in spaces that press in so tightly

it seems like I barely have enough breath

to say, "Once upon a time." Still,

my stories will always find a way. Deep in my bones
I know the distance between them and me
is only as far as I allow it to be.

Photo by Kourosh Qaffari on Unsplash

Song Choice: Found/ Tonight performed by Lin Manuel Miranda & Ben Platt

This poem was created in response to the prompt at Poems and Storytellers United, Weekly Scribblings #50, Down In My Bones. 

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Take Chances. Make Mistakes. Get Messy.

After getting an encouraging message about my writing back in August, I decided to start work on a new novel. I already had ideas for a few longer stories kicking around in my head and that message was exactly the spark I needed to get started.

Starting isn’t the same as finishing though. And as you might imagine, what with being a citizen of the U.S.A., there are quite a number of things that can keep my mind scattered Early on, I decided perfectionism was not going to be one of them.

You see, writer’s block for me, doesn’t always look like a lack of ideas. It can also look like me staring at a screen, agonizing about the best metaphor or the perfect phrase, for way longer than is healthy. So the only way I was able to continue was by being OK with sucking a bit. 

Nobody churns out a perfect rough draft. After all, it’s meant to be what the name implies—rough. Accepting that it is going to look a bit of a mess is somewhat freeing. I gave myself permission to just run with ideas and my imagination loves it!

Sometimes when I look back at what I’ve produced I have a good giggle (Yuuki saying out of character things like “Say what now?” tend to crack me up). Being willing to be a bit silly also helps me to write quicker. That’s a big bonus when my time is at a premium right now (a lot of my free time is being taken up by helping to get out the vote for the upcoming election). Also it’s a huge morale boost to feel productive.

I’ll hopefully be able to jump deeper into the writing process in November (just in time for NaNoWriMo). The plan is to go hard during that month. If all goes well, I’ll be able to start really polishing it up by January. But first things first… just get those ideas down, knowing a lot of those words are just going to be temporary placeholders. Then I’ll see how things go.

Song Choice: What Do You Say To Taking Chances by Celine Dion

This post was created for the prompt given at Poets and Storytellers United's Weekly Scribblings Post, A Helping String.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

April 2020

On my birthday,

I will take my tea

under the branches

of a dying cherry tree.

It has its scars, like I do,

raw and still exposed.

Ants have worried their way into the crevasses

and I know those wounds will not close.

But I see the buds

of the promised pink

that swirls around me

at the end of every April,

even though many of the branches

will never bear a bloom again.

It is enough that some of its branches will still flower.

It is enough that I still take up my pen.

Close up of a cluster of cherry blossom buds
thinking about blooming. They're stubborn.

Song Choice: Welcome to the Black Parade by My Chemical Romance (I couldn't resist using an AMV version with clips from My Hero Academia)

Liner Notes for This Groove: I pulled a double off today, utilizing both the prompt at Poet's and Storytellers United (Weekly Scribblings #14 Let's Use Pathetic Fallacy, Shall We?) and Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads, Play it Again prompt, A L'Arora.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

There Must Be Some Misunderstanding: Blogging Around with Rommy Week 35

My second biggest fear in writing was being misunderstood (my first biggest was being afraid of it stinking). It’s understandable. I think a lot of us express ourselves artistically to let loose some part of ourselves. So people sometimes see misinterpretation of their art to directly equal a misinterpretation of who they are.

It’s fair to feel let down. On the other hand, when we share art we have to expect people will view it through the lens of who they are. For example, the thought of tea parties gives me the warm fuzzies, but to Virginia Woolf “even a tea party means apprehension, breakage”. People’s first (and sometimes only) responses are usually tied to the emotions and thoughts most familiar to them.

Do I like it when people overlook some of the bleeding heart bits I season my work with? No, not particularly. But do I like it when something I wrote really touches a reader, intentionally or not? Heck yeah!

