Welcome to my blog Upstate Girl, (a.k.a Follow Your Bliss Part II), I am an independently published author. This blog is all about writing and the stuff that inspires me to write, the joys and obstacles that come along with the writer's life, and my fascination with the psychology of people and what makes them tick...the human condition, as is...and my love for words, playing with them and making sense of them...and I throw in a few photos from my acre of the world just to make things pretty...sometimes there are things I have no words for, only pictures will do.

*Copyright notice* All photos, writing, and artwork are mine (
© Laura J. Wellner), unless otherwise noted, please be a peach, if you'd like to use my work for a project or you just love it and must have it, message me and we'll work out the details...it's simple...JUST ASK, please.
Showing posts with label digital sketchbook. Show all posts
Showing posts with label digital sketchbook. Show all posts

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

From my acre of the world...

Autumn Glory...I planted a package of Heavenly Blue Morning Glories and they came up purple...go figure...

This Walking Stick came marching up to me with such purpose, I thought for sure he had something to say to me...

Oh, Wooly Bear...what are you trying to tell me with those colors of yours? Will we have a real winter this year?

The Spider's House

Solitary leaf

One of my favorite blues...

I'm always amazed when my shaky hands snap a good shot...

A duo...

Summer is winding down and I'm getting closer to finishing my manuscript, Drinking from the Fishbowl...I'm taking my sweet old time with it, being very careful...perhaps too cautious...at times I fear it has become a monster, but then, as soon as I return to it, I realize that it isn't at all, it is exactly the way I've wanted it to be, and I've been taking great care to trim away what is unnecessary and embellishing the details to tell the story. I've been a bit distracted, so when my focus is off, I don't bother trying to do any editing when I'm like this, and I turn my attention to other things, short things like poems or something like sifting through all of my photos and picking the best ones for possible prints some day...

It is a balancing act that I perform everyday...and everyday I remind myself how fortunate that I am, in spite of so much that could have held me back, and the overwhelming pain and other peculiar symptoms that I deal with on my FMS bad days, I have kept going forward...

Monday, April 9, 2012

My novel...

The Fox Sister's homestead site, photo c. 1985

 This is a post to promote my novel, Dusty Waters, A Ghost Story...so, please, forgive me, every now and then I feel that I must dive in to promote my novels, so allow me to indulge as it is a necessary evil as an author in this day and age…especially those of us who are indie and have to do it ourselves…honestly, I’d much rather be doing something more fun…but I'm in bed with a crappy head cold so...anyway...

Dusty Waters is a ghost story, there is no doubt about that because I wrote it that way. I’m telling you this just so you’re not mislead to believe otherwise—it is a ghost story, but it isn’t the typical ghost story in the paranormal/supernatural genre that jumps out with a “Boo!” I wanted it to be more than that. Expect it to be different, leave behind all preconceptions of a ghost story when you enter this one. It is a ghost story, from a long line of the telling of ghost stories, which I adore, but I wrote it my way, to tell a story about a young woman, who possesses the ability to see and communicate with ghosts. Her ancestral home is full of the spirits of her relatives who have not moved on for whatever reason, her sweetheart, who died too young, waits for her at their favorite meeting place—she grows older, he remains the same 17 year old boy who she loved with all her heart. As he tells her to live her life, he has sworn to wait for her. It is a book about life as much as it is about the dead, it is about the metaphorical ghosts that haunt her, haunt others, haunt all of us. The ghosts of our past are a natural element of the human condition—so you see, it is more than just a ghost story.

The book…the zygote of the book rolled around in my brain for many years, pieced together from bits of stories that I made up as a kid, part of a fascination with the supernatural, part of it fascination with some of the old houses on my street, (Lyons is an old town full of history), and part of it I wanted to write about someone on a life journey, one that is not finished yet. A woman alive and well among the living, and able to speak with the dead…one of the elements that I wanted to explore in this novel was how someone who can see and speak to spirits deals with that, is it a gift or is it a curse? I could only imagine that it is a burden and could have a negative impact on them...it's a character building ordeal, I'm sure.

 With that said, let me give a little bit of the back story about the making of the book. The book cover, designed by my Fred, and conceived through photographs that I took at the Fox Sisters homestead site in Hydesville, New York, the birthplace of Spiritualism. I grew up in Lyons, New York, just a few miles away from this place and the idea of the rappings and séances inspired me. Many years ago, (over twenty) I went with my family to the old homestead and photographed the site as it was at that time; the cottage had been burned, vandalized, neglected and eventually torn down. When I heard that it was gone, I made certain to keep these photos safe thinking someday they’d be of use to me in a project (I was young and full of grand ideas at the time.) I wish I had more photos, but this was a time before digital cameras and 4GB memory disks, I had a roll of 24 shots and most of the roll was full of photos taken up at Sodus Bay...

