So sad and this doesn't help.

First, I mourn the death of Paul Walker.  All death touches me and I read that he was such a nice person.

Second, over the past 12 months, I had started to collect the Fast and Furious films because I wanted to write a crossover story with the characters and Riddick.  Reading things like this makes me want to write even more; however, I don't know if I should.

What do you think, since it is about his character and not the person.

So true for me...

C Hope Clark wrote:


As children, we dared to dream and tell stories about anything and everything. Monsters, pirates, super heroes, princesses, Prince Charmings and zombies. We started out by imagining a situation where something was amiss. Then we created dilemmas and solutions, eventually ending the story with a spectacular conclusion.

And we've outgrown that.

As we grew up, our parents told us to quit being shy, quit acting up, quit behaving like a child. The unexpected result was that we quit using our imaginations . . . quit knowing how to be creative, no longer seeing the world as phenomenal situations with remarkable journeys and mind-blowing endings.

I think our parents did us a disservice telling us to grow up, and we are most likely doing the same to our progeny. Why not let our kids evolve without making them quit being imaginative? Let them remain children.

As grown-ups, we struggle opening a story with action, with an exceptional incident, with a point where the protagonist is grasping at how to get her feet back under her. Instead, we feel the need to build up all this background material, introducing people and their histories, setting the stage, leading up to the moment in a methodical manner.

We never did that as children. We jumped right in! We always started where the action was!

As children we got to the point. As authors, for some reason we feel the need to ease into it, which, if you think about it, ruins the moment.

As youth, we were colorful, daring to have pivotal moments that maybe made no sense initially, but in the end came out as the perfect solution.

Discard your adult tendencies. Dare to be a child again. Then point that untethered imagination toward storytelling and see how far you can soar.


I think this is the reason I am having such a hard time writing.  When I was younger the stories poured out.  I need to get back to what I once had before I started worrying about the "proper" way to write a story.

One final image of my dad.

We buried my dad on Saturday and it was a joyous occasion.

I sat through part of the service with my mouth open;  I knew he, and my mom, were always helping people- they never talked about what they did- but I never knew the extent as people came up during the service and afterwards with story after story of what my parents did for them.    Wow!!!!  Talk about the gift of service.

Anyway... when I was putting together a video tribute for my dad, I came across this picture.  I was struck by the love in his eyes for my mom and even after almost 60 years, you could see that love when he looked at her.

My prayer, in his memory, is that each one reading this has or will have someone in their life that looks at him or her like this and that you look at with this love in your eyes.

Hugs to you all.


April 19, 2013; 8:51 a.m.

Not polished... just heartfelt...

April 19th, 8:51 a.m.

A date and time that are engraved on my memory because three simple words changed my life forever… “Daddy’s gone to heaven.”

How can I describe in a few words a lifetime of what he meant, no, means to me.

I’m going to try my darndest.

It started when I was born because that was the day I almost dad. I remember my mom telling me that I had tubes sticking out me everyplace. It was so bad that she couldn’t see me, it hurt her so much. But she said, my dad came to the hospital after working 2nd shift and sat with me. Not once or twice, but for the whole time I was in there. This set a pattern for the rest of my life; whenever I woke up from surgery, and I’ve had many over the years, I’d open my eyes to see him sitting there smiling at me. I found out a few weeks ago, he did this for all his children. My said I’ve always was sick as a baby. She would be exhausted from the day, but he would get off work, get me out of the bed and sit up with me for the remainder of the night. Wow…

I can’t even begin to tell about the time he spent with you. He wasn’t the type of dad to go to work, come home, grab the paper and a beer, put up his foot and shut out the rest of us. Nope… he was always involved in our activities. First of all, he didn’t drink, we’ll not alcohol, ice tea was his choice. I have great memories of the badminton net in the backyard and he playing with us. Trips to the park to show us how to throw and catch a baseball; Bar b ques in the back yard; Taking us to the amusement park. What I am saying is, he was involved. Another memory… teaching us to ride a bike and later to drive. That man had the patience of a saint. He was not a yeller or screamer. He was calm and quiet and would tell you want to do. I was learning to drive a stick and got stall under a light trying to make a left turn. He quietly and patiently said, “Just ease up on the clutch and take your time.” Other cars were honking and giving dirty looks, but he never got rattled. This was his way of dealing with everyone. This is not to say that he didn’t discipline us. I also remember the spankings. But it was never in anger, but with love. In fact, the only way we knew he was angry- he had a soul patch and he’d tucked in his lower lip, that’s when we knew he’d reached his limit. Now, I’m selfish, but he made time for his other children as well. I remember when he was mom for a week.