I’ve written things that are 100% true, but phrased them in a way that could have multiple interpretations--Honey for example, which a lot of people assumed was about an affair. Debra from She Who Seeks got the closest when she asked if it was about Winnie the Pooh.

It was about my husband – and how his formerly out-of-control sweet tooth led to his diabetes. I’ve often said I’d trust the man in a house of ill-repute, unless the house of ill-repute was loaded up with baking supplies, in which case he’d spend the whole night preparing culinary masterpieces so the ladies could carb load for energy.

Photo by Patrick Fore on Unsplash

My husband’s response to the piece was eye-rolling and saying, “At least you didn’t kill me off again.” He insists that some of the poems I’ve written make it sound like he’s dead (to which I respond that the petite morte poems I’ve written have a solid grounding in fact, thanks to him). It just goes to show that even someone close to you can see something wildly different than you intended. 

Being misunderstood isn’t my number two fear. Persistent typos after several rounds of edits take that spot.

This essay is in response to Moonlight Musings Interactive Edition over at Poets United 

Song Choice: I Want Candy by Bow Wow Wow

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Pride, Procrastination, and Zombies: Blogging Around with Rommy Week 9

My fingers slow down

offering an alibi

to a fear-numbed mind,

until I feel the stories

between breaths freeing my hands.

This poem is linked to Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads' Tuesday Platform and Poets United's Poetry Pantry 443.

Liner Notes for This Groove: I’ve learned to expect its arrival. Sooner or later, no matter what project I might be working on, I get invaded by the Attack of the Creeping Doubts. No matter how often I think I bury them, they crawl out of their shallow graves and come in search of my brain. Not so much to eat it, but to nest in it, carve out a nice little space to live their putrid non-lives in.

I think I’ve made a tenuous peace with the fact they aren’t going lay permanently dormant. After 40 (closer to 50) years of this I know there’s a pattern to this that I can’t by-pass. All I can do is recognize the feelings when they come, stop denying they happen, then progress with whatever it is I’m working on.

When Sen Rikyu, the founder of the major tea schools of Japan was asked about the secret to making tea, this was his famous reply:

“Tea is not but this.

First you make the water boil,

Then infuse the tea.

Then you drink it properly.

That is all you need to know.”

The Zombies of Creeping Doubt are going to troop in and out of my life no matter what I do. But no matter where they are at the moment, I know what it means to be a writer. Pick up your implement of choice and start writing. That’s all there is to it.

Don't Hide Your Imperfections, Find Beauty in the Innocence of Them

by Magic Love Crow

Find more of her art on her blog and Etsy shop.

So dear Groovers, have you ever pushed forward with something when you were a little frightened? Tell me about it in the comments or just talk to me about what’s new in your world. My cyber home is open for conversation. As always, if you’d like to continue the conversation in your own cyber home, bring that up in your comments and hit me with a link.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: ShakeIt Out by Florence and the Machine

The Quest for Gronk: Blogging Around with Rommy, week 8

Love’s work

sometimes requires adventures

you’d never dare take on your own.

This poem is linked to Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads' Tuesday Platform and Poets United's Poetry Pantry 442.

Liner Notes for this Groove:

For anyone new to this blog, I ought to point out that there is high geekery ahead. You have been warned.

My husband and I cemented our college relationship with activities like dressing up in medieval garb and playing Dungeons and Dragons together. He was among the first DMs I had (that’s Dungeon Master to you non-geeks. Also that title has nothing to do with any sort of shades of gray, so get your mind out of the gutters🤣). A DM’s job is to create an overarching story/plot that acts as a framework for players to interact with. Being a DM not only requires a lot of creativity (to set up the details of the adventures – what places might they visit, what is the main situation the players have to deal with, who will they interact with in that situation and what are their motivations, etc.) but it also requires patience. Because as meticulously as they might set up their world, there’s always one giant variable – the players.

