Renee is Writing

Every once in a while I go back to my first poetry collection. I re-read the poems and peruse the art work. With a title like, "I am My Mother's Only Poem" I think this is a fitting gift for any mom. Here are some samples of what you can find between the covers. mourning doves perch in pairs never alone ~ your voice in my ear constant and new ******************** autumn ballroom frost painted bare feet sashay and slide expose my soul~ for you to know like your own hand

The question writers get asked the most often is, "where do you get your ideas?" For poets, short story writers, and novelists who write a book a year or several series a year the need for ideas is a constant. How do they have ideas for so many stories or poems? For me, ideas are like rabbits. They multiply at a rapid rate. And in the same way that rabbits create more rabbits, ideas create more ideas and the more I have the more I get. Craft books are profuse with ways to get story ideas: Brainstorm Read newspapers Observe people in the cafe Play the "what if" game Eavesdrop on conversations Each of those methods is helpful and can elicit an array of story or character ideas for your writing. I have on occasion used a few myself. Mostly, however, I don't search for ideas, they find me. And just like those fertile little bunnies, ideas increase exponentially. They float in thin air and crawl inside my ear. They arise from some cells deep...

I believe that writing fiction based on what I am passionate about makes my writing stronger. When there is a fire in your soul and you write it into a story you not only express your feelings but you present an issue to your readers that resonates. I grew up in a family where there were always young children around, I raised two sons, and I had a thirty year career in early childhood education. I am passionate about the care, safety and education of young children and this is one of the stories that emerged from this passion. SAVIOR             There it was again. The brittle wail of a baby crying. It could have been the two neighborhood stray cats fighting. It was hard to tell the difference. I got out of bed to check. A window lit up in the house next door though it was three in the morning. A voice called out, “Shut up or I’ll give you something to cry about!”          ...