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Why I Write
When I write, I draw on my experiences as a woman with a painful past, a rapturous wife and mother, a world traveler, and a spiritualist. For me, writing is an art form. Like an artist, the work becomes more than I imagined it would be. When I set out to write a story with a particular idea or character in mind, words I cannot claim as my own flow from a magical and mysterious place through me and onto paper. The work takes on a life of its own; it is living art. The process fascinates me, satiates me, and makes my life more meaningful.
Please read my stories! If you would like to offer me feedback on my work, please click here and sign up for a free membership: https://heftynicki.Writing.com
I hope to see you there!
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Blog, Blog, Blog
 
Welcome!
 In 2011, my main focus will be on writing a novel. Since I'm a novice novelist, I've decided to come at the project from different angles, exploring the genre and experimenting with its elements. This blog and its offsite sister blog will be my journals where I attack novel-writing one day at a time.
As I was creating my BlogSpot page, the inspiration for the blog solidified in my mind. I named that blog "One Significant Moment at a Time." In essence, I want to use the format as a reminder to walk through my life with my author's eyes open, taking in the details, feeling the emotions of the day. As moments unfold and I feel their affects on me as a person, a woman, a mother, a sister, a member of the world community, I'll let the writer in me talk about it.
Creative Nonfiction is the genre most fitting to describe what I envision accomplishing here, moreso than blogging or journaling. The style is best suited, I feel, for my ambitions as a novelist.
In addition, Friday entries will not be written by me. Instead, I'll turn the keyboard over to one of the characters in my novel. He or she will relate the events of the day as s/he saw them, through the filter of his or her perception.
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Thanks for reading!!
December 31, 2009 at 10:16am December 31, 2009 at 10:16am
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Last night, a mixture of rain and sleet slapped at the windows, but I heard above the racket the sound of her sobs. A mother's instincts are sharp, and as I strode toward Sidney's bedroom I heard the rational part of my mind reassuring my instinctual self that nothing truly threatening could have happened. Afterall, I'd just tucked Sidney's purple comforter under her chin and splattered her face with silly kisses a couple minutes before. Still, I made it down the hall in three strides.
When I got to Sid's room, her light had been turned back on. Cody was leaning over her in the bed, stroking her face and asking why she was crying. The look of concern in his eyes when he turned them on me made my soul smile. Growing up, I always wished I'd had an older brother, someone who would take care of me. I realized I'd been imagining Cody all those years ago.
I hugged my son and thanked him for being him, and sent him back to bed. By then, Sidney was on her feet, her head tilted slightly back, her body wracked with sobs. I took her in my arms and just hugged her, realizing I'd have to wait until she calmed down a little before I'd learn what the problem was. The rain pelted the windows at a faster pace, but Sidney's tears finally subsided.
It turned out that as part of the Gifted Program at school, Sidney was responsible for reading a 300-page book over Christmas Break. I remember her complaining about the story a couple weeks ago, which she described as boring. I guess the craziness of holiday activities and cram-packed schedules made both of us forget all about the reading assignment. Until last night.
I clicked off the light and followed Sid under the covers when she crawled back into bed. We worked out a plan to get as much of the book read between now and Jan. 5th when school resumes. We're going to partner read, her reading two pages silently, then I'll read aloud for the next two pages. Every couple minutes, Sidney's little face would scrunch up again and the tears would leak from her swollen eyes. She is a child devastated when she feels she hasn't done all that she expected of herself. We whispered in the dark through each meltdown relapse, promising ourselves to do better and remind each other of the project. Eventually I felt her body go limp and her breathing deepen.
I lay there a couple minutes longer, listening. The sound of Sidney's breath, the rain on the window, and the muffled noise of the television in the next room gave me an incredible feeling of childhood nostalgia. I used to lie in bed and dream about the future. The memories were so close; it seemed like just yesterday. And then I looked through the darkness at Sidney's angelic profile. Now for my future, I want to be more like my daughter. She cares so deeply about what's happening in her life. Her commitment to the present is absolute. She reminds me of how I can be a better me.
I should sign off here......we have a book to read.
Peace. |
December 30, 2009 at 3:40pm December 30, 2009 at 3:40pm
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Compelled. That's how I feel these days, as if there’s something drawing me to its hiding place just over the next rise in Life's road. The attraction is strong. I’m in motion. My internal navigator, though, has closed her eyes. She trusts in the momentum she can’t understand or control. I have to follow her lead, for I know fighting it would be futile.
Here’s what I do know: When you want something very badly, so much so that you can actually see it sitting in your hands when your imagination looks down, then it will be. When I’m most in tune with the world around me, I easily perceive the signs pointing me in the right direction, toward the next goal. With that belief, that knowledge in mind, I embark on this blogging journey.
Last month during NaNoWriMo, I wrote nineteen chapters of my first novel. They are rough as a mountain river bed, but the ideas flowing through are full of energy and intrigue. My professional goals in 2010 include completing the first draft, and then working through rewrites and revisions. I may find this book won’t be marketable. But I’m compelled, (there’s that word again), to finish it. The project figures in, somehow, with the hidden thing lurking just below the horizon.
