Happy, Healthy New Year to all!

I don't know why, but I think every one seeks inspiration as the New Year approaches. You strive to be a better person; to do the right thing; to be healthier, happier, and more giving.
All I can say is that I'm trying...

“There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” — Albert Einstein

14 Quotes To Inspire Your New Year’s Resolutions For 2014

Quotes New Year: 20 Inspirational Ways To Start Off 2014

All the best to everyone in 2014!

Pumpkin donuts...

Weekday mornings I walk with my friend Michele. For the past 12 years, grumpy and bleary-eyed, I leave my house at 7:15am in most weather conditions and temperatures and, more often than not, still wearing my pajamas under my clothes. I walk past a small park and the three houses to her front door, and we walk the same route every day. What is it about familiarity which lends hand to comfort? In the years of walking, we have talked about anything and everything. Aside from politics, nothing is off limits.

We both have an affinity for Dunkin Donuts coffee and, more recently, the pumpkin donut, which is a seasonal addition to their regular assortment. The subject comes up at least once during our one hour walk. For instance, one of us will say, “It’s going to be a stressful day, I think I deserve a pumpkin donut today”, or “It’s a dreary day, a pumpkin donut will cheer me up”, or “It’s a beautiful day, I think a pumpkin donut is in order.”  Well, you get the point. I even Googled the calorie count (340 for those who are interested) hoping it would deter our obsession. Once we talk about it, it seems I can’t get it out of my mind until I buy one and it satisfies my craving for a few days.

Yesterday I bought one, forever hopeful it was not as good as I always imagine. I told myself that we put this stupid donut on a pedestal and it doesn’t deserve the energy and recognition it is given. With my lovely cup of coffee in one hand and the perfectly formed donut in the other, I take a bite, and to my dismay, it is as glorious as the visions I regularly try to delete from my mind. I smile to myself as I text Michele a picture of my donut minus the bite.

Today, Michele sent  me a text that said she was in Dunkin Donuts and now our pumpkin treat comes in munchkin form. OH NO! She told me that she resisted the temptation and left with just a coffee in hand. Her text message exuded pride and self-control…for today at least. I personally can’t promise anything. I think that tomorrow I will announce that we can  no longer speak of the pumpkin donut. A subject, as is politics, that going forward is off limits on our walks.

Collingswood Book Festival, NJ - Saturday, October 5th...

The 11th Annual Collingswood Book Festival - NJ            
Saturday, October 5, 2013,  10am—4pm

Join us on Saturday, October 5 when festival-goers will have an opportunity to stroll more than six blocks of Haddon Avenue filled with nationally recognized authors/speakers for adults and children, as well as booksellers, storytellers, poetry readings, workshops, exhibitors, kid-friendly activities, and entertainment for all ages. This award-winning festival is the longest-running, largest literary event in the Delaware Valley.  All events are free!

http://www.collingswoodbookfestival.com/

Origins of Inspiration...

            I get asked all the time what was my inspiration for writing Forty Years In A Day. Writing the book was a catharsis for me. I had some stories churning in my head for many years, sparked by the stories of my family’s past.  Writing it down cleared my head somewhat. Although I had started with the intention of writing a dramatic history of  my father’s family, it turned into a novel. The truth is that no one can totally piece together that puzzle of tales; there are parts to every family’s story that were pushed under the rug for fear it would tarnish the family’s reputation. The elders think they are doing their family justice by taking some of the more scandalous stories with them to the grave. When you come to terms with this, you are forced to conjure your own conclusions from the pieces of stories that you gather and add a dose of sensationalism to have some fun.

We don’t realize what our ancestors went through to make life better for themselves and for us. What they faced was incredible—the living conditions, poverty, disease—and their work ethic was admirable. I think of the characters and their motivation. For instance, Victoria was an amazing woman who wanted to do the right thing for her children. Without giving away the story, I often wonder where she summoned the strength to do what she did, and if I would have been so courageous. She did it not so much for herself, but for her children. She was the ultimate mother.

People are genuinely surprised by which stories are real and which ones were contrived. They look at me with pity now. There has to be something wrong with me if these were my relatives? I’m not escaping that genealogy psychologically unscathed. It’s funny. But seriously, there was so much I wanted people to know about this fascinating era.

