Poppy Day aka Memoiral Day

CA Poppy

I feel fortunate to have clear memories of what Memorial Day signifies. When I was a kid growing up in North Dakota, this was a day where everyone I knew actually did commemorate the fallen American soldiers, who had died for our country as far back as the Civil War. Flowers were placed on the graves and memorials of these brave men and women to honor the fact that they made the ultimate sacrifice. A huge amount of patriotism was displayed as flags waved in most every yard and place of business, our national anthem – The Star Spangled Banner – boomed from horn and drum across our great land, and the smoke from charred hot dogs (gotta love ‘em) blanketed picnic grounds the country over. Thousands and thousands of bright red, paper poppies were sold all over the United States in support of World War II Veterans. These crinkly poppies went for a 5¢ piece, and were worn with pride by all Americans. To us kids, they were like badges of honor. Perhaps this is another reason why the

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Fuzzy Line between Fact & Fiction: Part Two of Three

... Back to the blurred line between fiction and nonfiction. I enjoyed the comments I received from searchers for truth after posting the first part of this short series. The following are a few extracted comments that hit home:  I received a Goggle alert announcing my death The reality check has bounced I think humanity has for the most part lost the ability to confront the truth and instead seek escapism in any form Without truth, we’re crossing swaying bridges with no railings Buyer beware has grown into listener beware Tawdry “reality” that surrounds us today becomes the worst sort of lie (This is a three-part series; for context, read part one, click here.) First of all, I love literary fiction and read it voraciously – more than I read literary nonfiction, actually. I’m wondering if fiction is perhaps one of the most honest forms of writing after all. Fiction writers don’t pretend to tell the truth, but I believe their writing is based on seeking

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Fiction vs. Nonfiction Today, Part One

Is fiction the 21st Century’s nonfiction? From many points of reference, it is. We are inundated with the gyrations and hubris of movie stars, politicians, government, sports figures, singers, authors, You Tubers, bites & bits from social networkers, and staged stunts on “reality” shows, most of which/whom are anything but legitimate or authentic. This Stuff, lacking in veracity, is pitched to us as nonfiction, and it has moved so far over-the-top that it has become difficult to separate fiction from nonfiction, illusion from truth, and fabrication from fact. The media serves up the lies, air-brushed & siliconed lovelies, cover-ups, and pathetic excuses and insincere apologies for bad behavior, while a whorl of adoring fans and supporters suck up this fiction as truth. I wonder if these actions are because some of them don’t know any better, or is it that they just don’t give a flying fig?  We belly-up to bunk in one form or another on a daily basis, and, whether

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Write a TechniColor Memoir: Labyrinth Write Through #9

This time, while walking the memoir labyrinth, deliberately open your mind to the colors that appear when using your senses. Spend time thinking about how color affects each of your five senses, one at a time. And then expand your thoughts into combining, for example, taste with smell or sight with touch, which will give you the opportunity to add appealing sensory layers to your writing in imaginative ways. This exercise will show you that what you need to do to make a short, true tale come alive is well within your grasp. It’s yours for the taking, if you’ll simply write down what you have visualized. Mom, Dad, Uncle Joe, Grandmother Sophia – they are or were colorful people, true? When you think of them, you think of them in color, so now write about them in color. To make your story come alive, use your senses in the context of the color of their character and their actions. Colors trip sensory responses in all of us, and sensory responses are tied to every hue imaginable.

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Salacious Spring – Mother Nature’s Daughter

I know you’re budding out, pert and peppy in all your glory, Spring. I feel you beckon me with your flirtatious ways, flowing sap and saucy spirit, so that I can’t resist your charms, but that only means trouble is looming on the horizon. Our love affair is fraught with predictable problems, and I should know better than to trust you after all these years. With you, Spring, I get bees that sting, sunburn, in spite of the block, and broken fingernails from poking around in your fertile bed. But that’s not the half of it. You make me hot – my temperature rises with hope held high for planting. Were it not for you, I wouldn’t envision brilliant flowers and juicy tomatoes that taste like tomatoes making their grand entrance all around after teasing them with gentle love and holy water. But I know my dreams will be dashed by loving you. You make me love you, and then you invite your ill-mannered friends to our garden party and leave me broken hearted, empty. After each fruitful

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