Doorway with birds nest

The burned door

Monument outside the house near the road

There is no death, there are no dead…I’m so glad that I photographed the monument at the time…life is consciousness, the consciousness never dies, this is one of the beliefs of the spiritualist movement…I don’t align myself with any particular religion, but I am a spiritual person with my own beliefs about the way things are, and the idea of the body as a vessel of the soul is a very evocative belief for me.

The cover design

Once I decided to bite the bullet to publish independently, my Fred started to work on ideas for the cover, and I pulled out these old photographs of the Fox Sister’s homestead site. As soon as he presented the design to me, there was no turning back, the cover is its birthmark, it is home—every author can only hope to have the right cover for their book. I’ve heard so many authors complain how they hate their book’s cover—that must be heartbreaking, to put all that work into a novel and get to the publication part, only to have a cover that isn't what you imagined or clearly looks like the designer had no clue what the book was about. I love this cover…it is gorgeous. It means a great deal to me because of the place and time, and what it represents. It isn't a girly book...quite a tomboy.

Dusty Waters is a book steeped in history, lots of it made up history overlapping with history of a time and place, but it's a history created for this book...a book about a young woman, growing up in a small town, surrounded by the ghosts of the past...and she has a pooka named Lucy in the shape of a Chinese dragon living underneath her bed to block bad dreams.

"Around her quiet streets, voices seem to murmur the refrain, 'once upon a time.' Once upon a time, men who moulded the destinies of the frontier lived in the pillared brick colonial houses on the hills above the town. Later on, in Lyons's commercial heyday, other powerful men built the more ornate Victorian mansions under the stately trees. There, once upon a time, flowered an old regime, a gracious way of life, a social elegance, and cultural interest that was distinctively Lyons." - Arch Merrill, The Towpath

I could say more, but I will leave it here for now. 

Dusty Waters is available in paperback original through Amazon.com and Barnes & Noble (or just about anywhere you want to order the real deal paper books.) It is also available for Nook and Kindle for those who prefer e-reading.

Sunday, March 18, 2012

How come...

Morning mist at the Floody Place out back, 3/17/2012
 It's a contemplative week...I've been thinking about a lot, and at the moment, I can't think of anything...
Dew Gems on a Tendril, 3/17/2012
It's been a 'real' week, and I'm still trying to digest some of it...lots of things happen for a reason, and all that sort of shit that we can puzzle about for hours, days and years...and still ask "How come?"

My poor father thinks he's a U.S. spy in Germany along with an old friend of his (who has been dead many years) and when he saw us come into his new room at the nursing home, he was surprised that we got through the lines and checkpoints to get there. (My Fred assured him that we had all of our papers in order.) He was surprised that our son had not yet been drafted...Hitler is dead, but still the war was going on...just differently. I'd like to believe these imaginings are the result of his reading a treasure trove of novels over the years...and I'd rather he be living in a fantasy than mourning his loses...it's his way of dealing with it...or it's just the dementia taking him away from me piece by piece...eventually, there will be a day he won't know who I am. This time he still did.

To make a long story short...our son's car died...here's the photos from the week...

a boy and his old car, "Lillian", 3/13/2012

Happy trails, Lillian!
I love this photo of the car on the flatbed (a distant black blob) riding off into the sunset...

My parent's Mustang, the "new" car, Max is giving her a sniff over. I think her name is "Nell", tho' "Tilly" would be a good one too. 3/14/2012
Our son has been notified that he's fresh out of grandparents with cars they no longer need...


It's enough to make my head spin...

I don't know if I'll ever understand the 'how come' of any of this...it's been bittersweet. Visiting my father, picking up his car and bringing it home, walking around their backyard and enjoying the beautiful day...the flowers...

The little purple crocus growing in my parent's backyard 3/14/2012
The weather has become peculiar...too warm for this time of year to be considered normal...but what is normal after this strange winter? Weather in the 70's for St. Patrick's Day in Central New York...it's unheard of!


They're lovely...and my mother would've loved seeing them. 3/14/2012
I'm going out to my garden to toil in the dirt, sit on my porch and soak up some sunshine...write things out...write things down...or do nothing but watch the world go by with my dog dozing at my feet...

Little bugs flitting in the sunset, 3/17/2012





Sunday, March 11, 2012

Spring forward...

