The Story Cure; book review

The Story Cure, by  Dinty W. Moore, is a well written guide for the novel writer.
It will take you through each section of your book with tips and ideas that should help keep you writing fluidly. 
It will guide you through plot and character problems, as well as a host of other concerns,  giving you easy to understand solutions.
Once you have written down the bones of your novel, you can move ahead to the more diligent aspect of revision.
Take your time with this, and just follow along,
Before long your novel will begin the unfold before you.  What could be better than that?!

I received this book from Blogging for Books in exchange for an honest review.

back to life

As you can see, its been quite some time since coming here with any kind of an update on my life.
I hardly know where to begin, as some things that I've experienced are quite hazy to me.
Back in early August, I believe I was at Maimonides hospital, and for all intents and purposes they transferred me to Cobblehill nursing facility, because, it seemed, that I was on the verge of death.
My oncologist, Dr. Burdette, meanwhile, did not intervene in any way, and completely dropped the ball in terms of my healthcare.
At Cobblehill things got even worse.  If I was on the verge of death, they were certain to be the last nail in the coffin.
Overloaded with pain medication and tranquilizers (oxycodone, morphine, zanax) I became a virtual zombie.  I was unable to move or speak, or even think for that matter.  I could see the fear and sorrow on my sister and niece's faces as they sat at my bedside thinking I wasn't long for this world.  They were going to send me to hospice before long.  My closest friends were notified of my impending death.  I remember Amelia and Jeff coming and holding me close.  At one point I was alone with Jeff and he told me he loved me, and I said back to him, "I love you, too, Jeff." which were the first and only words I said or would say for a long time.
Ultimately, my niece, Melissa, couldn't take it anymore, and she wanted me out of Cobblehill.  She had me sent by ambulance to Methodist hospital.  She actually works for Methodist, across the street from the hospital in the administrative offices.  She works with care management nurses.  Her boss and co-workers were very helpful to her (and in turn, me) in getting things set up for me.
At Methodist I was able to get clean from all those narcotics, keeping only the bare minimum.
Slowly....so slowly, I started to come around.  Forming a clear thought and speaking a few words was difficult.  It literally took me hours to tell Melissa the words "apple sauce".  I knew I wanted it, but could not think of the words.  Once I got past that, other thoughts and sentences started to emerge; quite often it was about food and drink.  Applesauce, pudding and juice with ice were high on my list.
At Cobblehill I had not eaten for eleven days!  So this was a start.  Then finally I was able to eat a full meal.
I went to Menorah rehab facility for quite some time, learning how to walk again, basically.  I participated in physical and occupational therapies.
I was then transferred to Methodist , fighting severe COPD exacerbation, bouts of pneumonia, and of course the metastatic breast cancer badly affecting my bones and lungs. 
Every afternoon Melissa would come and spend her lunch hour with me, bringing coffee and donuts from Dunkin' Donuts.
I dropped all of my old doctors who were associated with Maimonides, and hooked up with new ones affiliated with Methodist... this included a new PCP, oncologist, pain control md, and a pulmonologist... all of which I will follow up with in the near future.
I was discharged from the hospital just a few days ago.
It is slow going right now.  I have severe neuropathy in my feet, making it very difficult to walk, plus bad shortness of breath on even the slightest exertion.  So, getting around is not at all easy.
Adult Protective Services came in and cleaned out my apartment, which was in bad shape.  I've been staying with Evie since being discharged, but hope to be back in my own place before long.

The Cancer Chronicles: Part 2, This is my Sundance

This is my Sundance

This is my sundance, my ritual
my flight

crashing
As I juggle my life
in an attempt
to rebuild my identity.

I am fourteen again,
discovering the Ching
and spending a liftetime learning
what those hexagrams mean.

I dance with angels and fairies.

There are magical encounters
with teachers and hawks.
Wolf comes to visit in dreams
over and over again, she will not
be ignored.
And soon,
we run together, play with crows,
walk in Medicine Wheels, and
Celtic labyrinths.
We journey with the drum,
my cottonwood ally,
my song to the Thunder Beings.

Old Taoist influence revisits,
showing me the Barefoot doctor way,
dreaming in a cloud of moxa smoke
and moving energy
balancing qi
with slender needles.

This was my sundance, my ritual, my flight.

In past life readings I am a nun,
again and again, the original nurse --
and so it would be in this liftetime.
My patients knew me by the cologne I wore,
walking into their darkened rooms
on the night shift.

Then death took my father, and
my flight went crashing
deep in the ocean
where I would drown
again and again.

Suicide seemed logical, but
two-doctor commitment orders over-rode 
my attempts to disappear.

No ritual, no dance.

The years would wash clean with tears.
Solitary road trips brought me back to life.

I relearned the dance.
I created sacred ritual.
I began to fly again.

Then one day, a lump stung my armpit, 
brought me to doctors.
A cyst, no doubt, was my conclusion.

Instead, my breasts
were removed.
Chemo exacted a cure.
Radiation was the cherry on top.
No evidence of disease, they said.

This helped me to fly, to dance.

