A Letter to Congress

A Letter to Congress


July 4, 2011

Dear Senators and Representatives,

Happy Independence Day! As I’ve watched the Fourth of July celebrations from various parts of the country, listened to speeches about our hard-won freedoms and to songs, old and new, that sing to that freedom, I find myself often in tears. And I wonder what that’s about. I’m not that easily moved to tears.

For some time, I have found myself feeling less than hopeful about the way decisions are made by all of you and how those decisions continue to impact the people like me. I’m not a politician, and I won’t pretend to know the dynamics that go into the making of a politician. I have great respect for anyone who dedicates his or her life to serving, whether it is in politics or in some other area, based upon the belief that he or she will make a positive difference.

In my own frustrations over the state of our country, I have been one of those who make sarcastic jokes or laughed at your missteps and foibles at times. For that, I apologize. However, with that apology comes an expectation.

I have learned, on a much simpler plane, the value of open discourse and common purpose when it comes to making decisions of import. It saddens me to see members of Congress dig in their heels in the name of party line, rather than sit up, enter into the open discourse with an open mind, and show a willingness to make decisions that will favorably impact the people of this country they serve.

Every day, I am confronted by people, citizens of this country, who barely have enough to put food on their tables, maintain shelter, and cloth their children. I watch the costs of medical care rise and see people who have no access to treatments and medications they need. I see how much there is ‘not enough’. I look back fifty years to a time when I would never have imagined this America. I see these people losing their homes, their families—they are the new face of America. And it frightens me.

I’m one person with one vote. A right that, again, was hard-won, particularly for women. I’m one person who may not be all that well educated about the workings of government (my own fault). I’m one person to whom you have each pledged your service. I’m proud to be an American, and I wouldn’t trade my citizenship for anything.

My expectation is this: that you put aside your party politics and get back in touch with why you have chosen this course for your life. I don’t think any of you sat down one day and said, “I’m going to be a politician so I can conquer the opposing party and reign supreme.” I think you’ve chosen your path out of a true desire to keep this country great. I believe you are each motivated by good hearts and good will.

On this Independence Day, I’ve heard a lot of talk about remembering. Remembering where we came from. Remembering the struggles we have endured. Remembering the gift of freedom we hold dear. Remembering those who have fought and continue to fight for those freedoms.

Today, I’m asking you to remember and to be guided, not by taking sides, but by that desire that once drew you to serve the people and preserve the integrity of our country.

Respectfully,

Linda Rettstatt

Happy Fourth of July

                             Happy Independence Day! 

I got nostalgic this morning, thinking about Fourth of July celebrations in my youth. I grew up in a small town in southwestern Pennsylvania--Brownsville, to be exact. I remember the parade that came through town and ended at the Little League baseball field, right across the street from my house. I always thought it was really cool to be able to sit on your own front porch and watch the parade. Of course, we always anticipated the moment when my dad, an Army reservist, would march by and we would cheer loudly.

Then the baseball games would commence. People parked their cars everywhere, and no one got a ticket. It was a town celebration. My dad would fire up the old kettle charcoal grill while we kids splashed in the inflatable pool that held no more than eighteen inches of water. He would stop grilling long enough to turn on the water hose and create an arc of cool water for us to run through (we didn't have lawn sprinklers.)

After a dinner of hot dogs, homemade potato salad, baked beans and ice cream for dessert, we would all pack into cars driven by Dad or Pappy, and head for the community park and the fireworks display. There was nothing like sitting on a blanket on the hood of the car, oooing and aaahing with just about everyone in town as colors burst overhead.

Then we'd join the slow caravan of vehicles out of the park, through town and back at home where we could usually convince my mother to give us more ice cream before bed. Cradling a bowl in our laps, my sister and I would sit on the top porch step and listen to the adults talk about their Fourth of July memories--not all that different from the ones we were creating at that moment.

It didn't occur to me at the time that my own father fought in WWII in the name of the freedom we celebrated.

Let's take time today, away from the food and the fun, to remember those who have and who continue to serve in the name of freedom.

Have a happy and safe Fourth of July.

Linda









An Interview With Two Real Characters

I thought it would be fun to post an interview with two real characters from Shooting Into the Sun--Rylee Morgan and her sister, Lexie. Well, Rylee is the focus of the interview. But, as you can see, Lexie just cannot contain herself.