Abstraction (old door), 3/10/2012
Layers (a collage of last autumn's debris), 3/4/2012
I really wish they'd leave the clock alone...this time change business is truly socially unacceptable...I hate the feeling that I'm "late"...that I "slept in"...grrrrr. It already feels like half the day is gone...

Blue, a pussy willow leaf, 3/4/2012

Layers, lace and leaves, 3/4/2012
Layers, 3/4/2012
Taking Flight (cornfield pigeons), 3/10/2012


The snow on the ground today should be gone by tomorrow...the morning sun is out making springtime shadows on the trunks of trees and the ground, the sky is that amazing blue and the temperature is creeping above freezing...tho' it will be warm out, there will be the chill of melting snow in the air...it is my intention to spend time in the sunshine from my favorite chair on the porch...the first time since...? Pre-Halloween October...maybe I got one or two times in November since it was an "unusual" November.

Painting...writing...I'm always tinkering with something. I'm going to try to wrap up chapter 35 of Fishbowl today, I'm looking for one more word to set right the first paragraph, (I'll get it with a bit of time, a walk around the acre with Max will help.) The rest of it is done...then I'll move on forward...I'm working my way from the end to the beginning, you see, so I'll be in chapter 34 next, it's part of my editorial system, read it forward, read it backward, line by line, paragraph by paragraph, out of context/in context...when I look back at the beginning, the early drafts of this book, it started in 2000-2001, and grew into a monster of epic proportions sometime around 2003-2004. I've been taming that monster ever since, and have been working diligently for a year getting it publication ready. (It's almost there.)

Sunday, March 4, 2012

March roaring in...part 2


How cool are these? My Fred treated me to a photo fest on Friday afternoon, these old steel-faced printing blocks are gorgeous!








This is how books used to be done...some day, I'd like to work with a letterpress (like Syracuse's very own Boxcar Press or Amaranth Press and Bindery) and make a limited edition book of Po-emz...gotta write some first (well, I do have a few, just not sure if they should see the light of day or not.)

Wow, it's been a while since I posted here...

Snowing today, rain by tomorrow or Tuesday...sunny and 50's by Wednesday (snow all gone until the next time a front passes by with some to share.) For now, the wind that blew away February has calmed down, the flurries are falling in a gentle manner, steady and abundant, reminding us that it is winter after all...

A red squirrel and a gray squirrel were fighting over a peanut outside my studio window a little while ago...a very dramatic furry fight...gray squirrel held on to that peanut, red squirrel just bitched about it while rifling through the leaves at the base of the lilac bush, the gray bushy tail with pale ears munching the prize...once the peanut was eaten the fight was over, gray squirrel went one way, red squirrel went the other...gotta love the backyard drama...

I've been painting much of today and yesterday, and when not painting, editing Chapter 35 of Drinking from the Fishbowl...it's coming along, tightening up, expanding a bit, these last few chapters were always a little thin and felt rushed to me. I'm glad to be spending time with them and making them right...it's a long process, at times arduous (writing a book is a lot about patience), but I'm enjoying the immersion now that I'm returning to the rhythm of it after being so out of sorts for several months, I felt like I was reading and not comprehending anything I had written. Sometimes it's hard to talk about what I'm working on only because I fear boring people with the process, it's like watching grass grow, okay? Some nights I'll work on one paragraph...and the next night, the same paragraph, only I change a word here, add another sentence there...the next night, take that sentence out, change that word back to the original word. (See what I mean?) You'd think I'd know what I want to say by now...I don't believe a book is ever truly finished, I could go back and rework it endlessly...the story will remain the same, but the words might be rearranged to tell it better. (What the hell right? If Stephen King can say the Dark Tower series is done at last, and then add another book in the middle of it a few years later, that's entirely up to him - it's his story to tell, and if it's still being told, let him tell it. If I want to shake my fist and say: "You bastard!" That's fine too. ) I do love Fishbowl, even though I've had such a time with it, the darn thing came from my earliest efforts as a writer, before I really had my literary shit together. I'm sure not everyone will like it just because they can, but the ones who will like it, will appreciate it for what it is...it's a psychological study, the loyalty of friends, a love story (with a little bit of a nod to soap opera's, which makes it a social comedy of sorts, tho' a little darker in a grim sort of way)...it's a book about dreams and realities. I'm glad that I haven't rushed it...it's going to be a better book for the extra effort on my part. I'm sure everyone who has an opinion will try to tell me how to write it, but see, the thing is...it is written the way I want to tell it, it has it's own voice, and who's to say that voice is right or wrong. I'm quite satisfied so far...but then, it's been several years in the making, and I haven't read the first chapter since March 16th of last year...so you see...who knows what I'll find when I pick up the printed hard copy later this spring once I'm ready to do the final pass through this summer! I'm a different writer now than I was a year ago, my vision has sharpened, not that I'm going to carry it off to another realm, there might be something that I've learned since then that I will need to apply to the earlier chapters...