I often think how lucky I am to be where I am, and I make a concerted effort to wake up grateful every day. As a friend put it after finishing the book, “I am so freaking glad I didn’t grow up during that time in the city—so brutal!”

It’s finding out where we came from that helps guide us to where we are going.

The Cover Story...

For me, the cover is an essential part of a book. If thought doesn’t go into the cover, what prompts the reader to believe the rest of the product is any different. Especially for a debut author with no previous following, the book cover is similar to the first impression of an interview. Does this author have the guts to entertain me, to elicit emotion, to teach me something, to take me on a journey to a place I’ve never been before?  Unfortunately, not every book with an alluring cover fulfills expectations, but a book that is accurately and interestingly represented by its cover is more likely to catch the eye. If the design seems uninspired, it might be a sign, and the reader will look no further.

I have had the cover image for Forty Years in a Day in my head from the onset of the project. The story begins on Ellis Island where Clare has taken her father as a gift for his ninetieth birthday. After an emotional morning of touring the immigration museum, they sit down to rest on a bench overlooking the Statue of Liberty. Seeing the depth of emotion in her father’s eyes, Clare decides to ask him for the truth about his family, wondering whether he was willing or able to fill in the pieces of their lives.

Something mysterious overcomes him, and the memories seem to flood Vincenzo’s mind. He begins his story with why his mother, Victoria, had escaped from Italy into the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, New York. He ends his unsettling disclosure by telling Clare about the soulless incident that had changed the course of his life and the lives of his siblings; a secret so atrocious that it took him ten years to come to terms with the magnitude and the consequences of the crime. In one afternoon, he shares this gut-wrenching account of their lives and imparts the wisdom of a lifetime.

I believe the publisher has captured my vision, and the cover truly represents the gateway to this incredible story.

 

                                                                                                                                    Enjoy,

                                                                                                                                    Mona

               

Life in Hell's Kitchen

          Living conditions/lives of immigrant families in Hell's Kitchen...is the blog topic that was suggested to me for an upcoming blog tour. I  immediately thought, that’s exactly what our book, Forty Years in a Day, is about. The story begins in 1900 and follows the incredible journey of a young mother and her four children as they escape from Italy into the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, New York. Forty Years in a Day is layered with the struggles and successes of each family member and defines the character of an era. I believe the book answers the topic quite nicely, so how much more could I share? As if it were fate, a friend sends me a link to a YouTube audio of her Aunt who is being interviewed by her daughter. This elderly woman, Margaret Carlson, who has long since passed, had grown up in Hell’s Kitchen. She shares an amazing childhood memory that I think is the quintessential example of what living in Hell’s Kitchen was like. I would not be able to describe it with any more craft or poignancy than Mrs. Carlson; therefore, these are her exact words transcribed from Margaret Carlson's Memorial Video on YouTube. http://youtu.be/V55rDRi5Dw0  

          ________________________________________________________                        

I was born 1928. I was born in New York City—36^th street and 11^th Avenue. It was called Hell’s Kitchen. Bad neighborhood. On 11^th Avenue there were railroad tracks and the freight trains use to go along the railroad tracks with the cows, and the pigs, and the sheep, and you could hear them all mooing. They were going to the slaughterhouse which was on 28^th Street.

I guess I was about 5, and it was early on a Sunday morning, and I was running the streets on the other side of Eleventh Avenue, where I wasn’t supposed to be, but of course I was. Two men were laying on the street. We called them bottle babies. It was depressing days and there was no work for the men so the men use to hang out on the corner and get drunk. You know, they couldn’t afford food, but they could get drunk. And they were our fathers, we knew them. So these two men are sleeping, and one man gets up and he picked up a big cinderblock and he dropped it on the other man’s head. He looked at me, and I just raced right home. I raced up four flights of stairs. You always lived on the top floor cause it was cheaper.

I told my mother, “Mama, Mr. So and So hit Mr. So and So over the head with a brick.”

My mother said, “What’d did you say, Margie?”

“Mr. So and So hit Mr. So and So over the head with a brick.”

What a whack my mother gave me. She never hit us. My father’s hobby was hitting us. My mother never hit us. 

            “What’d you see, Margie.”

I was crying. “Mr. So and So hit Mr. So and So over the head with a brick.”

She gave me another whack. I landed on the floor, and I’m laying there, and she said to me, “What’d you see, Margie?”