Interview with Photographer Rylee Morgan


Interviewer: Today I’m interviewing nature photographer Rylee Morgan. She’s preparing a show at a local gallery and has just returned from a cross-country trip on a photo assignment to capture The Faces of America for noted photo book publisher, Paul Devonshire. As a bonus, Rylee is accompanied by her younger sister, Lexie. Welcome, ladies.

R: Thank you. Lexie will be sitting in to see how an interview is conducted, but she’s promised not to interrupt. (casts a serious glance at Lexie)

Int: Well, it’s a pleasure to have both of you here. So, Rylee, how did you get interested in photography as a career?

R: I’ve had a camera in my hand since I was four years old.

L: Our father taught Rylee to take pictures before he… (trails off at Rylee’s glance her way)

Int: So, your father taught you the craft, Rylee?

R: Yes. I then went on to study photography and actually teach some classes at the Art Institute in Pittsburgh. It’s been interesting to watch the shift from film to digital.

Int: And this new project you just completed. Tell us how this came about.

R: Paul Devonshire needed three photographers to capture photos for his new publication, The Faces of America. I took the toughest assignment to travel up north to the Michigan peninsula, down through the Grand Canyon, and to the Pacific Coast and Yosemite National Park. It was an amazing adventure.

L: Especially after we picked up Josh.

Int: Josh?

L: He was a hitchhiker going our way. Rylee had a rule about no hitchhikers, but he seemed harmless enough. Rylee has rules about everything. (rolls her eyes)

R: The point is, the trip turned out to be both business and…er…vacation.

L: Pleasure. (murmured with a smile)

R: Excuse me. (turns to Lexie) What did we discuss before we came in here?

L: (makes zipping motion across lips and sits back in chair)

R: I’m sorry. You were asking about the photo trip. It afforded an opportunity to see places I’ve never seen and meet people from other parts of the country.

L: Like hunky doctors. (whispered)

R: (shoots Lexie a warning look, then continues) It also gave me a chance to search for our father. He left when I was twelve years of age and Lexie was only four.

Int: Did you find him?

L: You’d be surprised at all Rylee found on this trip (spoken with eyebrows raised). I hardly recognize her now. She has a permanent smile plastered on her face. (glances at Rylee, who is glowering) Well, almost always.

Int: I see. Well, I’d love to know more about the reason for that. Rylee?

* * * * *

And if you’d like to know more about Rylee’s trip to find her father, the hitchhiker she meets along the way, and the smile on her face, get your copy of Shooting Into the Sun today.

Available now at Champagne Books and at Amazon for Kindle

The Ups and Downs of Writing

As with most endeavors, writing has its ups and downs. We authors are told we must have a thick skin and must be able to let the harsh criticisms of our work roll off our backs. That can be easier said than done. But it doesn't mean we don't have to find a way to put the possibly harsh critiques and reviews of our work into perspective.

Every author wants a sterling five-star review of his or her book. Naturally. I've yet to meet an author who would say, "If I get three stars on this one, I'll be happy." And we revel in the four- and five-star reviews, the ones that tout our book as brilliant or a must-read.

But how do we handle the other reviews--the ones from readers/reviewers who find our book to be less than entertaining or engaging, possibly even poorly written? Our human tendency is to react out of hurt and shame and with anger and indignation. "How dare that reviewer say such a thing about my book!" It's as if the reviewer said, "Hey, lady, you sure have an ugly baby there."

Developing that thick skin can be a challenge, and often the thick skin is nothing more than an outer cover, a mask to hide the hurt we feel. As professionals, we have to find a way to maintain a balance and to keep things in perspective. I give serious consideration to every critique, every reader feedback, and every review, whether it's a standing ovation for my work or a less than enthusiastic one-handed clap. As a writer, I'm always learning--at least I hope I am. I can learn from the negative feedback as well as from the positive. It's just not as much fun. Are reviewers always right? No, it's a very subjective business. But if they're right just once and, by taking that negativity, I can strengthen my future writing, I win in the end.