I know I'm excited. It's a beautiful thing.

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Lake Effect...


It is snowing sideways tonight...nothing new about that sort of thing, it goes with the winter package, I rather like it when it seems threatening, the beauty of Lake Effect snow, it is fickle and drifts away, and sometimes it snows and sun shines at the same time, it's very pretty.

looking up, under the barn floor

Popeye's February Portrait

 I was trying to get a shot of the old seed pod, but it wasn't working out so well angle-wise...but the snow is certainly pretty!


A Portrait of Max, Nose and Paws - Stories to sniff and great rumors of travel, 2/11/2012

Her father had taught her about hands. About a dog’s paws. Whenever her father was alone with a dog in a house he would lean over and smell the skin at the base of its paw. This, he would say, as if coming away from a brandy snifter, is the greatest smell in the world! A bouquet! Great rumors of travel! She would pretend disgust, but the dog’s paw was a wonder: the smell of it never suggested dirt.  It’s a cathedral! her father had said, so-and-so’s garden, that field of grasses, a walk through cyclamen - a concentration of hints of all the paths the animal had taken during the day.
— Michael Ondaatje, The English Patient

After reading this passage one day quite a long time ago…I never saw a dog’s paws in the same way ever again. That’s the power of a good book. (That never made it into the movie.)

 Old Willy Big is well known for his dramatic sleeping positions...he's so cute. (Don't worry, the Piggy is okay.)

Saturday, February 4, 2012

February...

tracks in the snow
 It's been a long strange winter, hardly any snow...when we get it, it melts in a day or two, or it's in the form of styrofoam-like balls of ice that are like driving on marbles...and then the rain and gray. There is a slight chance of sun today (or so I've heard), but the layers of gray seem impenetrable for the time being. I feel a little bit at a loss without having to slog around in knee deep snow while walking the dog...it's nothing to complain about, I'm not complaining, just observing like I do, peering out the window at the brown and gray season that is normally swathed in white powder brought to us by the great lake Ontario or some crabby Nor' Easter scrambling up the Atlantic seaboard, raising hell...I miss having a good blustery storm roaring in, messing things up for a day or two and then the calm, crystalline day after that is always a beautiful relief.
the snow dog

Last weekend a very brief event blew through our little acre of the world, shook the house, made the walls creak, the windows rattle and my desk swayed...I paused and thought, "Do I need to go in the basement?" Whatever it was, it was over in less than a minute, I noticed out the window that there was crazy sideways blowing snow in the headlights of passing cars, and then nothing just as sudden as it started. Weird. I really admire Mother Nature, she's awesome.

a tangle wrapped around a stone

How about them Republicans? Huh (scratches head). I know I'm at times baffled. Fidel Castro weighed in via Newsweek that the Republican Primary race is "the greatest competition of idiocy and ignorance there has ever been." No shit, he's still alive? Trampolines vs. safety nets...we can't have both I guess. Yeah, whatever...talk talk talk...there's so much hot air coming from this campaign it's no wonder there's no snow in Central New York...

Back to the lack of snow...

If you think about it all the SuperPac money being spent on the Presidential campaign ads would help a shit load of poor people...and maybe have some left over to do something else good for the nation...

All I can say is it's an ugly election season...

The division between ideologies has invaded my family in a small-ish way a few months back...my sister-in-law unfriended me (and her brother) on Facebook because of our liberal leanings...claiming we're too angry...me angry? I don't think I'm angry at all, if anything, I'm just sensible and I can't stand ignorance, intolerance, and the flood of lies that support ignorance and intolerance...

Blah, blah, blah...
shells from dinner one night, dinner was tasty, the shells are pretty

a dried hydrangea blossom that came from the wind
frosty morning
 
the dregs from the road

I want some silence and contemplation time this weekend...and maybe a peek or two of sunshine.
Snow sprayed

Saturday, January 14, 2012

A new year...

Collage #1, 1/1/2012
 It snowed...we rec'd a January's worth of snowfall in the last couple of days after balmy 40's flirting with 50's just a couple of days ago...Although I've been known to complain, I don't mind the snow, I don't mind the cold, it's supposed to be that way when it isn't, it feels wrong...a small flock of red wing black birds have been visiting my bird feeder today, poor little birds were feeling secure that it was okay to stick around the brown fields and marshes...the ground isn't frozen so there's been plenty to eat...oops...dang...so I stepped out and put extra in the feeder to feed the extra visitors...

