Archive for the ‘Cindy Strandvold, Writer’ Category

What Color is Joy?

Monday, August 16th, 2010

Opening a brand new box of crayons ranks right up there on my joy scale. As a kid, I might not have been ready for school to begin in August, but I was always ready for the fresh start and unlimited possibilities contained in the rainbow of perfect points in my new box of crayons each year.

My daughter starts her junior year of high school tomorrow. My son leaves for his sophomore year of college the day after that. Maybe they don’t need Crayolas anymore, but I do.

I have a new box of 24 sitting on my desk right now. More than the basic eight, but not so many as to be overwhelmed with the choices. Blue green, apricot, cerulean, carnation pink, yellow-green, green-yellow. Now all I need is a coloring book.

A Feline Guide to Stress-free Living

Tuesday, July 20th, 2010

Flash here. In case you were wondering, Cindy came up with a new book idea since the last time I wrote. Oh, she’s really excited about this one, and has spent many hours at her computer, typing away with a smile on her face.

I’m sorry to report that this story is also missing Flash, Feline Extraordinaire, the best, most amazing, character ever. If she would only stop long enough to think about what she’s doing, maybe she’d realize the error of her ways.

But no.

And it’s not just Cindy. Humans in general have no idea how to live their pitiful little lives. You people continually have to DO, DO, DO. You never take time to BE.

On the other hand, your average feline is born knowing how to BE. And look at us, we don’t suffer from any of the stress related ailments you humans do, now do we? Let me give you a few pointers. Read and learn:

Lie in a sunny place and watch an ant crawl across the ground. Whack it with one paw. Take a quick power nap to get your energy back after so much grueling exertion.

Amble to your food bowl. It’s important to keep up your strength with proper nourishment! Flop down for another nap.

Wake up and yawn widely. Lean back on your haunches and s-t-r-e-t-c-h, this really gets your blood flowing.

Stalk one of those infernal squirrels scampering across the lawn, chittering insults at you. Yowl, “You’re going DOWN, Tail Flicker!” and chase him up a tree. Slide down the tree trunk while your quarry escapes, laughing hysterically. Curse your humans who insist on trimming your claws down to little nubs.

Sorry. Forget that whole squirrel thing. I meant to say, close your eyes and meditate on the grass growing and the sounds of worms working underground.

See how easy it is?

Of course, there are situations where BEING isn’t enough. Situations where you have to make a stand and DO something. Something like creep to the computer and get certain people’s attention by hitting the delete key on any stories without yours truly in them.

Ahh. I feel better already.

Back to the Drawing Board

Monday, June 21st, 2010

Hi, it’s me, Flash. Cindy is catching up today after being away from home for a week. Writing this blog was WAY down on her to-do list, so I thought I’d use this opportunity to get something off my chest.

See, last week after dropping off a group of kids at church camp, she used the time as a writing retreat. Seeing as I’m her favorite main character, I knew I’d be needed. Plus, an exotic vacation away from our little bay window writing nook sounded like just the ticket.

BUT, this retreat was not held in the mountains, near a gurgling brook, like I expected. It wasn’t held at the beach, either. No, Cindy never bothered to mention our plush accommodations were going to be at the Super 8 in York, NE. Don’t worry, though, it was better than it sounds. We scored a nice corner room with a view—of the parking lot.

Now, York itself is a nice little town. American flags line the main street and big old houses overlook the charming brick streets. Cindy was so enchanted by some of these houses, she probably would have spent the week in jail for trying to peek in the windows if it wasn’t for me keeping her in line.

But we weren’t there for houses and brick streets and walks on the trail along the river. No, we were there to write. So when Cindy fired up her laptop, I was surprised to find her starting a new story—minus yours truly. At first I thought maybe I’d appear a little further in, but by Friday and page 72, I was still nowhere to be seen. Needless to say, I was ticked. I’d come all this way and spent a week in a dumpy motel for nothing?

About this time Cindy started to have doubts. The story wasn’t panning out like she’d hoped. She didn’t buy the main character’s motivations, the whole thing seemed like too much of a stretch.