So on one of our recent morning walks my husband told me about his latest gaming craziness. It seems one of the player characters made some exceptionally terrible decisions and ended up in a hell dimension. My husband expected the rest of his party (the other people playing that particular game) to heroically sally forth and rescue their poor friend. The party took a vote and decided on, “Nah, we have better things to do.”

As you might imagine, the player trapped in the hell dimension was miffed at the lack of concern. He went onto a gaming website, describing his plight and got several people saying the plot sounded interesting enough that they’d be willing to save him if they were playing the game. My husband, who really did feel bad for the player as it was one of his oldest friends, also commented and said he’d be willing to run a side adventure if people we serious about saving the guy.

He got 40 responses (DM’s usually run 3-5 people per game. 10 is a lot). The end up is my social media hating husband now is in a Facebook group trying to herd 40 people he’s never met before through a system that is random enough when only a tenth of that amount plays. Well, 40 plus his one goofball friend who should have not messed with mystical items that are known for randomly dealing out catastrophic problems.

What keeps me from laughing too hard at my poor beloved’s plight is that I’ve often bit off more than I can chew with some of my interests. For instance, when my writing partner and I were poking sharp sticks at my latest writing idea, she pointed out that I will need to do no small amount of research to get things right. “Not a problem,” I told her. I love reading up on new topics. Well, my “To Read for Research” list is beginning to resemble starter hoard for a young dragon.

I foresee several afternoons with my husband and I sitting side by side with our laptops, healthy snacks placed between us (we’re old, we can’t pound back chips and soda like college kids anymore), sharing some of the highlights of what we’re currently working on and griping about these damn characters who have minds of their own. Fortunately for both us, we are both fond enough of our interests that we can handle it when they take us on odd tangents. James Boswell once wrote, “I am so fond of tea that I could write a whole dissertation on its virtues.” If he can manage a dissertation, I can do some reading on high renaissance weaponry and do a deep dive into steampunk. We’ll see how the husband manages a 40 person rescue crew. 

So dear Groovers, has what seemed like a simple decision ever led you to bite off more than you could (or should) chew? Or are any of you table top gamers out there? Tell me about a time the game went in a completely crazy direction. Or just talk to me about what’s new in your world. The comments section is open for conversation. As always, if you have a cyber home you want to continue the conversation in, talk to me about it in the comments and hit me with a link.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Roll aD6 and The Dungeon Master’s Lament

Write Like a Lazy Corgi, Blogging Around with Rommy Week 6

I won’t waste my time

pushing a river uphill

when I can sail it.

This poem is linked up to Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads’ Tuesday Platform and Poets United's Poetry Pantry 441.

Liner Notes for this Groove:

Sometimes I am sure that my corgi, Kit, thinks that his leash is so I don’t get lost following him around. I thought my first corgi, Faye, was stubborn, but Kit is an exemplar of the stubbornness corgis are legendary for. You see corgis can be prone to chubbiness without enough exercise. This was never a problem for Faye, who was happy to race around her usual path as fast as her stumpy legs could carry her. Kit however prefers to meander instead of race, picking out paths for reasons only known to himself. He will not walk if it is too late and he has already settled himself into one of his dog beds for the evening (he has one on each floor of the house). He loathes walking when it gets above 80, but adores snow and the cold.

So recently, I attempted to walk him when the snow from the most recent storm had mostly melted. Predictably, Kit was mopey, even though there was a chill in the air. At one point on the walk he found a patch of snow large enough to accommodate a pudgy corgi and refused to move.

Now I know this pattern. I could beg. I could tug on his leash. If I had more upper body strength I could even pick him up and move him back to the sidewalk or grass. He’d only go back to the snow pile, or find another one like it, and refuse to move until he had felt he had sufficiently indulged in it. I’d only prolong the walk if I tried rushing him before he was ready. So I gave him what he wanted. I won’t say he cheerfully gave up his beloved patch of snow, but when enough time passed (and I wasn’t tugging the leash), he got up and trotted home.

