Southern Writers Magazine ~ 2014 Short Story Contest!



Karen S. Jones
www.ksjones.com

Writing contests bring out a chill like nothing else. There have been so many contests that I had plans to enter, but whenever I would ready myself for the challenge--even when enthusiasm was bursting from my writing soul! -- No - Words - Came. Contest entries are the only real writer's block I have ever experienced. And knowing how much prestige comes with winning or placing in a contest, I tried really hard to write something--something really great! All to no avail. It wasn't until the 'Last Day To Enter' rolled around for the Southern Writers 2014 Short Story contest that I jumped up and ran to my computer to write what the voices in my head were telling me to write. Even I was amused with the story as I wrote it! After a bit of careful research and several hours of intense writing, I submitted my entry. Then this week, I received the wonderful news that I had won! You cannot imagine how thrilled and honored I feel, not only because I won, but because I won a contest in the prized Southern Writers Magazine whose writers are amazing themselves!

Check them out at http://www.southernwritersmagazine.com/

It's been a good week. It's been a very good week.  If you're a writer, keep writing! If you're a reader, keep reading!

Cynical~

Anyone worth their salt loves books, in my opinion. And it doesn't matter to me which books you're reading as long as you're reading. I've found that the most interesting people I come across are readers. Those that do not are usually difficult to talk to and more difficult to follow. They have other things on their mind, like whether the world is paying attention to them. Total non-readers are so self-absorbed that the thought of reading a book never occurs to them. Unless the book is ABOUT them. And then they just want YOU to read the book. Cynical? Yes, I freely admit it.


What are you reading?
Karen






Historical Fiction ~

The term 'historical fiction' seems to send hoards of readers running from bookstores. I have never really understood why until today. Linked-In has a group of fabulously intelligent and witty readers and writers discussing historical fiction. Today's discussion was on this very subject.

According to many bookstore owners, editors and publishers, when readers hear that a book is categorized as historical fiction, their faces contort and their brows furrow. Then the head shaking begins. No, they were looking for something else. When asked what, exactly, they're looking for, their response is, i.e., a good love story, a good mystery, a coming-of-age tale, etc., and down the aisle they walk looking for that perfect book.

Dear Readers,

 

Listen, don't panic, historical fiction is not a history book! Historical fiction can better be described as 'Period Fiction'. It doesn't have any more lessons to teach that Isaac Asimov's I, ROBOT, or Ernest Hemingway's OLD MAN AND THE SEA, or Jules Verne's THE TIME MACHINE, or JRR Tolkien's LORD OF THE RINGS. Need I mention the writings of Robert Heinlein, Lee Child, John Grisham, Luanne Rice and Maeve Binchy?

Some of the greatest stories ever written were set during a time period different than today. Heck, a story that took place yesterday is historical fiction! Look at the fabulous stories by W. Michael Gear, Kathleen O'Neal Gear, John Steinbeck, Ernest Hemingway, Christopher Curtis, Karen Cushman, Clare Vanderpool, and Sharon Creech. Their award-winning stories, which have been read by millions of adoring readers, are classified as historical fiction, but in all reality, their stories are Adventure stories, and Romance stories, and Mystery stories, and Coming-of-Age stories. Can you imagine your life without their stories?

Step it up a notch, Readers! Walk down that Historical Fiction aisle. You might find the story you've been waiting to hear your whole life. It's been there waiting for you.

    

Happy Reading!
Karen
www.ksjones.com

            

                                

 

Dear Dad at Swim Class ...

Greetings!

I've been pining over what to blog about for weeks. I go through the filing cabinet of subject matter in my head trying to find the thing that I feel passionate about that day. Then one of the kids gets sick, or Lady Luck, who's 2 enters into "pick-a-me-up" stage. (no we aren't Italian). So forth and so on. 