Well, duh. You tell me, if you were eight years old, who would you rather read about? Milly, the perky kitten, or FLASH, Feline Extraordinaire?

Exactly.

Just because I’m a figment of her imagination doesn’t mean I’m stupid. If she had only listened to me to start with she wouldn’t have wasted a whole week of undivided writing time.

Next time I’m insisting on the beach!

Location, Location, Location

Monday, May 17th, 2010

If realtors are correct saying that location is the most important aspect of where you choose to live, then I’ve got it made. At first glance, you might not think living on the edge of downtown would be ideal.

But I love it.

Within mere blocks of my house I can find restaurants, shops, a museum, the post office and the library. Not to mention some of our city’s world-renowned sculptures. During the summer, I can even hear the Thursday night outdoor concerts from my own backyard.

But my favorite thing about where I live is the proximity to the recreation trail where I take my daily walks. Not far from my house are several county enclaves where I can hear roosters and turkeys greeting the new day. Goats contentedly munch green grass and new calves bask in the sunshine. A little further down, next to the river I’ve seen elk, great blue herons, raccoons, and muskrats. This time of year, I eagerly await the hatching of the season’s first mallard ducklings. Watching them grow entertains me all summer.

What’s the best thing about where you live?

It’s My Turn

Monday, April 12th, 2010

Cindy’s been a little busy lately, so I thought I would help out and take her turn on the blog this week. See, she won second place in the big Pikes Peak Writing Contest and all she can think about is what she should wear to the awards ceremony.

Now that I think about it, you should say I won second place in the contest. After all, I’m the main character in “The Secret of the Legacy.” Without me, her little story wouldn’t stand a chance. In case you don’t know, my name is Flash and I’m a cat. Himalayan to be exact. Personally, I wouldn’t have a bit a trouble with what to wear to an awards banquet. My bright blue eyes, chocolate brown fur and seal point markings are elegant enough for any occasion.

I understand Cindy’s dilemma, though. Being a human, she lacks even a marginally adequate fur coat. Have you ever seen a naked human? Exactly. No wonder they wear clothes!

Anyway, she’d better hurry up and get her mind back on writing my adventures. We’re working on the sequel and I’ve still got super-villains to defeat, inventions to protect, and bloodhounds to outsmart. Don’t worry, I can handle it. It’s all in a day’s work for a multi-talented Feline Extraordinaire like myself.

You know, if I put my mind to it, I bet I could write the sequel myself. I mean, how hard could it be? I whipped out this blog easily enough, didn’t I?

Why should Cindy get all the glory anyway? Just because she’s real and I’m a figment of her imagination? How unfair is that? Maybe I’ll crash this whole awards ceremony thing and insist on more recognition for us main characters. Actually that’s not a bad idea, I’ve already got the outfit. There’s only one teensy weensy problem . . . be honest—does this collar make me look fat?

Drat. That’s what I was afraid of.

Obsolete

Monday, March 15th, 2010

Ever since my son started kindergarten, we’ve lived in that hazy area that was too close to qualify for the school bus, but really too far for a kid to walk. Since my husband leaves for work very early, I’ve been the one responsible for taxi duty twice a day, five times a week, for the past fourteen years. 

Oh, there was the odd carpool here and there, and for two years my son could drive his younger sister on some days. But with their different schedules I was still driving at least several times a week. This year, with him away at college, I’ve been back on full-time duty.

Until now.

My daughter got her driver’s license last week. Now she can drive herself the three miles to school every day. And I’m not sure how I feel about that. Part of me is rubbing my hands in glee, plotting what to do with those precious extra minutes I suddenly have in my day. But another part is feeling a bit obsolete.

Something tells me I’d better get used to that feeling.

The Book Aunt

Monday, February 15th, 2010

When I was a little girl, my Great-aunt Thelma always sent me books as gifts. Now I know to some kids this might rate up there with underwear for Christmas, but to me it was heaven. Aunt Thelma had no children of her own, but she had an uncanny knack of choosing books I loved. To this day I have the well-worn, first-edition copies of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and James and the Giant Peach with her neat cursive inscription and the date of 1973. I was eight.