Our mother was in the hospital, I’m not sure if it was for her operation or if she was having my younger brother, so dad was trying to take care of us. Poor man, he did his best to comb our hair, I think I was about in the sixth grade and sis in the second. My brother would have been in the eighth. He also tried to cook, but his specialty was oatmeal. Being kids, we begged our aunt to come and help him out. Kids don’t appreciate, but we grew to later on in life.

There were five of us and two older half-children that I was privileged to meet and get to know. In fact, on one trip, we meet his first wife, and I’m happy to say I have her words on tape. She told us all that she left him because she was young and stupid. He never did her wrong; she just didn’t want to be married anymore. But if she had just thought about what she was doing, she wouldn’t have let him go. I hate to say it, but at the time I thought, Your lose was our gain.

He also had special shows he watched with us. Ours was the late night horror host, Hoolihan and Big Chuck. One sister was Little House on the Prairie and there were others with my other siblings. He took the time to make something that was our own with him. He also helped anyone who needed him. It didn’t matter, day or night. You called him and he was there. Once again, the midnight call from Chicago to Cleveland. “I want to come home. I don’t want to be here anymore.” He was outside of my door eight hours later with mom and the rest of the siblings in tow. But none of us were surprised, that was who he was. Babies loved him.

Any crying babies give them to my dad. They calmed right down. Then and again, he took care of his siblings when his dad passes. He died when my dad was in the sixth grade. As the eldest, he took care of all of them and there were 12, if I remember correctly. He could wash and powder with the best of them. And he also left school to work. He told me of his adventures of driving a coke truck at age 12. Anyway, it didn’t matter where or whose baby, they fell in love with him. He’d pick them up; they’d snuggle to him and fall asleep. I think I have the opposite effect. They holler louder. *sigh* My youngest sister told me that when he dog gave birth, if anyone else tried to come near the puppies, she would growl and snap at them… not my dad. She let him pick them up immediately without protest. Even she recognized a gentle and kind spirit.

He loved his mom.   Every, and I mean every, summer he took his vacation in August. And for one week of that vacation we’d be in Alabama visiting the grandparents. Since my mom’s parents weren’t too far away, he’d take us to see him too.   About five years ago, for family reunion, my sisters, my brother and I found the hotel that we stayed at during that time. It was hard to believe that all of us fit into that little room. This was back in the 60’s so there weren’t the amenities that are enjoyed today, but we made it work. He loved going to family reunions. I was older and thought I was too grown up to go and when I finally started going back with them, I couldn’t believe all the years I wasted thinking it would be boring. It was anything but. Food and fun is what we had. I ‘m blessed that I was able to video the ones I went to. I wish I some of my older relatives and their stories.

Yes a great man, and what made him even greater- he was a Christian. I’m not kidding on my Facebook when I said, “Jesus took his hand and took him to heaven.”

It’s a dirty word now to be a Christian. The media only highlights those who bring shame to the name of Christ, but I dare them to show people like my daddy. You’d never see it, because the world would discover true Christians in action.

My dad didn’t go the seminary, but he knew what he believed. He didn’t go to high school, but he wasn’t a stupid man by any means. He retired out of Chrysler as a welder combination repairman. I can see him now with the manuals he brought home with him to study. And he passed with flying colors. As I said, he knew what he believed and he believed the Bible unashamedly. If the Bible said it was so, it was so. He didn’t have blind faith, he believed it because he studied, talked to God and proved that it was true. He trust in God and God rewarded his faith. Dad should have passed away when I was about five or six. He lived until I was 53. Even the doctors didn’t know how he did. He told them, “God.”

Now, my dad read his Bible, believed his Bible and even quoted from it, but he never thumped it.   People who met him came away changed. He had a quiet conviction and was willing to share his faith with anyone. He was a deacon in the church for many years and he took his calling seriously. Every Sunday, he was on the front bench, leading prayers and praising God. He tried to build up the church and the saints of God anyway he could. He shared his faith on the job and at home. He wasn’t just lip service, he was action. Helping whom he could and praying for those he couldn’t. I can’ tell you how many relative and non-relative stayed at our house because he opened it up to him. He had my mom’s trust. He never cheated on her nor did he want to.

Marriage was sacred to him because it mirrored Christ relationship to the church and he would never dishonor that. Finally, if you didn’t believe what he believed, in his own quiet and gentle he’d take you to the scriptures and show you, “Thus saith the Lord.” But he was never nasty or degrading. If the Bible said it was wrong, he’d just showing you chapter and verse and let you make up your own mind. He never forced anything down a person’s throat. And he isn’t the only one. There are millions of us like that, but you’ll never see a Christian portrayed that way in the media or television. But they’ll be there whenever Westboro shows up. Yes, we were all raised Baptist. He knows the power of Christ and his resurrection, because he is alive and well with him.