Collage #2, 1/1/2012


Two Thursday's in a row, there has been a flock of crows outside of my office at work early in the morning...they are very noisy!

Taking Flight and Perching, 1/5/2012



Been laying low, not feeling 100%, the usual FMS stuff, back issues, and a digestive system that has not been happy with the rich holiday food, but I'm getting better, treating myself well...

Perching, 1/12/2012

I'm currently reading Owls Do Cry by Janet Frame...her writing is always so stunning, some passages are dense and gorgeous, while some are simply frank, to the point...my favorite part is the beginning of Chapter 4, page 19:

Their town, called Waimaru, was small as the world and halfway between the South Pole and the equator, that is forty-five degrees exactly. There was a stone monument just north of the town, to mark the spot, in gold lettering.

- Traveller, the writing said, Stop here. You are now standing halfway between the South Pole and the equator. 

What did if feel like to be standing at forty-five degrees?
It felt no different.

Of course it doesn't feel different...it's just one of those things. It tickled my funny bone...I know such things have disappointed me in the same way...


Speaking of books...
Here's a recent review of Dusty Waters, even though it isn't the best, thought I'd share it anyway:

(2 stars) This book started out so well that I was captivated. I read it in 2 days. But about 2/3 of the way thru the book it fell apart for me.
The story is about a woman retelling her life story to a friend, who is writing her biography.
The young Dusty is so interesting and well created that I really liked her character. She sees ghosts throughout her life and she tells some of their stories, her interactions with them, and her own feelings about seeing them.
But the grown up Dusty is a woman I did not like at all. The author seemed to use this character as a political platform and the language used when writing for the adult was just unnecessary.
I could give this book 2 and 1/2 stars, but not 3...



No big deal. I appreciate the reader's thoughts...everyone comes to a book with their own set of tools from personal experience. To be honest, Dusty's adult life wasn't my favorite part to write, believe me, I know she made me cringe when I wrote her, what she went through is a complete departure from my life...her life did fall apart...there's something secure about childhood that is lost once we hit puberty and grow up, how we turn out comes down to choices and Dusty made many bad decisions...if I could, I'd ask the reader, "Do you think Dusty was happy with her adult self?" I don't think too many of us are completely satisfied with how we turn out when we grow up...Dusty had to start over, she grew, she "reformed", she went home again...just like Aunt Mabel and just like her mother...

As for Dusty's politics...this seems to ruffle the feathers of the more conservative readers, which I knew when I wrote it (I'm still waiting for a good old fashioned book burning, that trumps the "wall of shame" any day of the week!) Oh well...she's a folksinger (Are there conservative folksingers?) Dusty was born at the tail end of the Baby Boomer generation, she grew up during the Vietnam era with a different perspective than her older siblings. This difficult period in American history affected her psyche, and her edgy point of view about the human condition places her as a distinguished bookend for her generation...during the early stages of writing this book, I particularly went for this left leaning mindset in reaction to 9/11, I was feeling a bit outraged by the right and left division of our country in the aftermath of the tragedy. For the record, I'm a social liberal who's conservative slip shows on fiscal matters...and I support the protection of the wild horses out west...How about that BLM? Gotta love how they piss away millions of taxpayer dollars rounding up a few hundred wild horses and burros to make room for the tens of thousands of privately owned cattle who do more damage to the range environment...I could go on, but I'll step off my soapbox...

Language, this has upset a few more sensitive readers...yes, Dusty has a potty mouth, she comes by it honestly...she's seen things to make her angry enough to drop an "F-bomb" before 9AM on any given day...words are words, some are more colorful than others...for the record, I've been known to have a potty mouth...and yes, I have dropped the "F-bomb" before 9AM, with good reason.

I think the funniest thing I ever heard about a reader doing to a book with "too many swears" and "naughty parts" (I think it was The Time Traveler's Wife) she used white out and then was able to read it...whatever works, I guess.

Can't win 'em all...I writez 'em as I seez 'em, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

So my digital sketchbook is full again...overflowing...


I love studying shadows and shapes...the floor and stairway in the gallery caught my eye one early morning, some overhead lights had been left on...the mix of textures made this fun...











The kitties have been good...Crouching Tigger-Hidden Pooh sat semi-still long enough to catch his expression...he has developed little "worry wrinkles" on his brows...so cute! (He's 13 years old, will turn 14 in April.)




Popeye is looking good...he likes to pose for his portrait...






 That's it for now...thanks for stopping by...