For more information on the lodgepole pine, check out this link:

Comments anyone?

The sun is setting on 2011. Soon, this year will come to an end.

It's been a good year to reunite with lots of golden friends and the year's been full of surprises and meeting new friends while interviewing authors for Southern Writers Magazine.

What a treat to catch up with Kim McClean and Devon O'Day to chat about song writing for the Sept/Oct issue and as usual, Jennifer Hudson Taylor filled me in on information to contribute to an article about romance writing and All Things Plaid in the Nov/Dec issue.

And, I had fun sharing my experiences about the behind the scenes activities that brought about the penning of How to Write for Kids' Magazines and how I turtle walked my way to publication.

Already, our January issue for 2012 features more innovative ways of marketing and advertising from dynamite writers who enjoy and have a great knack for a turn of a phrase.

I had boat loads of fun interviewing veteran author John Koblas--a writer who was asked by the Postmaster General of the Reagan Administration to introduce the Sinclair Lewis stamp. What a fascinating guy who knows more than most about Jesse James, Ma Barker, and F. Scott Fitzgerald. With over sixty-eight books to his credit, a conversation with him was like having afternoon tea with a walking, talking set of encyclopedias on steroids.

I could feel myself on the back of a rearing getaway thoroughbred, his nostrils flared and snorting from the sting of gun powder in the air. My long duster flapped in the wind as I gathered reins, galloping away from a bank robbery gone bad, tearing up sod behind Jesse and Frank yelling "Koblas! They're gaining ground!" while trying to reholster my spent Colt. As we skeddadled from the lawmen, I yanked my rifle from its leather scabbard for extra fire power. Then doubled over the pommel of my saddle from intense knife-like pain after taking a bullet in the back...well, er, uh...maybe I let my imagination run wild with me on that scene. Not all, but some of my drama aside, you'll enjoy reading about Koblas in "John Koblas -- A Cut Above the West."

Also, catching up with my friend Mike Shoulders was an eye-opener as he shared his tips on writing for kids in this issue. With a slew of books written for Sleeping Bear Press, Mike has come into his own when it comes to entertaining tigers...I mean children. I think you'll enjoy learning about Mike's magical publishing journey in my article "Eating Elephants While Making Magic."

And the rest of the year promises even more exciting articles with emerging writers and names you might recognize; like Appalachian Mountain writer Lee Smith and Young Adult novelist Ally Carter. They'll be regaling us with how they broke into the writing market in their genres, how they built platforms, and how they continue to market and advertise. So don't wait to get the latest Southern Writers Magazine cutting edge information and writing tidbits. Tell the kids you don't want to let the ball drop this year without a subscription for Mother's Day, Father's Day, Bad Hair Day, or just because it's TGIF.

And from my writing desk to yours, I hope you have a fruitful writing year with the first draft written, other manuscripts revised and polished, and a contract for a new novel in the mail.

HAPPY 2012 EVERYONE!

Cick here for some Auld Lang Syne and a bit of inspiration to get the writing juices flowing. And, naturally, I love to see the horses in this video running in the snow. Of course, my imagination runs wild with them as I grab mane and lean over the paint's withers to meet the fury of the wind...

Comments anyone?

The Santa tracking had Santa Claus leaving the North Pole last night and the jolly fat man was more than happy to stop off down South to warm up some early this morning before he headed back up North to snowman's land. And of course he headed straight for Yellow Bluff after dropping off presents in Savannah. And guess what! Mrs. Claus rode along for this trip!

Merry Christmas boys and girls, wherever in the world you are, and hope you were good this year!

Comments anyone?

The dinner table looks great. Mom has it set with her best china and charger plates accented with ruby red goblets and greenery. The turkey is smelling up the house and making me sooooo hungry.

Hi.

Duchess Tula Belle of Oxford, Mississippi, a.k.a. Tootie, here.

Guess you've been wondering where I've been. There's so much going on and it's been kinda crazy and I've been sorta busy trying to get through this year's holidays that have caught up with me like a runaway freight train on downhill track.