My sis said the day before he died, dad told her that he was tired. He had been sick for over 40 years. Rheumatic fever as a child, congestive heart failure as a young man and when he became older: diabetes, high blood pressure – from his meds, high ammonia, a stroke earlier this year and finally falling and breaking his hip. He bounced back so many times from the others, but he was tired. I had prayed to the Lord that in my selfishness I wanted him here another 10 or 20 years, but if he is hurting and tired, please take him home and the Lord granted it. My sis said his last breath sounded like a sigh of relief. When he prayed his last words were always, “… let me lay my head upon your breast and breathe my life out” and that’s what he did. He had spent the night before talking to Jesus and Jesus told him, I’m taking you home.

He was so happy on Monday. My mom and sisters say that he was up and feeding himself. Walking around, he pulled open the front door, which is no easy feat- they have the heavy oak front doors. He and sis were on the front porch laughing and joking. He was in his right mind and just like our dad before all the illnesses. He was strong and ready to give life another chance. That was the gift our Lord gave to us. He let our have our dad back once last time. He infirmed as he had been for so many months. He was our dad again. So when he fell and broke his hip, it was a shock to us all. And when he passed….

So what can I say about a man who life a rich and Christ-like life?

I say thank you Jesus that you gave me someone who set me on the right back, and even when I strayed showed me the love that you have showed me. I am so much richer because Joe Nathan Sturdivant was on this earth for 81 years. Lord, keep me in your ways so I can see him when it’s my time to ... “lay my head upon the Lord’s breast and breathe my life out….”

my daddy

dad and mom

More fun with the mystery flamer...

My writing computer is in the shop.  This may seem strange to some of you, but others may understand.  I have a special computer that I use to write my stories and when that computer is in the shop, I just can't seem to write no matter how much I try.  My hubby wonders why I can't use my other laptop... well... in my mind, that is the laptop I use for my photoshop, vid and such, that is not my writing computer.  My mind tells me that I must write on my writing computer, or I can't write at all.  So keep your fingers crossed that it comes back from the shop soon. Hugs.

My anonymous flamer is back.  This is his or her latest missive; I've listed them in time received order:

you know I find that quite funny.

And if you want me to reveal myself,well,I guess I could tell you... if you
ask... nicely.

and well,now I have a message for you.
Got a problem with me?Solve it.
Think I'm trippin?Tie my shoe.
Can't stand me?Sit down.
Can't face me?Turn around.
Love me?Great!
Hate me?Even better.
Don't like my style?Don't like yours.
Don't know me?Don't judge me.
Think you know me?You have no idea.

You may not be able to tell, but I have been put in my place and I am cowering in fear because of this person's witty comeback.

I don't mind having them listed in my under my reviews because it increased my numbers; however, if they want the meaningful dialogue that I supposed this person to be craving, he or she needs to post to my lj.   I have my preferences set to accept anonymous comments.

As for wanting this person to reveal him or herself, I could care less one way or the other.  I just wish they would give me better material with which to work because my goal is to make this into a weekly series and one day- a book, "My Butt is on Fire, Conversations With a Flamer." Think it'll be a best seller?

Ta until next week.

Too much fun...

I received an email that I had a new comment for one of my stories on and being the praise hungry hound that I am, I decided to open it.
This is what the message read,
Alright I'm not going to flame you,but if you don't deliver this message to (deleted the other writer's name) for me you might want to do the same thing he did,tell him,
1)he hasn't seen or heard the last of me

2)I'm only anonymous to prevent him from reporting me(I am a user

3) when I come back to haunt him I'll be worst then before

and most importantly if you don't do as I say, his problems become yours

Wow!  I feel honored to have so much power over my fellow writers that they will jump on my edicts.  I'm sure that words from my mighty pen, or keyboard in this case, will make them see the errors of their ways and immediately repent.  Therefore, being the benevolent dictator that I am, I wrote this reply and posted it in my profile, since the person posted anonymously and I couldn't reply directly.

Did you think that I would keep this hidden. First of all, what makes you think that I have a special "in" with that certain person that I could tell them anything? That is a presumption of power that I do not possess.

2) Wow! what a coward you are.

3) Flame away... I've had worst from those whose opinion actually mean something to me.

4) I hope the mods see this. If they don't, I'll be sure to send them a copy.

