A TIME FOR CARTWHEELS ???

     I just had a conversation with a writer in my critique group regarding our reactions when we received contracts for our debut novels. Apparently, we had under-reacted.

     Culled from her conversations with yet other published writers, we were supposed to do cartwheels, jump up and down or scream--all de rigueur for the newly initiated.

     While cartwheels may be suitable for writers under the age of 30, for us "seniors," even jumping up and down may be a bit too much on the physical side. That leaves screaming as our last option.

     My initial reaction, a scream, was more the type you see in cartoons, "EEEK!" Then I lapsed into the surreal realization  this had really happened to me.--sans cartwheels.

IN THE SHADOW OF VAN GOGH

          Did I ever tell you I once stood next to Vincent van Gogh when I visited France? At least I think I did. Maybe not. Perhaps it was just his ghost. Nevertheless, I found the image so compelling I had to include it in my novel, "MARCEL'S GIFT.".
         
            While sightseeing in the sunny town of Arles in the south of France (where van Gogh painted and spent much of his miserable life) I came to a clearing between a stand of chestnut trees where an arthritic, old artist-- bent over his canvas and easel--painted the colorful, foral valley beyond.
        
          He wore a light blue shirt under a dark blue or black ( I couldn't tell which) moth ravaged jacket. His navy blue pants were paint spattered and he wore a tattered straw hat that had several broken straws poking through the edge of its rim leaving jagged shadow-lines on his face.
         
          When he saw me approaching, he smiled an almost toothless, yellowed, tobacco stained smile, but the vibrancy of his clear, grey-blue eyes diverted my attention from the one thing that betrayed his age--his weather beaten, leathery face. I imagined he must have been a seaman in his earlier years. Who knows?
        
         I held up my camera and with charade motions indicated I wanted to take a photo. He stood to pose next to his oil painting. To please him I snapped one picture. Then, I motioned with my hand for him to sit and continue his painting. I took more photos when he was fully absorbed in his work and checked the images in my digital camera.
       
        I could have sworn I was looking at the artist, Vincent van Gogh. However, three things were missing: van Gogh's red hair, his mutilated ear, and one of his unfinished masterpieces on the old artist's easel. 
 Au revoir, mon ami.

TIME TO CELEBRATE

     On Friday 9/9/11, I found an email from a publisher that indicated they were forwarding a contract to me for the publication of my first novel, "Marcel's Gift." It will be published as an ebook so all you Nook, Kindle and iPad owners will have access to it as soon as Amazon.com gets it from the publishing house. (Estimate 30 days). Details will follow.
      As a writer, I'm usually not at a loss for words, but ask me, Am I "Happy?" of course; Do I feel I'm in a "Surreal" world?  indeed; "Thankful?"--you bet!