Pam Webb

a writer's journey as a reader

Archive for the tag “trees”

Christmas Green


Mom called: “Come over and get your Christmas present. It’s green,” adding a bemused half laugh to her statement.

I laughed as well. She always gives us a check so we can buy want we want.

Apparently this year green took on a new meaning. It was quite literal.

A Christmas Tree-t

Mom decided the little palm tree plant that had fit so perfectly in the corner of her living room had outgrown its decorative touch.

What does one do with a largish palm tree plant that is unexpectedly gifted? Decorate it for Christmas, of course.

If we still have it by Easter we will be ready for Palm Sunday.

A Bit About (perceived) Failure


 I sometimes get frustrated about the process of becoming published. Or more to the point the lack of actual progress.

I thought when I got my first story published by Highlights, which earned me their Author of the Month award, and having same story selected as the title-lead for a Boyds Mill Press anthology, I was well on the way. Twenty-five years later I am still waiting for that stand-alone published book, that sought after accomplishment to become a reality. 

When I get yet another rejection notice or (worse) no notice at all, I wonder if that  indelible moment of “Kirkus reviewed it, Amazon carries it, found it at Barnes and Nobles moment” will actually happen. It’s not fame so much as leaving a noticable contribution. *sigh* It’s taking ever so long, and I might be collecting social security before I ever start collecting any royalty checks.

I take solace in the fact that Laura Wilder didn’t start publishing until she was past fifty. That helps. Coming across this poem that deals with failure, helps even more:

August in Waterton, Alberta
by Bill Holm

Above me, wind does its best

to blow leaves off

the aspen tree a month too soon.

No use wind. All you succeed

in doing is making music, the noise

of failure growing beautiful.

 

a typewriter at the Smithsonian. American History. Museum–it reminds to look and think about the writing process

 
So–failure, the winds of defeat, no longer  blow as noisily, the rattling of branches mocking my defeat, nay instead the sound is merely the tapping  of the conductor’s baton warming the orchestra’s performance.

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