I have to admit, I’m not too dissimilar to my dog when it comes to writing sometimes. I finally had an idea for a story. I (thought I) was ready to start and outline. And I stared at my screen…

And stared…

And stared…

And played suduko…

And scrolled through Facebook…

And stared…

I discussed the issue with my writing buddy who suggested I just try word vomiting what I wanted to do with this new story. Don’t commit to anything as formal as an outline or a summary. Just play with throwing some sentences around, put it aside for a few days and revisit it.

Now this I liked! With no pressure to produce a perfect outline, or even a coherent plot I just drank some tea and jotted down ideas that started off a little all over the place, but ended up looking like a chapter by chapter break down. I went over it with my writing buddy and we poked the thing with sticks to see what wiggled with potential life and what lay there. It was now much easier to pull together an outline and a couple of character profiles from what I had.

In the book I am reading now, Hideyoshi and Rikyu by Nogami Yaeko, there is a passage about the way Oda Nobunaga would reward his warriors. “When Nobunaga was in power the warriors who served him had wanted to receive rare and prestigious tea utensils that had been imported from China as a reward for their brilliant achievements in war…The warriors felt deep chagrin if Nobunaga gave them a castle instead.” Sometimes to achieve things, you gotta go with what motivates you. Kit will get a full walk in if I let him have his break time in a pile of snow. And I can start a new novel if I let myself play with ideas and fall in love with writing characters first. Otherwise, I’ll end up wasting my time scrolling through social media (ooh… corgi video!)

 So dear Groovers, have you ever relied on some off-beat ways to get you more motivated to tackle a big task? Tell me all about it in the comments section, or just catch me up on what's doing with you this week. And as always if you have a cyberhome where you'd like to take the conversation a little deeper, talk to me about it in the comments and add your link there.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: My Life by Billy Joel

Touching a Daydream: Blogging Around With Rommy, Week 3

Everything

started off

as someone’s fancy

that refused to stay

insubstantial.

This poem is linked to Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads' Tuesday Platform and Poets United Poetry Platform 438.

The Liner Notes for This Groove:

So I had a phone call with a friend recently…

Me: Guuuuuuuurl…

Her: It arrived didn’t it?

Me: Yep, in a plain non-descript brown packaging, but it’s here.

Her: Ooooooh… have you opened it?

Me: I’m doing that now.

*tearing of paper ensues*

Me: Oh my, this is…

Her: Tell me everything.

Me: I never thought I’d be bold enough to hold something like this in my hands. Just, wow.

Her: I’ll bet you’re caressing it right now, aren’t you?

Me: Caressing. Fondling. Sniffing. It looks damn good on my bedspread. I think after I spend a little time with it, I’m going to leave it here for my husband to find. I think he’s even more excited about it than I am.

Her: It’s great he’s so supportive.

Me: Mmm-hmm. We are both going to have a very good time with this.

Just chilling, drinking some deep red tea, 

and reading my book with my foxy new manicure.

There’s something about holding something that just started out as a few random ideas. If as Ann Patchett said “Writing is a job, a talent, but it's also the place to go in your head. It is the imaginary friend you drink your tea with in the afternoon” getting to hold the finished product is like seeing your imaginary friend walking around in broad daylight.

Did you ever get a chance to hold something that you only imagined before? If you have a cyberhome, elaborate on how that felt and drop the link in the comments. Or feel free to start up some conversation on what’s going on in your world.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: AMillion Dreams covered by Pink

Sovereign

A woman is like a tea bag – you can’t tell how strong she is until you put her in hot water.

-Eleanor Roosevelt

Sovereignty lies

in her emerald eyes

sharpened

by seeing in the darkness.

Notes from the Real World: I could not believe my good luck when artist Michelle Kennedy (known in the blogosphere as Sunshine Shelle) agreed to do the artwork for my cover. Her artwork already graces the banner of this blog, and I knew she was the perfect person to capture what I was hoping for in the cover of this book. Shelle's style naturally combines the sweetness and darkness I hope comes across in most of my stories.