I looked, and I’m thinking to myself she’s going to hit me again. I sat up, and I said, “I didn’t see nothin, Mama.”

She said, “That’s right, now go downstairs and play.”

That’s how I learned you don’t see nothin, you don’t know nothing.

So I get downstairs and there were lots, torn down buildings. Rubble. Empty lots we call them. And the lot was full of people. I was only little so I climb the rocks and I’m standin there and I’m lookin. The police have a man, blood all down his face, saying, “Did anybody see this? Does anybody know anything?”

          
           The West side was nice, nobody’s there, all of a sudden people are coming out of the woodwork. Of course,  nobody saw nothin. So I turn around to climb down the rocks and there is Mr. So and So staring straight at me, right behind me. I just ran home and that was the end of that. But like I said, I knew then—you didn’t see nothin and you don’t know nothin. That’s where I come from.

                  __________________________________________________________                    

Thank you, Margaret Carlson, for your story

and for reminding us to count our blessings.

                                                        Mona

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!

Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, where writers come together to share 8 sentences of whatever they wish. This is Week 7 for me. Unfortunately, I missed last week; life got in the way.

In honor of Father's Day, I decided to take a random snippet from FORTY YEARS IN A DAY about a father and the frustration that can sometimes overwhelm a parent.  
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Rarely did Lorenzo lose his temper, but when he did, it was certain that Rosa and Louisa were involved. The truth was that he found it exhausting when dealing with their skirmishes and blatant disrespect. Drained by his daughters’ belligerence, he slumped in his chair with a surrendering sigh and lit a cigar. With every inhale, he attempted to exhale his exasperation, unable to reconcile the obstinacy of two people raised in an otherwise harmonious household. It seemed what made one happy made the other miserable, and keeping peace between them now that they were teenagers was becoming almost impossible; reminding them they were sisters and should try to get along was downright futile. Lorenzo felt flustered and incapable when faced with the insurmountable challenges his youngest daughters created.

______________________________________

Be sure to catch our Blog Tour!

Monday, June 17 - ​​​​

      Reading Addiction Blog Tours - Meet and Greet​

         Tuesday, June 18 - Texas Book Nook​​​​​​​​
​​​Wednesday, June 19 -  My Reading Addiction
Thursday, June 20 - A Life Through Books​​

​Friday, June 21 - Must Read Faster​

Saturday, June 22 - Shut of and Read Reviews

Sunday, June 23 - ​​ Reading Addiction Blog Tour Reviews ​

Thank you for visiting! I love reading your comments!
                                                                           Mona
 

Beautiful day!

 Took this picture just now.

 Thanks to Heidi Richards of WE MAGAZINE for the lovely interview!

 

 

Tapping into wisdom...

 

One of the first objectives on my quest to write a book was to interview elderly family members and friends. I wish I had started when my parents, aunts, and uncles were still alive. Throughout my life, I had heard many family stories that were fascinating, sometimes even unbelievable, but now I set out in search of the truth. We all have skeletons in our closet that we are not ready to let out; however, the older the person, the more likely they will share the facts. Of course there are those that take their stories to the grave.

The first person I had interviewed was my father’s best friend of over ninety years. My Uncle, as I had called him even though we shared no blood, was living in Florida and I was living in New Jersey so I had to make the most of our time together. What a gift it was to visit this ninety-eight year old gentleman, brimming with wisdom, and listen to pieces of his lifetime. He was lucid, talkative, and he never stopped smiling for the six hours I was there. He was an amazing man, motivated by an amazing work ethic and love of life. His glass was always half full, probably with wine, but it was half full nonetheless. I know now why he and my father were best friends; they shared the same passion for life and the people around them. I guess I had always known that, but it became so much more prevalent. They looked to the future with appreciation instead of apprehension, because “every day you’re alive is a beautiful day.”

 
Many times I reflect back on that day and how fortunate I was to have had that opportunity. It is a memory I will always cherish. My Uncle’s stories reignited my admiration for what our ancestors had endured and accomplished, and I left there even more determined to get their stories told.

Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday

Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, where writers come together to share 8 sentences of whatever they wish. This is Week 6 for me.

The story continues from FORTY YEARS IN A DAY. Victoria and her four children arrived at her brother Dominick's tenement apartment: a three room railroad flat in Hell's Kitchen, New York. Victoria is completely exhausted and sleeps through the next day, obviously comforted by the fact that her sister-in-law, Genevieve, was caring for the children. She wakes to find everyone at the kitchen table.
__________________________________

Vincenzo enthusiastically greeted her, “Good morning, Mama, but it’s really night time.” He chuckled.