In my life I have read thousands of books, but Roald Dahl still heads the list as one of my favorite authors ever. As a children’s writer myself, I aspire to his extraordinary ability to invent completely ridiculous situations and characters that are somehow totally believable. What kid could resist this opening scene from James and the Giant Peach?

“Here is James Henry Trotter when he was about four years old. (illustration)

Up until this time, he had had a happy life, living peacefully with his mother and father in a beautiful house beside the sea. There were always plenty of other children for him to play with, and there was the sandy beach for him to run about on, and the ocean to paddle in. It was the perfect life for a small boy.

Then, one day, James’s mother and father went to London to do some shopping, and there a terrible thing happened. Both of them suddenly got eaten up (in full daylight, mind you, and on a crowded street) by an enormous angry rhinoceros which had escaped from the London Zoo.”

See what I mean? So, what books do you remember from your childhood?

Good Enough

Tuesday, January 19th, 2010

My name is Cindy and I’m an perfectionist. My whole life I’ve held myself to ridiculously high standards, agonized over mistakes real and imagined, and endured entirely too much stress over things that don’t matter.

Did you notice the typo in the first sentence? Believe me, it’s killing me to leave it there. But in my ongoing fight against being smothered by perfectionism sometimes I have to do things like that.

I’ve found perfectionism is like the kudzu vine engulfing the southeastern United States. It digs in its roots and insidiously takes over your life. You can hack it down, but when you’re not looking, it grows right back.

That’s when I make a deliberate effort to cut myself some slack, try something new, or make a mistakes on purpose. Who needs perfection anyway? Good enough lasts a lot longer!

Life is Good

Friday, January 1st, 2010

Sometimes I think about the woman who lived in my house when it was built in 1897. One hundred and thirteen years ago, my house sported state-of-the-art dead air space insulation and single-paned windows. The first winter we lived here, when we were just starting our renovations, the temperature dipped into the 40’s in our bedrooms at night. And that was with a gas forced-air furnace! How cold would it have gotten with only wood and coal for heat?

Not only that, but she had no hot running water. No microwave. No dishwasher. No washer and dryer. No electric lights at the flick of a switch. The woman who lived in my house in 1897 would have used an outhouse, and it wasn’t stocked with 3-ply Charmin.

If this woman wanted chicken for dinner, she didn’t hop in her car and tootle over to the grocery store for a bag of individually frozen chicken breasts like I do. No, she took an axe to the chicken house and killed her own. Then she had to pluck it before she could cook it. She didn’t buy her milk in gallon containers and she couldn’t eat fresh strawberries in December.

You can say what you want about the state of the world we live in today, but I’m thinking maybe we don’t have it so bad here in 2010. I resolve to think more often of the woman whose life was so different from mine even though we both spent years within the same four walls; to not take my blessings for granted and cut out the complaining. Good grief, I have an electric blanket and don’t have to haul water or kill chickens. Life is good!

Everyone Needs A Goal

Tuesday, December 15th, 2009

My husband is training for an ultra-marathon. In case you’re not up on your running terminology, an “ultra” is anything over the standard 26.2 mile course. Usually they come in 50 or 100 mile varieties and they’re often run on trails through woods, over mountains, or across deserts just to add to the fun.

No, I do not join my dear husband on his runs. Yes, I think he’s nuts.

If you ask him why he perseveres in all kinds of weather, pushing himself ever harder, his answer basically boils down to, “I want to prove that I can do it.”

See? Crazy.

“You think I’ve lost it?” my husband shoots back. “What about you? You’ve been writing for 10 years and have yet to get one of your books published. Why do you persevere day in and day out through the rejections and disappointments?”

“Well . . .” I say. “I guess I want to prove that I can do it.”

Okay. Maybe we’re both crazy. Or maybe not.

This quote by Benjamin Mays hangs near my computer. “The tragedy in life doesn’t lie in not reaching your goal. The tragedy lies in having no goal to reach.”

So, what’s your goal?