The idea for this blog came to me in the form of multiple signs woven lately into my everyday life. My good friend and next door neighbor, Miss T, blogs. I’ve admired for a year her strong memoir-style writing and commitment to her readers, but yesterday, sitting in my kitchen, she let fly one of those signs that hit me square between the eyes. She’s decided to use the create-a-book option once a year, to archive her blog entries in book form. Brilliant! I thought. This pushed the quiet, wallflower thoughts I’d been unconsciously harboring since watching [i}Julie&Julia over the Christmas break into the brightly lit chambers of my consciousness. Suddenly, I wanted to blog! I created an account at blogger.com. http://nicoleducleroir.blogspot.com/
You wouldn’t think a creative writer would have trouble coming up with a theme for her blog, but at first I was stumped. I want this blog to have a raison d’être. Julie blogged her way through Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking, and I wanted to have some kind of focus as well. Since the New Year is upon us, I feel compelled, yet again, to choose a resolute direction.
Each time I add an entry, I will write about one significant moment that affected me deeply. It may be something that happened in the past, but I don’t want to look back too often. Instead, I want to be present in my life, living today with open arms, open mind, and an open heart. In 2010, I want to live each day with intent. I will indulge in random acts of kindness and write about how the experiences affected me and the others around me. Through this blog, I want to become a more joyful and positive human being, and a better writer.
And so I take a deep breath, stretch my arms open wide, and begin.
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December 15, 2009 at 9:19am December 15, 2009 at 9:19am
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I've never been a materialistic person -- not hard-core, I mean. Sure, I like to have new things that aren't scratched, stretched out, or dirty from use. And even though I realize that "new smell" is often toxic chemicals gassing off the item and up my nose, I still love it. But I'm not driven by the need to have new things. In fact, I tend to keep things that are in rough shape but still functional, well after the average person would have tossed them away.
Christmas is the one time of year that I truly enjoy buying new things. I get a magical feeling as I hold a person in my thoughts and peruse the shops, looking for something special that person will appreciate receiving. This Christmas though, family finances have forced me to scale way back on holiday spending. Usually, I send packages to all four of my sisters and their families, to my parents, my grandmother, and to my husband's family in France. Postage alone usually doubles the amount the gifts cost. It's so hard to face the fact that I just can't do it this year, even though I know all those people love me and understand. I'm reminded again that the material stuff doesn't matter.
I grew up in a large Italian family. Every Thanksgiving at dessert, two hats would go around the table, one filled with scraps of paper with the family's children's names on them, and the other with the grown-ups' names. Each family member chose one name, and that was the person they would bring a present for a month later when we reconvened for the Christmas meal.
As the years went by and the cousins grew up, it became harder and more expensive to provide "good" gifts. One year, my cousin Dayna had an idea. Instead of a regular gift exchange, we would begin what she called Christkin. Rather than individuals in the hat, whole families where written on scraps of paper. Store-bought gifts were not allowed. Each gift had to be something crafted by the whole family, made by their hands as a family project, for the family who would receive it to enjoy. Some memorable Christkin gifts were:
 One family with six children made a nativity scene. Supervised by their mom, the children used molding clay to fashion Mary, Joseph, Baby Jesus, the three Wise Men, shephards, angels and assorted barn animals, while the dad made a set with barn and manger out of wood.
 Another family made homemade hot cocoa mix in a giant mason jar, then painted ceramic mugs for each receiving family member.
 Yet another family made coupon books for each family member that included free babysitting services, "library visit" invitations, and "Borrow My ______" coupons.
Even Christkin got hard to do after several years; the creative juices ran dry. The next idea was just as good and was sparked by a family tragedy: In the early nineties, my uncle died of A.I.D.S. It was devastating to our family, but outside of the A.I.D.S. quilt which we contributed a block to for Uncle Mark, we didn't know what to do with our sorrow and energy. A cousin found a website at the time that supported families touched by A.I.D.S. We chose a family whose father had passed away, leaving a wife and three young children. That was all we knew about them; we didn't even know their names.
The website handled all the logistics, and our family went to work. My father has five surviving sisters and brothers, who have produced eighteen children. That equals articles of clothing and items for literally every age. We gathered winter coats and boots, clothing, small appliances, music and video CDs/CD-roms, books, school supplies, car seats...the list went on and on. In addition, each family donated money, and we bought every item on the family's wish list. The rest of the money (there was plenty more!) went to the family as a cash donation.
We never had contact with the family, never met them face-to-face. But we felt a connection with them. Through them and the loving memory of Uncle Mark, we were touched by the Christmas Spirit like never before.
This year, as I shop only for my children, I'm reminded of those Christkin memories and the family we adopted. Santa will still visit our house, and thanks to the money Christian's parents put into our account in France (Euros buy a LOT of dollars!!!  ) we'll have "good" presents under the tree. But the kids and I have been making presents for people. We've been tye-dying t-shirts this week and having a ball doing it. Our Christmas Eve party presents that will go into the traditional White Elephant exchange at my cousin's house will be tins from my collection, filled with baked goodies the kids and I will spend the 23rd and the 24th making. I'm looking forward to those memories all ready!
Christmas isn't a materialistic time of year. It's a religious holiday, and an opportunity to touch the hearts of the people you love -- and those who you don't know at all.
~Merry Christmas Everyone!~
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December 5, 2009 at 9:08am December 5, 2009 at 9:08am December 3, 2009 at 5:55pm December 3, 2009 at 5:55pm December 2, 2009 at 6:14pm December 2, 2009 at 6:14pm © Copyright 2020 NickiD89 (UN: heftynicki at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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It's been a while since I wrote anything I'm proud of. Working hard right now so I won't be able to say that anymore! Hope your week's off to a great start. Thinking of you!!! 
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~Noelle 
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Where'd Ashy go??)~
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