“You’ve slept away the day. We’re about to have dinner,” Dominick said.

“We went for a walk with Aunt Genevieve. There’re so many people here…and tall buildings!” Gennaro said.

“There’re wagons where you can get all kinds of food for a coin,” Vincenzo added. “We even saw a train pass over our heads. It was so loud, we covered our ears.”

Baffled by their strange narrative, Victoria was both surprised and relieved that her children seemed to be assimilating themselves to their new surroundings. She had prayed they would be able to forget all the grief and horror they had witnessed, and the process seemed to have miraculously begun. She glanced at Genevieve with thankful eyes only another mother could understand.

__________________________________

Thanks again for stopping by!

Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday

Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, where writers come together to share 8 sentences of whatever they wish. This is Week 5 for me.

 

The story continues from FORTY YEARS IN A DAY. To recap, Victoria and her four small children had been granted passage on a steamship from Italy to America. There was a terrible storm, and they were hoisted onto a lifeboat before the ship went down. Well, for those of you who were worried for the safety of Victoria and her children, they did make it to Ellis Island! Yay!

__________________________________

Nervously, Victoria took out a piece of paper showing her brother’s name and address, and the impatient man informed her that she would have to wait for him to be notified. Now thousands of miles away from home, she was faced with a litany of unending misgivings.

After progressing through the dubious day, they were given a canvas cot in one of the narrow dormitories that ran along the balconies of the registry room—its capacity was stretched tenfold. Victoria settled the children on the flimsy padding. Their bodies were huddled together and their four small sets of feet were intertwined in the middle, creating a pile of jumbled limbs. The cold, tiled floor was the only spot for Victoria, and she sat down wearily. Her stiff joints ached, and she shifted awkwardly, searching for comfort. Tucking her legs tightly to her chest, she rested her head on the edge of the cot. It had been an endless day of interrogations, examinations, and patient waiting, and her contorted body was grateful for even the slightest reprieve.

_________________________________

Thank you for your readership and comments!
Mona

 

 

Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, where writers come together to share 8 sentences of whatever they wish. This is Week 4 for me.

The story continues from FORTY YEARS IN A DAY. In last week’s scene, Victoria and her four small children had been granted passage on a steamship to America. I couldn't resist posting this excerpt.

“Abandon ship! Abandon ship!” a crewman bellowed down to steerage. “She’s taken on too much water—the captain says she won’t hold up much longer!”

Wading ankle deep in the sloshing bilge, Victoria carried Catherina and Gabriella with the strength of a desperate parent while propelling Gennaro and Vincenzo behind the others toward the ladder. Her adrenaline battled the rushing waters as she hoisted her children one at a time into the grasping arms of two crewmen. The rain came down in torrents, obscuring her vision as she forged her way skyward.

When she stood on the deck, wind and water hurled through the air, further chilling Victoria’s sodden skin. She squinted against the pandemonium as waves pounded the ship, dropping it like a toy into the bowels of the foaming sea and thrusting it up to repeat the endless badger. Her arms laden with the girls, she had left their possessions behind except for a satchel tied to her waist containing their most treasured belongings. Vincenzo and Gennaro gripped tightly onto her saturated dress, banding together to navigate the menacing motion of the floundering ship as it listed to starboard. One by one, they were hoisted onto a careening lifeboat with the might of several sailors.

Thanks again for visiting!
Mona

 

Counting my sweet blessings...

Every day I try to count my blessings, one of which is that I work from home. I can work in my pajamas. I don’t have to comb my hair. I’m on my own schedule; no accountability, no rules. How lucky am I? To add icing to the cake, I live next door to this little French lady who loves to bake. This week’s confections consisted of warm peanut butter cookies, lovely little lemony muffins, and today, a creamy tray of tiramisu. Seriously, this is true. It’s like living next door to my private bakery. Her delivery method is always the same. She’ll call me on the phone, and in a rushed French accent, she asks, “Mona, do you like tiramisu? I just made it.”

I think to myself for a moment, is there really someone out there that would say no?  Before I can answer, she says, “I’ll be right there.” 

“I’m on a diet,” I stammer, but I hear a click.