Lady Luck, goes to swim class. She's actually exceptionally good at it. She's 2 and she's in a class for 3 and 4 year olds. Her temperament is exactly that of a 2 year old. The other day she decided she didn't like her swim coach while we were in the car on the way to swim, and that she wanted her kitty to facilitate swimming that day. She screamed the entire swim class, except when it was her turn, then she did every task asked of her to the best of her ability. When her turn was over she cried non-stop "mommy, pick-a-me-up!!". I don't pick her up, I wave and smile and tell her good job.  She screamed CRAZY the other day because I had the audacity to try and put her sparkle jeans on her instead of the red tutu. She needs 57 different things at bedtime... "i need to wash my hands", she told me the other night. She antagonizes her brother and she throws things when she's mad. Don't get me wrong, she's a sweet, loving, awesome little creature. But she's nuts because she's 2. I thought my son (my first child) was kind of a prick at that age, acting like he didn't have any sense in his head, but it's the result of being 2. 

This is the advantage of having more than one child. With one kid you have dreams of grandeur... you have tons of time to spend with the one child. Tons of time to worry about the one child. Is he smart enough? Does he feel loved enough? Does he get enough one on one time? Is he up to speed with his peers? You try to keep him from doing anything potentially dangerous because you're terrified that he could get hurt. Then you have more kids. By baby number 2 you're worried the first child is going to accidentally or purposely hurt the baby. That child number 1 will feel jealous, left out, less loved. That child number 2 won't get that special one on one time that child number 1 got because now you have two. *Sigh*.... *Double Sigh*.  Then you have three kids and you sort of can't worry about some of the other stuff. I stand at the window watching my son and daughter play outside while I hold the baby going "oh boy.... please don't fall..." (as I stand there, barely breathing).... and of course, most of the time, all is well. Sometimes they do fall. They cry. I hold them. Then they're off again to another adventure. 

So, back to swim class... The original point of my blog today. (You'll find that my ramblings go all over the place, but gosh, in the end I always hope the thought finally presents itself.) There was a dad there, with his 3 year old son. I'd like to address the remaining blog to him.....

Dear Dad at Swim Class,

Your son was in my daughters swim class today. He was a little ornery, he splashed a lot...he kept grabbing the toys they have at the edge of the pool and hoarding them. He got water in his eyes and cried. He splashed my daughter in the face. Twice. Because the first time it was kind of funny to him. When class was over you told the swim coach, "I don't know what's wrong with Hunter. Ever since he turned 3 he's been a tyrant." You were visibly frustrated. You even went over and stood in the corner of the pool area so he knew you were there to make sure he was behaving. You seemed to me, to feel like Hunter was acting badly. When I watched Hunter, he very much reminded me of both my older kids, and my friends 2 and 3 year olds. He's spirited and a little wild. He's a boy and that actually means that he's probably MORE wild than his female counterparts. Generally. He was so excited to see you when he was done swimming and you were embarrassed and frustrated. You felt like he didn't do his part, or behave as well as the other kids. It's too bad we didn't have class together when my daughter screamed the whole time. Maybe Hunter would have seemed less annoying. Maybe if he had been in a swim class with my son you'd have thought Hunter was a SUPER STAR. My son likes to do cannon balls when he's supposed to jump in like a civilized person. But he can't. He just can't do it. It's too amazing to cannon ball. At least he doesn't scream "cannonball". Hunter did a good job. Just remember that he's 3. He's just a little boy. He's wild, he has no inhibitions yet. Society hasn't tried to shape him into a person that fits in a box yet. He bucks the system. He rages against the machine. He thinks outside the rest of our boxes. He still has the spirit of a person who is totally free and he's trying to find his independence. He's trying to figure out how he fits into his world, let alone ours. Yours. Theirs. Next time, it's okay just to say "You did a good job buddy. How was swim today?".... later in the day you can talk about how next time maybe he can try to leave the toys on the side of the pool until the coach hands them out. But in that one moment, he was looking for you to be there, in his moment with him. His moment is pure freedom. We all should try to live in the freedom of a 3 year old. it's pretty awesome.

Good Luck Dad at Swim. 


For the rest of us. Let's try to climb out of the box. If we all had the wonder, excitement, imagination and freedom of a toddler, golly, we'd all probably be so much happier. 

There's still hope for us. There's hope that we can actually be free. Freedom belongs to us. It's a human right. Kids, they don't know about limitations of freedom...they don't know about the media filling our heads with bullshit rules and guidelines... they know only of freedom. Their energy spills out all over the place. It's colorful and it sparkles... we can all be free like them.

Namaste.