But to catch you up on what's been going down: As some of you know from last year's Christmas blogs, Rudy was left behind when Santa didn't know he was missing as point reindeer at the front of the team pulling the sleigh. Seems that with Santa's new GPS system, he doesn't really need a red nose beacon lighting up the way to the chimneys of good little boys and girls and those who sent letters saying, "But Santa, I can explain."

Anyway, Rudy can be a real pig about things when it comes to Christmas candy.

Especially my Ghirardelli Peppermint Bark that Uncle Marty sends us at Christmas. He's big buds with the head honchos that keep the secret recipe under lock and key.

This year, I was trying to stash some, you know, save them for later when the pest was outside checking out mulberry bushes. So, missing something sweet to munch on, Rudy thought he'd try some of the red poinsettia leaves from the plants Mom and Dad used to decorate the house this year. They were in every room making me think I was living in a flower hothouse!

Mom and Dad freaked and had to try to locate a vet who knew how to pump out reindeer stomachs because they'd always heard that if dogs ate poinsettia plants, it could be the moment a four-legged critter could buy the farm. They spoke in code in front of Rudy but of course, I knew when they talked about him maybe buying the farm, the sweet by and by, and the possibility Rudy could be looking at the other side of the grass, they really meant he could croak. Nothing to do with frogs, but everything to do with pushing up daisies.

Ohhhhh, let's not upset the reindeer but let's put Tootie on a guilt trip because she doesn't like sharing her Peppermint Bark.

Sheesh!

I told them not to get all bent out of shape and Googled the word *poinsettia.* And I don't care if the word does have an "i" before the "a," down South, we call it a poinsett-a (a sounding like an uh). Here's what we found out:

Dr. Joel Roberts Poinsett was the first U.S. Ambassador to Mexico and he introduced America to the plant in 1828 after discovering it in the wilderness in southern Mexico. The good doctor dabbled in botany when he wasn't playing politics between nations and sent plant cuttings back to his home in South Carolina. Though it took awhile for the plant to become a holiday hit, by the 20th century it was a mainstay Christmas decorating staple.

Now, there are different stories about this popular Christmas plant that comes in several colors. Some believe it's a symbol of the Star of Bethlehem, the heavenly body that led the wise men, or the three magi, to the stable manger where Christ was born. Another legend from Mexico tells of a girl whose only offering to Jesus on Christmas Eve was weeds. When she brought the weeds into a church, they blossomed into the beautiful red plants we know as poinsettias, known as Flores de Noche Buena in Mexico (Spanish for "flowers of the holy night"). Kind of gives new meaning to Romans 8:28 "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."

Now these stories were all interesting, but reading down, I finally came to the part about the plant being poisonous if eaten. It's nothing but a myth! Of course Mom and Dad breathed a sigh of relief when they found out Rudy wasn't going to croak, although it's probably not a good idea to have a poinsettia eating competition with poinsettia bracts since they could cause diarrhea. Heh-heh. Poor Rudy.

However, research has shown that a child could consume as many as 500 poinsettia bracts without any toxic effects. A tot who accidentally nibbles on a leaf may not feel up to snuff, but the consequences won't be fatal. And I can't help but wonder how many kids volunteered to be guinea pigs for the poinsettia experiment? Maybe some of those who wrote the notes, "But Santa, I can explain."?

Anyway, I guess Rudy's going to be around for awhile though he'll be checking out the mulberry bushes even more frequently because of those dastardly side effects. (And I've been to Mexico a couple of times and there's something to be said about Montezuma's Revenge. It is no myth.) And now I'm really feeling guilty about not sharing. Heh-heh. Yeah right. And I've got a bridge to sell you...

Uncle Marty, send more Peppermint Bark!

Comments anyone?

Dopecorp put out an article titled "What's Really in Spam?" There, Cecil Adams discusses trying to get those at Dopecorp to actually eat some Spam so the reporting would be more authentic. He quotes travel writer Paul Theroux from Happy Isles (1992): "It was a theory of mine that former cannibals of Oceania now feasted on Spam because Spam came the nearest to approximating the porky taste of human flesh. 'Long pig' as they called a cooked human being in much of Melanesia. It was a fact that the people-eaters of the Pacific had all evolved, or perhaps degenerated, into Spam-eaters. And in the absence of Spam they settled for corned beef, which also had a corpsy flavor."

Of course, Paul Theroux later confessed that this was a joke. And Cecil Adams reminds us that among Pacific islanders, other types of meat are lacking or unreliable due to lack of refrigeration.

Whew and double whew because I've eaten Spam. Once.

My mother used to serve it on occasion because my Dad enjoyed eating things like brains and eggs, sardines, and other disgusting salty things. It could have to do with almost starving on one occasion while parachuting behind enemy lines in Sicily during WWII and being lost in action for days with one egg shared between three soldiers. After that, he'd eat anything. As long as it stayed still. After tasting a fried slab of Spam, I declined the mystery meat forever and Mother eventually stopped buying it after I banned it.

I tried to erase the word that tasted of death from my vocabulary. Then along came the internet and Spam with spammers. Now we know why internet Spam was coined from Spam -- a product that has lots of fat in it and something a lot of consumers don't want. One single serving--two thin slices--contains 30 percent of the daily saturated-fat quota. Popping open a can of Spam is like listening to a heartache on hold. Opening up a Spam message from the internet--well, wonder how many folks have had to go in for EKG's after reading someone's Spam and experiencing angina?

So, I've discussed Spam in the flesh --heh heh-- and cyberspace Spam. We want to carve it out of our lives. And no, I wouldn't really shoot a dog over a can of Spam or internet Spam either.

But what about the Spam in our writing? How much of that fat can we carve out?

Here's what I want you to try. After a manuscript has ripened in the drawer--go back and see if you can delete these two words: *that* and *just*.

After you've deleted as many of those Spam words as you can, now take a look at passive verbs. Substitute those with more meaty verbs and get rid of what's left of the pig after the ham has been removed. While you're at it, go whole hog and take out most adverbs and replace with words that show and don't tell.

For instance: Tonto and the pony that he rode just quickly made their way to the scene of the crime.

Try: Leaping onto his paint pony, Scout, Tonto raced to the holdup.

Raced is an action verb. They arrived there more than "just quickly". The reader visualizes mane in the wind and a trail of dust kicked up by a pony of more than one color. (Of course we know that white and black aren't really colors but hang with me here and don't go all geeky tech.) The word holdup says it all without having to explain a crime scene. Giving the pony a name makes the sentence and life in general more interesting. It takes the corpsy flavor out of the writing.

I doubt if there's a writers' cloud in heaven but who knows. There could be. Don't miss out on you're getting through that pearly gate leading to the fluffy place where Moby Dick and knot tying could be discussed for all eternity. Who wants to be up there hanging out after the meat-n-greet. Sorry. Meet-n-greet. With all of the computer geeks. And there could be a silver lining: I doubt there will be an internet and we'll no longer have to Tweet and no doubt Spam won't be served on a silver platter. Nothing but pure lit. Ahhhhhhh. We may let the computer geeks listen in on our literary conversations since they'll no longer have anything familiar like hard drives and software to keep them busy.

But then again, who really knows? And I've searched the Book of Revelation for anything resembling Spam. Nothing's there. Spam's man-made. And God didn't even send Spam to the rebellious Israelites trudging in circles for forty years in the desert complaining. Okay. He took them out with quail. But that was only because they were gluttons and grumblers. But in 1 Corinthians 7:29-31 I found this: "But this I say, brethren, the time is short:...and they that use this world, as not abusing it: for the fashion of this world passeth away."

I take that to mean (every now and then you need a *that*) there will be no Spam in heaven and down here the time is short. So for now on earth, whether it be refraining from eating foods that are bad for you so you can live long enough to see your grandkids or send out junk emails or fat writing habits--live longer. Stop SPAMMING with corpsy flavored writing!

Comments anyone?