She is in her late 80s, but has more energy than I do because what seems like seconds after she hangs up the phone my doorbell rings. I narrow my eyes and look down at her (she’s less than 5 feet tall), shaking my head in protest. She smiles at me devilishly and hands me my treat, fresh out of the oven. “Oh,” I moan, inhaling its sugary aroma, “It smells so good.”

“This recipe is from Bon Appetit,” she states casually. “Let me know if you like it.”

I want to yell at her and kiss her at the same time, but before I can make up my mind, she pivots around and flutters on her way, giggling to herself.

“Thanks,” I yell after her. “You’re crazy!” If I didn’t know better, I would think she’s trying to kill me one sweet delicacy at a time.

With my gift in hand, I head to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday.

Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, where writers come together to share 8 sentences of whatever they wish. This is Week 3 for me.

This is another excerpt from FORTY YEARS IN A DAY. In last week’s scene, Victoria sneaks out of her home located in a small village in Italy with her four small children. In this scene, they have reached the seaport in Naples, Italy and are granted passage on a steamship to America. They are directed down a ladder to the cramped, windowless, steerage dormitories. Metal-framed, triple-tiered bunks lined the confining compartments that extended the length of the ship.

 

          They were entitled to three bunks for the five of them, and Victoria piled their belongings at the base. A wall of woolen blankets draped over a rope and narrow tables lined with benches, separated the men from the women and children.      

          Acclimating to the creaking, compartmentalized quarters, Victoria thought it was eerily quiet for the number of passengers who were crammed into the small area. She knew some were fortunate to be joining family in America, while others had no guarantee there would be a bed or a roof over their heads. Exhausted and bewildered, she sat with her children on the bottom bunk, absorbing what was happening around them. Her mind twisted apprehensively as she reflected on all that she had just left behind. She was suddenly struck with amazement how she had come this far, but simultaneously, she felt alarmingly alone in a room full of people. Hugging her children, she tried to draw strength from their naiveté.

        
          The engines vibrated, and the ship lurched forward, signaling the beginning of their lengthy passage across the Atlantic Ocean.

Thanks for stopping by!
Mona

Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday...and Tidbit Tuesday!

Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, where writers come together to share 8 sentences of whatever they wish.  Also adding Tidbit Tuesday!
 

This is another excerpt from FORTY YEARS IN A DAY.  In last week’s scene, Angelina, with much trepidation, told her husband, Alfredo, that their daughter had already left for America. This week I decided to back it up a bit and post the scene where Victoria actually leaves for America with her four small children while her husband is in an alcohol induced sleep.

Italy, 1906

Never changing into her bedclothes, Victoria packed away their usual breakfast, bread and milk, along with other staples needed for their travels, and nervously paced away the rest of the seemingly endless hours. In the eerie black essence of the night, she nudged the children awake before the village stirred and dawn could shed light on her scheme.

           
           Opening his droopy eyes, Vincenzo sat up and looked at the large sack and basket by the door. When he started to speak, Victoria shushed him with a finger to her lips and handed him his clothes. “Don’t wake Papa, and dress quickly.”

Vincenzo fumbled with sleepiness as he put on his knickers. He tied his shoes and helped Gennaro while Victoria swiftly dressed Catherina and Gabriella.

With Gabriella dozing in her arms, she quietly ushered the children out of the house, maneuvering them around the squeaky boards that led to the front door. Stepping out into the early-morning fog, they were enveloped in a cloud of heat and humidity.

As she gently closed the door behind them, Vincenzo asked, “Isn’t Papa coming with us?”

“I’ll explain later. We’re going on an adventure.” Victoria kept her voice low and calm.

“Where?”

“America, Vincenzo, to America.”

 

Thanks for stopping by!

Mona

 

Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday

           Welcome to Weekend WritingWarriors and Snippet Sunday where writers come together to share snippets (8  sentences) of their current projects.
           This excerpt is from Forty Years in a Day. The scene takes place in Italy, 1906. Angela must tell her husband, Alfredo, that their daughter has left for America.

 

        She held on to the back of a chair for support and looked down at the table to avert his gaze. Her heart was pounding hard inside her chest, and she took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. “There’s no easy way to tell you this,” she finally said.

       “What is it, Angelina?” he said, heaving a sigh of slight impatience.