Once I decided I wanted Rowena (the main character of "What's A Little Blood to a Mother's Heart?") to be the cover girl, I sent Shelle a copy of the story and gave her some general guidelines. I was blown away by the end product, especially with the tiny details she came up with. The little mementos on the shelf behind her - she totally captured Rowena's love for the natural world with the small plants in water amid different depictions of animals. The lace table cloth (and wow - the brushwork on that) adds to the feeling of gentleness and old-fashioned comfort. But it's the expression on Rowena's face that Shelle captured that impressed me the most... sweet, but somewhat unsettling. And what is that tiny bottle tucked away among all her other things?

Shelle's painting is a story unto itself, surpassing my already high expectations. Go on and head to her Instagram and approach some of her other marvelously expressive pieces  as if they might whisper their secrets to you, so long as you attend patiently to them.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Once Upon a Dream covered by Lana Del Rey 

Peace in a Bowl

When you serve tea to your guests, you should simply serve tea from your heart, and think about nothing more.

-Poem 93 of Sen Rikyu

I’ve spent years learning

how to set aside my worries at the teahouse door,

and lose myself

in the sound of pouring water

and the scent of matcha rising from the bowl.

Some days that isn’t easy.

The world likes to devour souls by bits

and I can’t drink enough tea

to wash the bitter taste from my mouth.

It is then I remember

tea bowls were meant for sharing.

The art of tea cannot be measured

by the strokes of my whisk

or the thickness in the folds of my cloth.

But it can be fairly gauged

by the smile on my guest’s face.

The peace that eluded me

roots in them, multiplies,

and finally alights in me.

When we leave the teahouse

we both carry more than enough

peace to share, where before there was turmoil.

Song Choice: I’d Like to Teach the World to Sing by the Seekers. 

This poem is linked up to Poets United, Midweek Motif and dVerse, OLN 234.

Notes from the Real World (if you’re just here for the poetry, feel free to skip this part, though I expect MissWicked ought to read it, since she’s the one who challenged me to do it): This poem was inspired by one of three scrolls that were shared by my tea school last year. They were meant to inspire peace in the hearts of people who saw them. My fellow students and I were tasked with serving tea while visitors came to admire the scroll. I admit my mood was cynical before I walked in the door (because hey, 2017 gave people a lot to be cynical about), but as the day progressed, I found myself becoming more peaceful with each bowl of tea I made, and living up to the words on the scroll—providing a small seed of peace for everyone who walked through Shofuso’s doors, and seeing folks leave carrying a bit of that peaceful spirit that (hopefully) they could share with others.

Now of course, 2017 doesn’t hold a monopoly on my moods of cynicism and doubt. Although I’m just coming out of the experience of finishing and publishing a short story collection, a giant cloud with the words “What’s next?” seems to have followed me around from the moment I clicked the button to officially release the book out into the world. The good news is I have lots of ideas. The bad news is that they all are spinning around me like a cyclone of bright shiny things I can reach towards but can’t quite grab. I’m overwhelmed.

The idea of achieving world peace is exponentially more overwhelming, but in that afternoon at Shofuso, I know that I along with my fellow tea students created a haven where peace could quietly slip into someone’s heart, and that peace could spread to people they interacted with later. If such a simple act can do that, maybe it’s not too far-fetched of an idea to take a moment or two to give myself the gift of tea, savor it, and see what comes from that. It’s worth a shot.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Magaly's Challenge: A Reply

So Miss Wicked, Magaly Guerrero, challenged me to step up my writing game. Of course, I shall accept. (Because, yay – games!)

But because I can never leave well enough alone, I’d like to raise the stakes a smidgen. So, dear friend, I shall add an extra challenge for myself. Every post I make for this challenge shall incorporate a quote about tea. Don’t fret, I’m not cruel enough to make a committed coffee drinker join my mad tea party. But, I challenge you to work a quote into your posts also… a Terry Pratchett quote to be exact.