Jenn

What Matters



KS Jones

 

Today, I was reminded of a time many years ago when both of my children were small and impressionable. As a family we loved to play games. All kinds of games. We played Scrabble. We played Yahtzee. We played Monopoly. We even played cards together--poker and blackjack, mostly. We did not play for money. We played for the win. Our children both chose to play competitive sports, too. They learned that winning means you've succeeded. You have moved ahead of the others in the almighty race to happiness. For a fleeting moment anyway, because whomever just lost is already planning a new game with the intention of taking your lead.

My husband and I always took the path of teaching our children how to play the game. On the other hand, my mother--their loving grandmother--taught them how to win. She was ruthless. She smiled the whole game, maybe broader than most each time she took their winnings from them. You see, it didn't matter that they were 3, or 5, or 10, or 15 years old. You played to win. My kids were certainly not coddled in the art of success and confidence. Often they would cry when they lost and my mother would say, "Maybe you'll win next time." Sometimes they would throw the game pieces on the floor in anger. My mother would say, "Now pick them all up." My kids would shout, "Why don't you pick them up?" She'd say, "Because I won. The loser has to put the game away." And she'd smile and go on about her day. Sounds a bit unfair, maybe a bit un-grandmotherly, doesn't it? Sometimes I thought so, too, but I never interfered because my mother was a good mother to me. She was also a good grandmother to them. It wasn't my place to take her teachings, or her methods, away from her. That was what she thought was important to offer my kids. She was their grandmother and she'd earned that right, even if she did sometimes offer her teachings with strategic and merciless intent.

Do you know what my kids learned from playing those games? From Scrabble, they both learned to be excellent readers and writers. From Yahtzee, they both learned how to calculate the gain needed to succeed in most anything. From Monopoly, they both learned when to buy, when to trade, how to sell, and most importantly, when to cut your losses. From cards, they both learned how to keep a "poker-face" when it counts and how to add and match quickly. Their minds are fast and furious nowadays. From the players in these games, they both learned that sometimes siding with an opponent can mean defeat for the usual winner, even if they still had to climb those last few steps to the winner's circle alone at least now they had better odds of winning. And from their fiercest opponent (their grandmother) they learned to respect the intellect of the winner. They learned to study people. They learned to assimilate information quickly. They learned to practice 'til perfect. They learned to calculate the odds needed to win. And they learned that they still had to put the game away even if they were mad about the loss. If they wanted the prestige of not having to put the game away, they needed to learn how to win. Maybe most importantly, they learned how to cope with life and all the various types of players it hands you.

And they learned that if you win this round, don't bask in the winner's light too long because we all know the next game starts soon. And you have to start your climb to the winner's circle all over again.

I was reminded of this early this morning by my now-adult son. He sent me this YouTube video that he'd found which must have stirred his memories. Today I want to share What Matters with you, too: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kSAVN-nYSLI

In my world today, this crucial lesson reminds me that it doesn't matter which book you've just finished writing, or how big a success it may have been. Today is a new day and a new book needs to be written. Will it be disastrous, or a critically acclaimed success? I suppose it all depends on how you play the game with the opponents and the cards that are dealt you.

May The Games Be Ever In Your Favor,
Karen
www.ksjones.com

Are All Writers A Little Crazy?

KS Jones

Creativity, whether written, drawn, painted, or posted draws from a well deep down in
the artist's soul. It's hard to pull it all out and sort through it when you know it's time to write. Often times, it's like cleaning out a drain...you get more than you wanted. Of course, not everyone wants to see what's in their creativity well so they keep it capped off--locked forever. Maybe that's a good thing.

My well holds a myriad of things. Voices of young adults clamoring to have me tell their story as well as middle-aged boys (that's right...no girls) begging for me to give them life so that their stories can be heard, too. Lately, I've have a lot of 3-5 year-olds poking their heads out asking me to tell them a story. It's hard to choose what to write sometimes. So, for now, I'm picking the ones who are shouting the loudest or jumping the highest so they'll be seen above the heads of all the others who have gathered around.

And those of you who are not artists? Yes, I suppose we do appear to be a bit schizophrenic at times. It's okay. We've been called lots of other things, too.

Karenwww.KSJones.com