About the music

I keep thinking about the song I've got on this site. I'm not a country fan so I'm surprised at myself. The lyrics are 'country' ... but to me they do paint a picture I find very romantic. Upon a little analysis I wonder why ... If a guy told me that I was his 'kind of rain', I'd want to buy it! ... now then, what about 'confetti fallin' from a drunken sky' ? I love the line in the song, BUT really!!! Is that really something I can get my mind around as romantic? (It must be the way Tim says it!) So to you writers ( or to any woman ) ... Is the timber of voice more important than the words, or what a man says ...? Or is it the picture he paints? The question is up for discussion. And thanks to Erica for her comment on the last question. She's My Kind of Rain 

Spring's different for all of us

I know -- I know, I'm fortunate the weather is sunny and mild. The birds are all chirping announcing spring is in the air. But darn it my feet are bare and freezing and I've got a cool breesze at my back. Those of you who had snow on the ground when you woke up a day or two or go are probably ready to wring my neck. But -- hey -- Florida is supposed to be HOT HOT HOT! I'll be whining about the heat come September or October when I won't be able to get cool. Right now I'm going to go put on my socks. Maureen


Remembrance by Maureen Sevilla   Small hand in large one, looks awestruck and trusting  Rocking on horses Giggling with friends  Hiding toothless grins  Behind chubby hands  Flying down streets, spinning wheels beneath tiny feet Awesome in denim  Chuckling with friends Hiding toothy smiles  Behind tender hands  Dance cheek-to-cheek, thoughts heartfelt and loving  Sparkles in dresses  Laughing with friends  Hiding smiling lips  Behind slender hands  Hellos - Farewells, life's emotions run high  Rocking on porches  Gabbing with friends  Sporting empty gums  Behind wrinkled hands Crying at life,  Beginnings and Endings  Giggling, chuckling, laughing  Smiling or grinning  Behind blue veiled hands

Dream On

Flying by Maureen Sevilla   Light. Airy. With but a thought, I elevate And sweep through rooms at ceiling tops. Escape through doors Flying. Jumping. Running feet lift up from grassy knolls Float high over rainbow colored fields. Floral scents rise up to meet me. Gracefully. Boldly. I soar amidst cloudless blue expanse Above endless stands of mottled greens Until the tug of consciousness Looming. Weighty. Awareness fights certain gravity A leaden mass of dragging descent I am hopelessly earthbound.

Impressions of Laon

Laon: The Scene The early morning fog swirled around the base of the deep green poplar trees standing tall and majestically at the top of the rise. Removing my sweater, tying it around my waist and wiping the perspiration from my upper lip, I sighed with relief dropping to the seat. I reached into my clutch for the francs necessary to pay for the privilege of resting on the aged, scroll-worked, iron bench. The caretaker, an erect, uniformed, ‘fiftyish’ man, received the francs with stiff somewhat disapproving politeness while murmuring a short “merci”. As I caught my breath from the long climb, my gaze dropped to the ancient cobblestones at my feet. The cobblestones, a multi-colored puzzle of grays reached across the plaza to the Medieval Gothic style church. Black mildewed bullet holes still riddled the enormous stone structure. I shifted my scrutiny skyward to the Rosetta stained glass window, amazingly still intact after centuries of wars. Here at the top of the crag

Impressions of a Soldier

Daddy Above the huge shiny black clodhoppers all she could see was the field of green fatigues he wore. Her little bare feet fit perfectly on the tops of the boots, and he held her hands with her arms outstretched wide as they danced around the living room to one song after another -- She was never too tired after a full day of play to dance with her daddy. He smelled uniquely of aircraft oil and Old Spice, a combination she'll never forget and how Daddy was never too tired to dance with his little girl after a day of tending the F-4's that shook the ground and vibrated her innards when they roared into the sky.  

Working with your editor...

I can't make you believe how important a good editor is unless you've experienced bad editing. I'm reading several free self published books on Amazon and suddenly that point has been made crystal to everyone. I can deal with poor formatting and even a repeated word or two in a good story. What bothers me is when a story has great potential but it's marred with character flaws or plot holes. Critique partners can help or a good content editor. I'm not a punctuation purest or even a grammatical fanatic. I love Nora Roberts so head hopping, when done well, isn't going to put me off. That being said, what does bother me is... Dangling modifiers/misplaced modifiers (Learn to recognize and correct them.) There instead of their or they're (and all other homonym issues)  Flip flopping between American spellings/language and the Queen's English (Pick one-stick to it.) Blatant pov issues ( He's thinking what a sexy smile and great pecs he has? I don&#