Admittedly, there is a difference between a 'bad' or 'negative' review and a slice'n'dice job that's close to being a personal attack on the author. Reviewers have to keep perspective and balance, as well. But I believe that any of us who put our work out there for public consumption and then don't consider the good AND the bad of public feedback does ourself and our future work a disservice.

We can smile at the great reviews and frown over the less enchanting feedback, but it's all a part of this profession we call writing.

In Memory of My Dad

No matter how old I get, there are still days that stir fond memories from my childhood. My father, Dale Rettstatt, Jr., (nicknamed Sonny) passed away in 1981 at the age of fifty-nine. It's hard to believe it's been thirty years.

As we celebrate Father's Day, I take time to enjoy some memories of my dad. Mostly I remember him as a quiet, constant presence with a dry sense of humor. According to his high school yearbook, he wanted to be an engineer and to build airplanes. He became a soldier who served in WWII and received a Purple Heart for injuries during battle in France. He was a dedicated husband and father, never quite achieving his high school dream. Still, he worked hard to provide for his family, and did so without complaint.

He was in the high school band and played clarinet. He also loved playing cards and, suprisingly enough, creating paint-by-number paintings. I didn't think much about it at the time, but now reflect on the ways my dad tried to feed his creative spirit. Maybe that's where I get this passion for music, photography, and writing--the need to create.

My father was not a very communicative man. I wonder what he was like before he experienced the ravages of war at such a young age. But the man I knew as Daddy was quiet, sometimes brooding (though he did experience headaches from the shrapnel that remained in his head following the war). But he was 'there'. Always. To play ball in the backyard. To take me and my four girlfriends to see the Beatles movie, Help, at a drive-in theater because none of us could drive yet. (More than should be asked of any man!) To teach me to drive. To keep my car in good repair. To help me move out of my parents' house when I thought I was ready for the move. And to help me move back in a year later when I discovered I wasn't quite ready.

He didn't generally refer to my sister or me by our names. If a phone call came, he would shout, "Hey, you. Telephone." If the wrong daughter responded, he'd say, "Not you, the other one." Got so we signed his birthday cards from Hey You and The Other One.

The last time I saw my dad was the day before he died. I had taken a bus home from Pittsburgh for the weekend. He drove me to the bus station on Sunday before he went to work his shift. He lingered at the bus station with me, even though I told him I'd be fine (knowing he needed to get to work). We didn't talk, but he kept asking me if I needed any money--to which I said, "No, I'm okay." It was as if he did not want to leave.

But he left the next evening because of a massive heart attack. Medically speaking, my father had a bad heart. But my Dad had a great heart, a generous heart, the heart of a hero.

Here's to you, Daddy. Happy Father's Day.

The Other One

Outside the Lines

I awoke this morning and, once my vision focused, gazed across the room at the framed photograph on the far wall. It’s a picture I took when I was more engaged in outdoor photography some years ago. I captured the sunset off Norfolk Harbor (Virginia) while on a dinner cruise. And I experienced a flashback to an arts and crafts fair where I had set up a booth to sell my matted photo prints.

A man came by and flipped through the selections, holding up the print of the sunset. He studied it for a moment and then asked, “May I say something about this photograph?”

“Sure,” I said. He then went on to tell me everything that I’d done wrong in shooting that photo—the horizon is almost dead center and, according to my self-appointed critic, you never center the horizon. (I knew that rule.) You never shoot directly into the sun because you will get sun spots. (I knew that rule, too). The picture is bland because there is not much variation in colors—it’s all orange and brown. (I could see that.)

“I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve studied photography and just want to be helpful,” he said.

“Thank you," I said, "but I actually love this picture.”

When I look at this picture, I don’t see a photo of the sunset over the water, with the horizon almost dead center (violating some precious rule). I see a variation in color and tone and shading. I see the orange stream of light the sun sends across the water and pulls the photo together. I see the beauty that can be captured by daring to step outside the bounds of ‘the rules.’ This picture greets me every morning, like a kiss from God.

Was I irritated by his presumption? Yes. Did I let his ‘suggestions’ change the way I approached photography? No. One might ask, "Why not?" After all, he studied the rules.

I used to always meticulously color inside the lines. And I rarely ever had purple grass or a green sun or an orange apple in any of the heavily outlined pictures in my childhood coloring books. Every color was as it should have been and nothing breached the boundary lines on the picture.

As I learned the rules for life, I approached them much the same way. Whose rules? Well, those of my parents, my teachers, my culture. But one day when I was in my twenties, something amazing happened. A friend invited me outside the lines—and I dared to accept. Wow—there was a whole new world out there. A world where I could be creative and innovative and paint in any colors I wanted. And nothing bad happened. Good things actually happened. I was filled a new energy and passion.

I’m not talking legal lines here. (Well, not for the most part. It was the seventies.) I’m talking music, photography, and the inner freedom that comes with experimenting and bending the ‘rules’ and daring to create something new. Even becoming something new. A musician friend, when hearing a composition I’d finished, said, “You don’t want to end a song on a minor chord.” I said, “But that’s where this song ends.” And it did, and it worked. For me. It turned out to be the favorite song of many on the ensuing recording that included my music and hers.

When I began to write novels, I was fortunate enough to not know all the rules involved. I knew rules for spelling, grammar, and punctuation, of course. But none of the rules of plot development, characterization, point of view… I just wrote. I wrote what I felt in my heart, what I heard in my head, and what spilled out from this new passion I’d discovered. Writing. That first book finaled for an award, as have two others since. But that's not the point. It's not about gaining awards. It's about the deep satisfaction that comes from the creative process.

This morning as I stared at the imperfect photograph of the sunset on Norfolk Harbor, several threads of a tapestry wove together. That gravitational pull I felt years ago to step outside the lines and give my creative passion free reign. The daring to compose music that came from my soul and may have stretched the boundaries of the rules of composition. And it all culminated in my eighth published novel, Shooting Into the Sun.

Read an Excerpt

I’ve known this book is my favorite (don’t tell the other kids), but I’ve not been certain why that is. Now I’m certain. Because in that book, I have bared my own struggle in Rylee’s journey to get free of her self-constructed boundaries. And in Rylee’s coming to terms with the way her choices have kept her safe and her life orderly, she is free to color outside those lines and create something new. And, when she does, she is surprised to find that the world doesn’t end.

We don’t usually come to terms with these issues in our twenties or even our thirties. We’re generally too busy living life and still building the life we desire. But, if we’re lucky, at some point (and this often occurs for women when we hit forty-five and older) we feel that tug toward something more, something deeper within ourselves. And if we’re smart, we go with it.

Embrace your passion to be creative!

Linda

Reaching the End of the Alphabet

Last week, we reached the end of the alphabet and the last posting for The Writer's Alphabet blog series. This week I just want to list for you the excellent writers who participated in this blog over the past months and their websites. Please visit their web pages and take a look at their books.

To these writers, I say, "Thanks so much for sharing your wisdom and experience. You've given us all new building blocks for our own writing."

In order of appearance, they are:

Angelica Hart and Zi                  
http://www.angelicahartandzi.com/

Mary McCall                            
http://www.marymccall.net/

A.J. Maguire                          
http://ajmaguire.webs.com/

Jim Woods                            
http://users.dakotacom.net/~jwoods

Karyn Lyndon                        
http://www.karynlyndon.blogspot.com/

Therese Kinkaide                     
http://www.theresekinkaide.com/

Celia Yeary                             
http://www.celiayeary.com/

Claudy Conn                          
http://www.claudyconn.embarqspace.com/

Judy Griffith Gill                     
http://www.judygill.com/

K.D. Pitner                             
http://kdpitner.webs.com/

Kimberley Dehn                     
http://kdpitner.webs.com/

Billie Williams                        
http://www.billiewilliams.com/

Fiona McGier                       
http://www.fionamcgier.com/

Carol McPhee                      
http://carolmcphee.webs.com/

Jane Toombs                        
http://www.janetoombs.com/

Elaine Cantrell                      
http://www.elainecantrell.com/

Allison Knight                       
http://www.allisonknight.com/

Lynn Romaine                      
http://www.lynnromaine.com/

Camille Cavanagh                 
http://www.camillecavanagh.com/wordpress/

Angela Verdenius                 
http://www.angelaverdenius.com/

Lauren Gallagher/L.A. Witt   
http://www.loriawitt.com/

Cindy K. Green                   
http://www.cindykgreen.com/

Judith Leger                        
http://www.judithleger.weebly.com/