5) Grow up and put on some big girl or boy underwear, get a backbone and reveal yourself or don't play in a league for which you're not ready.

Hoping this fine you well.

Now, the sane thing to do would be to discontinue anonymous reviews, but I have the feeling that if I do this I will be missing out on some of the best entertainment that I have had for a couple of years.  And some really good plot bunnies.  I've been complaining that my muse has left me, maybe this is a way to get him/her back.

I am a, "if life give you lemons, make lemonade type of person."  And why do I have the feeling that this person will give me a boat-load of lemons? 

Not encouraging people to flame, or for other writers to do what I am doing, but I write because I enjoy it.  I've had two years, in which I seriously doubted if I should be writing.  I know that I'll never be as well-known or read as some of the fanfic writers on the board, so what.
I'm having fun for the first time in a looong time.  To have someone who will not even leave their name tell me what to do?  Nope, sister don't roll like that.

So let the idiot play in my sandbox, my skin is thick enough that he can't even penetrate it.  As stated in #3, their opinion is of little value to me.  Flames just warm the chambers of my cold, cold heart.

Okay, back to working on my stories.  Hugs.

First of my weekly blogs.

Good morning, first of all I would like to wish you all a Happy New Year and a Happy New Decade.  This blog will be the first of what hopefully will become my weekly blogs.  This depends on a number of factors mostly whether or not I have the time to do them every week.  But on Wednesdays, I'm going to make it my habit to write a least a couple of lines about my writing experience for the past week.  So let's get started.

This blog is coming out earlier in the day than my normal blogs will this is because I'm at home sick today and I decided to try to finish a book that I've started.  As ever written in previous blogs, I am taking all the write year, affectionately known as WriYe, challenge for 2010.  My goal is to write at least 500,000 words this year, but I haven't started writing yet.  Why haven't I started writing it?  Because I found the book that really speaks to me about the reason that I began writing in the first place.  So I decided to take this a week to read this book and reacquainted myself with my first love which is storytelling.  I think I got lost in the art of writing a story instead of using my characters to tell the story; this book speaks to the aspect of my writing.

The book is called, 45 Master Characters: the Mystic Models for Creating Original Characters.  The author is Victoria Lynn Schmidt.  The reason this book grabbed my attention was the back as she discusses how I used to ride before I became concerned about writing, if that makes sense to you.  My early writings or character driven, yes I have a plot in a row from an outline but I knew my characters and they drove my stories.  But now I started worrying about was the plot of the story;  what do I have to do to make it exciting; how can I grab more readers and other parts such as these.  But when I look at some of the stories I find that I was grabbing readers, and how did I do that (forgive my lapse back into ASL grammar which my betas can tell you that I do quite often, sorry I use ASL more than I use English) was by knowing who my characters were, their histories and what motivated them.  This book does just that.

The author takes the major archetypes as presented in movies in literature and using the gods and goddesses as role models, she describes these archetypes.  She describes the heroic side of the archetype and the twisted, or the villainous side of the archetype.  For example, the first archetypes he mentions is Aphrodite -- her heroic side, if you want to call it that, is the Seductive Muse and her villainous side is the Femme Fatale.  The author then goes on to describe the qualities of the archetype, such as: who they care about, what they fear, motivations, how others see the characters, developing the characters, assets, flaws, and who they came the best paired with to develop the character.  The writer then goes on to list the villainous side of the character and those qualities.  Finally, off the list the best examples from books movies in history as examples for the character.  I find the book is to be interesting and a great read for me.  Some of the other riders here may not agree with everything he says or maybe even the way she decides that story should be built speaks to me because this is how I originally wrote my stories... even before I actually started putting them on paper.

Alright that's all from me for now I'm off to finish reading the book.  I'm almost finished with the female characters so I'm about to start on the male characters and then there's even a section about sidekicks.

Hope to see you soon and I hope to start enjoying all of your stories soon.

Have a great day.

Bye-bye and hugs to you all.

One more thing, if there any mistakes that I missed in here please forgive me.  I'm training my new Dragon Speak dictation system.  Since I have tendinitis, is hard for me to write or type for long periods of time.  So I bought this wonderful program in which you could try and correctly it really is a boon.  It produces words much faster than I can type and I'm a fast typists with the added benefit that I'm not in pain by the time unfinished.  Unfortunately, I'm still in the training.  So if you see any mistakes that I didn't cheat that means that I mumbling or garbling so my words in it can only try to type what it thinks that you said.  I'm sure by the time I finish with this I will have the best diction in the world.

Okay for real, this is really the end.  Ta for now.

  Mr. Bean does his happy dance.