So what say you, Miss Wicked? Care to play by those rules? (Anyone else is free to join in of course, because, yay – company!)

Song Choice: The Devil Went Down to Georgia, Muppet show version 

Don't Stop Believing

One of the first things my son did when he came home from college for Thanksgiving break (besides hitting up the nearest Wawa—he clearly is a Philadelphia area kid) was get into a discussion with my daughter about some of the books he was reading for his Children’s Lit class. Besides really enjoying the fact that the two of them were communicating as young adults (which was a pleasant change from the way they interacted when they were in grade school/middle school), I noticed that, like their mom, neither one of them seemed in any hurry to grow out of loving fantastical, fairy-tale-like stories.

It made me think of an article I had just read recently, TheEnduring Allure of Fairy Tales. There are quite a few of us who will never be too old for “Once upon a time” tales, especially when some of the themes in those stories still feel like they resonate with who we are today. It was my love for these old stories that got me writing in the first place and ultimately led to me writing, The Trouble with Wanting, and Other Not-Quite Faerie Tales. I discussed some of that with Sherry at Poets United when I was featured on Blog of the Week. Fairy tales can inspire not just children to be heroic, but it can remind adults that they still have that potential to be their own hero whenever they need to be.

1. I talked a bit about nice not being the same as kind in “What’s a Little Blood to a Mother’s Heart?” over at Magaly’s blog.

2. At Stacy’s blog, I discussed how a lot of us can feel like we are Journeying into the Dark to Find the Light when we strike off on unknown paths like a hero in a fairy tale.

3. Gina at Daydream Believer understood that sometimes Scary Faeries Make Helpful Friends if we need to take bits of our lives and reshape them/ look at them in a different way to find the magic meant for us.

4. And at Debra’s I talk about Writing “Her Story”, where the protagonist goes on a journey and realizes she doesn’t have to be the side character in her own story.

If you hop over to Magaly’s, Stacy’s, Gina’s or Debra’s, you’ll see I’m running an e-book giveaway on each of their blogs. I’m also running a separate small giveaway on mine, which you can enter by following this link. All giveaways close on midnight, November 25^th, with winners announced on the 26^th. I’ll also be posting a bigger giveaway at that time. Thanks for sticking by me on this tour.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

The Trouble with Wanting, and Other Not-Quite Faerie Tales is available at Amazon and Barnes& Noble.

Song Choice: Don’t Stop Believing byJourney

Screenshot from the NYT article,
The Enduring Allure of Fairy Tales

The Pride Of Mount Vernon

"Let me tell you what I wish I knew, when I was young and dreamed of glory…"

-                                                                                            Washington to Hamilton from the play Hamilton

The Pride of Mount Vernon handed me his quill.

Pride. I know too much about pride –

or maybe not enough. Would I chase glory

if I was as sure of myself as I appear?

He tells me it’s history

watching to see how I will prove myself.

All I can feel are the eyes

of those who expect me to fail.

I imagine their faces

when I prove them wrong.

I don’t have to tell him that.

He knows. Says he was the same way once.

This seasoned veteran -  

it’s hard to imagine him

as unskilled at his craft,

impatient to be better.

He is all patience now.

Analyzing maps and correspondence,

pointing out the strength of our resources,

and how to shore up what I have missed.

The Pride of Mount Vernon hands me his quill.

I follow his example,

and hammer out the rough edges,

seasoning the ink 

with everything that flows in me.

Song Choice: History Has It's Eyes On You from Hamilton

This poem is linked up to Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads, Tuesday Platform. Following the prompt I was inspired by the phrase, "The Pride of Mount Vernon" from the play Hamilton (the phrase actually appears in a different song, Right Hand Man). I always loved the strong bond of friendship and mentorship between George Washington and Alexander Hamilton depicted in the play. It would have been all too easy for the elder Washington to be dismissive of young Hamilton, but he helped Hamilton hone the best part of himself, to the benefit of the country.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks