I Recommend Where We Go by Melissa Volker

Before Christmas I received a message from author and Wordsmith Melissa Volker to expect a package in the mail. I had no idea what she was sending me. Therefore, I was thoroughly surprised and delighted to receive a package from Amazon inside of which was Melissa's new book of stories and essays on writing- Where We Go.

Being a fan of hers, I dived right into the book. On the following morning after receiving it, I was eating breakfast before work and reading and wound up with tears tumbling down my cheeks as I got halfway into Muse and had to leave for work or risk being late. I felt that story viscerally as well as cerebrally because it expressed feelings I understood perfectly well, even though I am not a musician. If I substitute the keyboard/computer for the piano, a manuscript I am dissatisfied with...it is easy to blame the machine for the failure rather than myself. How many times have we passed the blame for our own failings?

I couldn't get home fast enough to finish the story and read the rest of the book. The essays and writings on writing are especially insightful. All writers find that they share at least some of the experiences, habits, frustrations, approaches, etc. of other authors, but writing still remains a process unique to the individual author because while we share some things in common, we are also unique individuals with differing experiences and perceptions.

Kelly and I often find startling similarities in what we write, but yet we each have our own take on things. We used to take a first sentence and run with it for twenty minutes, like a writing sprint and then swap pages and read what we each wrote. It was always a revelation to find those similarities and the different approaches we each took.

Reading another authors musings on the craft of writing can help you to not feel so alone in the creative world of putting words down on a blank page. To read of another authors triumphs and less than spectacular attempts helps ground you. Writing doesn't come easy. It has to be worked at, fine tuned, tinkered with, and sometimes totally scrapped and started over before it all clicks.

Sitting down with Melissa Volker's Where We Go and a favorite beverage and snack, you'll feel as if you have her right there in the room with you, or perhaps sitting across the kitchen table from you, sharing and swapping stories and ideas about writing. She'll move you and make you feel as if you're spending quality time with a friend.

I thoroughly enjoyed this book and highly recommend it. The stories at the beginning of the book are well crafted. Every word is like a stepping stone forward into the story. The pieces on writing are personal and mind expanding. Melissa demonstrates the craft of writing in this book.

I don't know whether to slide Where We Go into the bookcase among her other books or frame it and hang it on the wall because it is an example of the art of writing, and doing it well.

Bravo, Melissa!

My Muse

How I write-where it comes from-the experience of creating and writing...a piece of prose about my muse...

MY MUSE by Susan Buffum

My muse lies sprawled on a chaise, drunk as a lord and giddy, unable to get up.  The yellow sun glares down on his head making his longish, wind-blown hair look shot through with fiery highlights so that he seems like a bright, liquid flame in a brazier. 

     I scowl at him like a thunderhead from the chilly shadows of my den, seethe at his wasted brilliance while the keyboard lies stiff and cold beneath my cramped fingers.  The blind eye of the screen remains black, stares vacantly into the untidy corner where cobwebs as transparent as lies, yet as strong as good intentions, form nets in which to catch stray thoughts.  They seem to drip dewy venom into the carpet for today all my thoughts are poisoned with despair and disgust.

     Crumpling yet another sheet of paper in my impotent fist, I long for him to turn his wayward attention back to me.  But he is a fickle flame who follows his own whims.  I cannot force him to come back inside, to be sober and diligent.  I cannot make him come to me with feminine wiles. It rankles me that I must subjugate myself, lie prone and plead—make myself so utterly vulnerable, so terribly exposed.  But, only then will he deign to return to me bearing the gifts I yearn.  How cruel he can be, yet how generous, too.

     He speaks to me in French and Italian, the languages of my ancestry.  His French is like silk; sibilant and sly.  His Italian is alluring and embracing.  His words are like knowing winks or inside jokes. Sometimes I understand him, sometimes I don’t and must simply trust.  Blind faith.

     I disparage him, it’s true, for I am resentful when he plays the fool and goes off on caprices.  I cannot help but feel abandoned.  I rely on him like a drug.  I crave the rush.  I am so useless on my own, so unproductive and dull.

     He has no qualms about burning the midnight oil.  There is no shame in him when he slips into my bed and whispers in my ear, his voice a caress that stirs me, awakens me.  He comes and goes as he pleases, and I rejoice at his every return as though some small part of me always doubts his reliability and I’ve been fearful of ever having him with me again.

     However, it’s these times when I know he’s near, when he’s abstracted and playing games, that he frustrates me most.  I can feel him like a breeze tickling my mind here and there.  He is like a shower of sparks that cannot quite ignite a fire.  He is sporadic drizzle that fails to saturate the soil.  He is a drop of oil dissipating on the sea, leaving a gloss but no real substance—spread too thin.

     He is gorgeous when he is in full vigor!  His voice resonates. He hits all his marks!  His words flow like sparkling water, seamless!  He radiates in recitation, is relentless.  He has always been that way, always been one to spin a story complete, weave a whole tale start to finish.  His arrogance is astonishing, and he is unabashed!

     I almost worship him, almost adore him.  He is my oldest companion, my truest friend.  So, I should be able to forgive him his lapses, his sojourns, his absences, and disappearances.  He always returns to me.  I cannot believe he is ever with another.  We are a pair, a duo, a partnership.  We are mutually reliant, and always, just so, shall we be.

Was It Murder?

The newly fallen Christmas Day snow made undetected travel impossible. Follow the trail!

The previous day, when the woodland floor appeared as if November had overstayed her welcome with the browns and grays of fallen leaves, neatly stacked piles of severed tree limbs and rotting logs, and bare branches in full winter retrenchment, they made their appearance. The aged shades of an autumn long passed, muted by the gloom of the lowering and thickening clouds of December, provided near perfect cover for the trot along the tree line, at first tentative, wary and alert but eventually inquisitive and finally restive. He actually lay down in the brittle oak leaves, appearing to be just another neighborhood dog, except for the sharply pointed ears, fully extended and frequently shifting from side to side, filtering the sounds of suburbia.

After the brief respite, he stood, stretched his legs and continued along the tree line to the clump of trees and underbrush, mounds of lawn clippings and old, abandoned fence posts embedded with rusted wire that marked the four corners of the adjoining, adjacent properties. Somewhere beneath the detritus of the woodland floor lies a city sanctioned property marker but it didn’t matter. The sights, sounds and smells of the woods were of utmost importance to him. To our surprise, the second one moved in along the same tree line, with similar tentativeness. Stop, look, listen, smell. Trot along. Repeat. An intentional pair we thought; no territorial squabbles or aggressive posturing. They meandered northeast, along the ancient wire fence that ran perpendicular to the tree line, and into the next yard, noses to the ground one second, heads raised with ears at full attention the next. Gone.

We greeted Christmas Day with strong coffee while lounging about the living room, shaking off sleep and taking in the sights of the newly minted winter wonderland just outside the front door. The snow fell fast and heavy, the hot coffee feeling like a loyal guardian against the frosty replacement for yesterday’s autumn tableau.

Gifts were exchanged and opened, another pot of freshly ground, hot coffee eagerly consumed. My wife headed to the shower while I cleaned up the breakfast dishes.

“I saw him walking through the backyard,” she exclaimed with a glint of glee in her eye and a voice that projected triumph, or maybe vengeance; retribution? “He had a fat ball of grey in his mouth!” Fat ball of grey, a tail and a thick coat of fur; a squirrel. The squirrel? The one that chased away the birds from our hanging feeder, violating our deck with urine and feces? That squirrel?

By mid-morning the steady snowfall had tapered off to intermittent flurries, so clean up began. Fire up the snow machine to clear the driveway, shovel off the walkways, rake the roof above the gutters to avoid costly and very inconvenient ice dams, clean up the deck. The deck, the feeder … the squirrel!

The freshly fallen, nearly undisturbed snow made undetected travel impossible. I followed the trail. Small foot prints. Larger prints, wider gait. I traced the impressions in the snow, so orderly and direct I immediately thought of railroad tracks, efficient and effective, economical. The trail of precise foot prints led me deeper and deeper into the woods before ending in a chaotic disturbance in the snow. Blood. Drops of blood, streaks of blood, swishes of blood, a small arc of blood.

The fox got that squirrel. Was it murder?

January Meeting

The January Meeting will be on Saturday, the 20th at Blue Umbrella Books, 2 Main Street, Westfield, MA at 3PM. Bring a favorite piece of your own writing to share, if you'd like. Looking forward to see as many of you as can make it to the meeting! If there is inclement weather the meeting will be postponed.

New Laptop

My incredible daughter gifted me a new Dell laptop for Christmas. I am incredibly grateful to her because my HP Stream was driving me crazy with every Microsoft Update sucking up more and more of its limited memory, leaving me more and more frustrated as I could do less and less with it. Now I have no issues with memory! John set it up for me today. I have been having to use my old Dell netbook to post on the blog because the HP Stream didn't have enough memory to open it. I am a happy girl tonight! Thank you, Kelly Buffum, for relieving a huge stressor in my life!

I will be posting the next meeting date in January soon. Meanwhile, enjoy the holidays!

In Memory of Giuseppe Giucastro

It is with sadness that I write this post tonight.
   We have lost a WhipCity Wordsmith. Giuseppe Giucastro, author of Another Face of God: Joseph the Dreamer, and beloved husband of Wordsmith Judith Foard-Giucastro, passed away at home surrounded by his family on Thursday, December 21st. Giuseppe was born in Buccheri, Sicily and moved to the USA in 1960. He joined the Wordsmiths, with wife Judith, in September 2017. From the very brief time we knew him we will remember him as an esteemed member of the WhipCity Wordsmiths, a wonderful author, and a warm and kind man. We extend our deepest sympathy to Judith at this sorrowful time.

A Fan, A Friend

I met Doty after Tom Deady's author event at Blue Umbrella a couple of months ago. We'd both parked in the lot behind the shop and she stopped to talk to me as we were walking to our cars. I gave her a copy of Miss Peculiar's Ghost Stories, and maybe a copy of Out. We chatted about books and authors a bit then she gave me her phone number after we agreed to get together for coffee one day.


Since then, Doty and I have met for coffee several times and have gotten to know one another better. She likes horror, which is a genre I don't usually write in. I am more supernatural/paranormal. She came to the ArtWorks sponsored Artist & Author event during Pumpkinfest, met Kelly and bought a copy of our co-authored anthology Disturbing. She came to Shop Small Saturday at Blue Umbrella and bought a Christmas book. She doesn't like everything I write, but she is supportive of me as an author. During NaNo month she asked about my Nano novel, the werewolf novel, and offered me some advice which I took. She gave me a couple of ideas. She may like what I'm writing at any given moment, but she gives me things to think about that I don't get from my family and closest friends. She has a different outlook, novel ideas. I value our Sunday get togethers over coffee because of the fresh perspective I get.


She surprised me by gifting me a book last Sunday. She had gone to an author book fair in CT where Shawn Flynn had been with his The Kitty book. She bought me a copy of One of Windsor The Untold Story of America's First Witch Hanging by Beth M. Caruso. It's a book right up my alley. Her gifting me the book reminded me that I have a 2/3 finished novel about witches in New Hampshire waiting to be finished. Sometimes I put things aside and forget about them until something sparks a memory. Now I have the werewolf novel to polish up and the witch novel to finish.


I'm happy to have a follower who has become a friend. I feel local authors should be more accessible than big brand name authors. They have publicists. We, for the most part, do not. They earn decent money. We do not. We have to work hard to make book sales because we're basically unknown. We don't have a publishing house backing us and blowing their trumpets to call attention to our work. We have to do it all ourselves and it can be an overwhelming chore. The perks are meeting people like Doty.


Of course with every acquaintance one makes as an author we should be cautious. I would not invite someone to my home. I meet people in public places. I would not go to someone's home. I do not reveal much personal information. Books, authors, and general info is fine. I ask for her opinions and thoughts on books and what she likes and why. It's an opportunity to get into the mind of a reader and fan. And she gets to probe the psyche of a writer/author and maybe satisfy her curiosity about what makes a writer tick.


A lot can be learned from one on one meet and greets. So, if a fan/follower bravely asks if you'd like to have coffee one day, don't summarily dismiss the invitation. Consider it. It you get no bad vibes from the person, chance a meeting over coffee in a public place. Everyone has a story to tell, but not everyone has an ear into which to pour that story. Doty makes me laugh, makes me see myself and my work in a different light, makes me cry (we both got a little teary eyed the last time we met, but we also laughed)...she opens a window into her world, and I give her glimpses through my own window into my world. She's bought some of my books...she's a part of my circle.


I probably will not ever write a horror novel, will just stick to ghost stories, but she likes some of those stories that she's read. She likes Stephen King, Tom Deady, Joe Hill, and other masters of the horror genre. I'm not in their league. I'm not in their genre. I dabble on the periphery of horror sometimes, but am squeamish about sticking my toe into it. I like what I write, and she accepts that.


So- a fan, a follower can become a friend at times. I pick and choose carefully from those who approach me. Sometimes you find a treasure.

Beta Reading

Hey Mike, things are going to quiet down after Ghost Stories LIVE! on the 16th, so I will get around to reading what you've sent. Andrew has also sent me something he's been working on to read. November was all about NaNo, but I will most likely wait to start proofreading and editing my NaNo novel until January- I'm not all that thrilled with it. I need to develop things a little more deeply. I also need to get my annual holiday story written. This month is already slipping by too quickly!! But, I will happily read what you're working on!

I have a new story that I have been working with. It is called The Staff of Death. I wanted to know if anyone might be interested in being a beta reader for it and give me some feedback on it. I would appreciate any feedback you can give me on it.

Kelly go to utube type in: Magic Stripper deck" you will find multiple video showing you how to use these most versitle cards
Wayne