Reconstructing my breasts
brought me a world of pain.

And death once again would rob me.
This time, my mother,
my confidante,
The one person who knew me
Inside and out.

And the cancer spread
to my spine and ribs,
the pain getting deeper,
I could not breathe,
the hospital became  my second home.

Fearful of the Ching's honest appraisal,
I don't throw the coins anymore.

I grow gaunt
Unable to walk a single block
without falling apart.

I'm crashing
I'm burning
I can't remember my song.

Afraid to sleep for fear
I won't wake
I push myself
to the limits of exhaustion.
I tell time by the next dose
of pain killers.

This is my sundance,
my ritual,
my flight in the
face of death.

book review: Story Genius

book review: Story Genius, by Lisa Cron
If you want to read a good book, on writing try anything but this one.  I recommend Writing Down the Bones, by Natalie Goldberg, and On Writing, by Stephen King.  This book is boring and repetitive.  Don't waste your time with this one when there are several others out there that are worth reading.

The Cancer Chronicles, continued

barefoot doctor

pain creeps up like an angry cat

ready to rip your throat out

should you make the  wrong move.

During sleep 

I opt for dreams

instead of medication

and wake with aching bones

untouched by the morning dose.

Combing crystals through the air

I collect and discard

the sudden mud

of my aura,  and

Tuning forks sing their song

into my flesh

dancing with my bones

To bring peace

&

quiet.

Sometimes I boogie,

sometimes I don't

I pick and choose my medicine.

Crystals to clear and nurture,

Power songs to weave a circle

where I will sit for a moment

In time

transforming energy,

redirecting qi.

But this metastatic cancer

is a harsh mistress

Often refusing to budge

with either Oriental recipes

or Occidental masks.

Sometimes things work, bringing

relief, or tolerance, and

letting me believe in magic

once again.

The Cancer Chronicles, part one

Sunday Morning (a day in the life)

The radiator spews heat and

there is no cool  breeze

coming through the window.

Shifting between time and days

I am unable to make sense

of the days,

Having been trapped like a bug

in amber

The bed sticks to my thighs

as if encasing me

in the slow drip of time,

A thick gush of resin

suffocating me.

No blue light of dawn

wakes me gently,

But rough transitions

of light to dark

with no twilight song

to welcome me

No pink tides across the sky

No violet hues or powder blues.

My legs stiffen and swell.

My movements stiffen and swell.

There is no release.

It is like glass cracking

beneath my skin

Creating a mosaic of flesh.

The hair on my body recedes

like an old woman

balding from head to toe,

A rapid demise of youth,

now just a memory.

                                    ***

Re-entry, Stage 4

Here is the prisoner of Cancer

unable to free herself

despite good behavior, and a

plea for pardons

sent up on the voices of prayer

by family and friends, and

even the most innocent of children.

We do not bend over and spread

our ass cheeks in search of contraband

But we are naked and exposed

Standing helpless as

not-so-magic markers

define the areas that will be incised and

excised, 

Leaving your chest flat and scarred and

seemingly Cancer-free.

And yet

The doors don't open,

the prisoner must return

after months of freedom,

Suddenly unable to defend herself

to even the highest court of God and

all his angels.

The cell grows smaller,

Spaces close in

as disease overtakes the prisoner,

Bit by bit

Encroaching upon her Lungs

with  no space to breathe;

Occupying her bones and

replacing it with pain

Like a punishment

for crimes

She can't remember committing.

Appeals fall on deaf ears,

Bones grow more brittle, breaking

her will to live 

at times, 

in this small box of lies.

"There must be some mistake" she cries.

"No', they say, 'We found new evidence

(of disease)  -  You're a Lifer now,

like it or not  -  Join the others

on Stage 4."

                                                 ***

long time no see

Hey folks, long time no see.
I have been without a computer (both my Surface and my desktop are not working since before Christmas... November probably.) for a good long time, and it doesn't look like I will be up for getting repairs any time soon.  Using my friend, Evie's, laptop, now and then, but haven't gotten round to posting anything on my blog in ages.

Very recently, I had a CAT scan, to see if those chemo drugs I've been taking for the past almost-year, have been working to stop the progression of the disease.

Well, the news wasn't good.  The drugs aren't working, and I've developed nodules on my lungs that weren't there before, and a worsening of the bone metastasis.  Definitely not the news I wanted to hear.

Breathing is always very tough, and now I know it is more than just the COPD.          

But life goes on.

I've been going to the Cancer Center  a lot recently, having been unable to do so for a long time...  My legs/feet were numb, and so swollen I couldn't get my shoes on.  I'm now able to get them on, though I'm still quite swollen... And also still numb.  Starting a drug called Gabapentin to help with that.

I'll be starting a new medication regime, since the one I was on wasn't working, and had to be discontinued.
I will have a daily oral hormone pill... anti-estrogen, I believe, and bi-weekly (to become monthly after a few treatments) intramuscular injections (one in each butt cheek) of some other targeting agent.

So, hopefully these new medications will work.

Accepting all positive vibes and prayers, etc.

Stay joyful.