       “I gave Victoria our savings so she could go to America and be with Dominick. She’ll be safe with her brother. He’ll take care of them.” As she spoke she saw her husband’s face twist into a knot of disbelief and rage, and panic descended upon her like darkness on a moonless night. “She was miserable. She was so unhappy…and the children. Believe me, Alfredo, it’s the only way they could get away from him.”

       Slamming his hand to his chest, he demanded, “Where are they?”
 

 

Read more at about our story at FORTY YEARS IN A DAY | a novel
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Read snippets from other writers on Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday.

Enjoy!
Mona

Words and Wisdom...Part 2

In response to my previous blog on April 17th - Words and Wisdom - I received quite a few responses via Facebook and wanted to share them.

"You've gotta' dance like there's nobody watching,
Love like you'll never be hurt,
Sing like there's nobody listening,
And live like it's heaven on earth.
(And speak from the heart to be heard.)”
-William W. Purkey - author and college professor

Surround yourself with positive people that do their best. It keeps you on your toes and inspires you to do the same. -Kathy

Don't be lazy or expect anything to be handed to you. Do the work. Often the only way to get things done is to do it yourself. Keep at it - sometimes it takes a while to get where you need to be! All things that you can personally attest to. -KPW

Live, love and laugh ALOT. Life is way too short ,so don't sweat the small stuff and always follow your dream. -Tricia

We have to teach our children that they have the power to become whatever they want in life and that they are worthy if only just because they were born. If every High school had assemblies like the one that I went to there would be a lot less bullying, hatred, crime, etc.... Some children get a lot of positive reinforcment at home but some children do not get any. The answer is simple for me - Be kind to everyone you meet because you never know what their life is like and maybe you can make a difference in their day. –Emily

Life is like a tapestry…weave with your thoughts and actions every day! Enjoy every moment! -Maureen

If you believe...you can achieve anything. Always follow your heart and believe in yourself! -Margaret

Follow your heart and always do the right thing. –Theresa

They will ask you "How can I become a famous writer and make a fortune?" I encourage kids to write, write, write-and especially-to "write what they know." I encourage them to start with school papers, zines, anything like that. I tell them to persevere. You could give them an example-like J.K. Rowling...of how hard it was for her to get started. But-I would (and do, always) tell them that just because someone can write a sentence, it doesn't mean "they are a writer." -Cynthia

Carpe diem. Always seize the day. Writers, write. Singers, sing. Try to like what you do, and do what you like. I guess to impart a sense of wanderlust and creativity in your career/life. –Mara

Remember the five simple rules to be happy!

1. Free your heart from hatred – Forgive.

2. Free your mind from worries – Most never happen.
3. Live simple and appreciate what you have.
4. Give more.
5. Expect less from people but more from yourself.  
                                                               -Lisa

 

Thank you friends! I am grateful! -Mona

Words and wisdom...

I was asked to speak at a Career Connectons breakfast at a local high school, and I am sitting here wondering what words of wisdom I have to impart. I am asking, okay begging, for comments and ideas on what to say to high school students that could possibly help them in life. Who the heck am I to give advice? Then I thought more about it...and we all something to share…

-A friend just emailed me and said that her mantra is “every day is a gift.” Given the recent Boston tragedy, it is even more appropriate.

Any other thoughts???

Clichés and dreams…

          While writing FORTY YEARS IN A DAY, I had a dilemma about using clichés. Writers are taught not to use them at any expense because it makes their writing seem unoriginal, but sometimes I have to struggle to stay away from the cliché. Oh yes, some are ridiculous, like the cliché “everything has its place.” How does anyone agree with it, never mind repeat it. Everything does not have a place. I don’t see a place for war, for poverty, for sickness, for lack of educational opportunity, but they exist. So, yes, some cliché’s are senseless, and yet some are such that they say what you want to say the best and most concise way it can be said.

           After much thought and consideration, I have come to the decision that some clichés definitely have a place, like the cliché “dreams really do come true.” I am not talking about the dreams you have when your eyes are closed and you’re fast asleep. The dreams I am referring to occur when the eyes are wide open and they churn in the mind for years, even decades, and sometimes even lifetimes. The thing is, when a dream comes to fruition, it becomes reality, and it metamorphoses into another dream that could not have been conceived without the culmination of the previous one, and only then do we begin to plan the next journey, relish in the possibilities, and believe in the outcome.

                                                                                                                                                    Mona