Thank you, Cleary!

Well, PageJammers held last night's meeting at Cleary University in Howell, and we loved it! Our writing group felt at home within the walls of academe. We are looking forward to our March meeting and again meeting at Cleary!

The group discussed the PageJammers website (still under construction) and the collection and sale of books to pay for said site. To date, two group members have offered to pay for one month of web hosting and one member has paid for two months. Plus, we have lots of books! Thank you so much to everyone who has helped this part of our writing community come together.

The writing exercise assigned last night is to tell a story about why the chicken crossed the road. And Judy, Justin and I laughed pretty hard when we got your picture story on the topic!!! Anyway, that's all for now. Get busy writing!

Meeting Anne

Author Anne Easter Smith is a very neat lady indeed. I had the honor of attending a reading of hers at the grand opening of a Borders in Ann Arbor last night. What a treat! I went with one of my writing groups, South Lyon Writers, and thanks to Darci Hannah, we all got to go to dinner with Anne after her reading. I highly recommend you google her name and then buy her books! Start with A Rose for the Crown. Enjoy!

Magic Carpet Ride update

Okay, okay. I really need to stop rewriting my stuff and move on to some new pieces, but I can't help myself when it comes to this story. So, here's the updated version:

Magic Carpet Ride
By Kim Hytinen

Like woven tapestry, black with shimmering dots, the night sky spread for an eternity above our heads. We sat quietly, together yet without touch, upon the quilt we had stretched over dew-kissed grass, and I knew this was an evening I would cherish forever. My daughter was turning four, but that was of no interest to her. If abstract concepts, such as age and beauty, were important to Lisa, she didn't let on. Lisa’s autistic.

She loved the moon. She loved it whether it was round, half, or just a slice in the sky. As if anticipating the arrival of a trusted friend, she would point and announce its presence. I think it comforted her to know it was always right where she expected it to be. When it was cloudy, she would ask, “Moon?” I would tell her it already went night-night, and she was okay with that. Our days were hectic, sometimes even frantic. I rarely slowed down to watch and enjoy the beauty of my daughter. But when I did, I found her complexity bewildering. She seemed unaware of my presence, but I knew she wanted me there by her side. “Mama” was her first word. She used it for everything: milk, up, hungry, daddy and no.

The moon fascinated Lisa much the way she intrigued me, so the nighttime sky was perfect as her birthday gift. In the dark I listened to nature—crickets, an owl—and wondered if she heard them too. I moved closer, trying to encircle her with my arms. She whined and resisted, twisted her body away and arched her back. The familiarity of her rejection made it sting no less. I sang to her, lullabies in a whispered voice. She softened into me, allowed my caresses on her strawberry-scented head. We swayed side-to-side. My mind was whisked away, taken back to when she was an infant who fit in my arms so comfortably. Even then, she would stretch her legs until they dangled freely from my touch.

I held my Lisa-bear and told her the story of two girls who rode a magic carpet through the heavens while everyone else slept. They went from star to star, collecting amazing, happy glitter to sprinkle over the earth. They were on a mission to spread love and joy. The birthday girl smiled; words unspoken but meant to be heard were conveyed by the magic of the moment. Mother and child were again reunited in the womb of night.

With my arms as her armor and my voice as her companion, Lisa appeared fearless. She was four and full of quiet wonder. By day, she would retreat to the security of her own world, a seclusive place that a visitor, if persistent, would only occasionally be allowed a glance. When we traded our magic carpet for the comfort of our own beds that night, I wished Lisa a happy birthday and thanked her, for I was the one who had received the gift.

We've found a home!

Our coffee house closed. It was kinda noisy there anyway for a writing group. Last month we met in the dining area of a local grocery store, but things are looking up! PageJammers has found a new home at a local college. Awesome! Here's keeping my fingers crossed that this will be a great fit for our group...

A writer's work is never done...

If I knew better, I'd probably turn and run from the keyboard just about now. But I have convinced myself that no readers will find their way to my blog, therefore I can let down my guard and post away. I am a writer. Yep, I said it. Mostly I rewrite and rewrite what I've already written, but it does keep me busy. Recently I discovered my favored genre; it's flash fiction. I tend to be very wordy (I'm sure you've noticed), so I took a challenge to carve away at some of my favorite pieces until they were around 500 words each. There are two pieces I love to share. The first one is about my daughter and I will post it below this entry. The second one I will save for another day. Enjoy!

Magic Carpet Ride
By Kim Hytinen

Like woven tapestry, black with shimmering dots, the night sky spread for an eternity above our heads. We sat quietly, together yet without touch, upon the quilt we had stretched over dew-kissed grass, and I knew this was an evening I would cherish forever. My daughter was turning four, but that was of no interest to her. If abstract concepts, such as age and beauty, were important to Lisa, she didn't let on. Lisa’s autistic.

She loved the moon. She loved it whether it was round, half, or just a slice in the sky. As if anticipating the arrival of a trusted friend, she would point and announce its presence. I think it comforted her to know it was always right where she expected it to be. When it was cloudy, she would ask, “Moon?” I would tell her it already went night-night, and she was okay with that.

I gave her the moon and the sparkly nighttime sky for her fourth birthday. With hectic days, I rarely slowed down enough to watch and enjoy the beauty of my daughter. But when I did, I found her complexity bewildering. She seemed unaware of my presence, but I knew she wanted me there by her side. “Mama” was her first word. She used it for everything: milk, up, hungry, daddy and no.

As we sat alone in our yard, I listened to nature—crickets, an owl—and wondered if she heard them too. I moved closer, trying to encircle her with my arms. She whined and resisted, twisted her body away and arched her back. The familiarity of her rejection made it sting no less. I sang to her, lullabies in a whispered voice. She softened into me, allowed my caresses on her strawberry-scented head. We swayed side-to-side. My mind was whisked away, taken back to when she was an infant who fit in my arms so comfortably. Even then, she would stretch her legs until they dangled freely from my touch.

I held my Lisa-bear and told her the story of two girls who rode a magic carpet through the midnight sky while everyone else slept. They went from star to star, collecting amazing, healing glitter to sprinkle over the earth. The birthday girl smiled. Words unspoken but meant to be heard were conveyed by the magic of the moment. Mother and child were again reunited in the womb of night.

With my arms as her armor and my voice as her companion, Lisa appeared fearless. She was four and full of quiet wonder. By day, she would retreat to the security of her own seclusive world. A world that a visitor, if persistent, would only occasionally be allowed a glance. When we traded our magic carpet for the comfort of our own beds that night, I wished Lisa a happy birthday and thanked her. For I was the one who had received the gift.