Book Review: “Juicy Pens, Thirsty Paper”

SARK’s Juicy Pens, Thirsty Paper is an engaging and delightful read. When I first picked it up, I had a hard time putting it down until I had finished it.

As well as being visually appealing and infused with playful humor, this book bursts with practical and simple exercises for the writer in overcoming creative blockages. Particularly inspiring are the portraits of other writers who share their insights on the creative process. Finally, the lists of writing resources at the end are worth the price of the book alone.

Juicy Pens, Thirsty Paper will easily become a valuable tool for any new or veteran writer. I highly recommend it.

L. Gloyd (c) 2008

The Garden

Paula crammed the citation notice into her backpack and snorted in disgust. ” …improper disposal of pernicious plant matter…”, the notice had said. Oh, give me a break.

Paula had retrieved the citation from at her notice-box at the entrance of Loma Vista City Garden before trudging to her plot near the back of the property. The Garden was on municipal land and individuals of the community were granted the privilege (for a monthly fee) of planting and harvesting produce for non-commercial use. The application process was arduous and the wait a long one, but Paula was delighted when she received word last year that she had been assigned a small plot.

Paula was one of the thousands of apartment dwellers in the area. Her home had no porch or patio for pots of vegetables. Her window sills were all southern-exposed, and her attempts to grow herbs resulted in the poor little plants being burned up in just a matter of days. She always thought that the desire to coax life from the earth was part of her DNA, passed down from her first farming ancestors to crawl out of the forests of Europe, through her New England and Indiana forebears, up to her mother who had spent her childhood on the fertile coastal plains of California. Her ancestors had heeded the subtle call to engage in an ancient communion with the earth. Paula felt that call too.

When she was assigned her plot, the Garden Master gave her a list of Rules — 28 pages of “by-laws” and another ten pages of “do’s and don’ts”. The first rule was that all Garden members must begin preparing their plots for cultivation within three weeks of taking possession of it. Paula had done that in just one weekend, and a year later her plot was overflowing with all manner of seasonal produce. It was early autumn and her heirloom tomato bushes and squash vines were still bearing in abundance. She had long ago passed her “probation” period and was guaranteed a permanent plot in the Garden unless she received three citations in a year. In that case, she would be asked to vacate.

It irked her that she received her first citation this morning — not that she thought she did not deserve it. In fact, she did. A couple of weeks ago Paula had unthinkingly put nut sedge, the referenced “pernicious plant matter”, into the compost pile instead of in the dumpster out back. She had not been paying attention when she did it — a simple mistake, and she did not realize it until the next day when it was too late to retrieve the weed clippings. But what especially irritated her about this situation is that obviously there had been someone watching her when she did it, someone who did not come forward to tell her of her impending mistake. It was if someone was trying to catch her breaking the Rules.

Paula swung open the gate of her plot and chucked her backpack into a corner. She unlocked her small storage shed and pulled out a spindle of garden twine and a drill. In short fashion, she had lined out the rows where she would sow peas and broad beans. With the drill, she poked holes at even intervals along the path of the twine.

Paula opened a packet of beans. She knelt to the ground and began pushing a single jade-colored bean in to each of the holes. She heard a rustle and turned towards the gate. A tall slender woman stood there writing something into a notebook. She was young, college-aged perhaps, and her platinum blond hair was tied back into a pony-tail. The woman looked up from her notebook and caught Paula looking at her.

“Oh, excuse me, I didn’t mean to intrude….”

“No problem.” Paula looked past the woman. “Are you here with a member?”

“No. I am just here to look around a bit and take notes.” The woman’s English was very precise with a slight accent. She lowered the notebook at bit and Paula could see she was wearing a blue t-shirt with the word “Malmo” emblazoned across her breasts.

Malmo, Malmo…why is that familiar?… Paula replied, “Well, you’d better steer clear of the Garden Master, then. Let’s see — that would be Rule #10…’Visitors must be accompanied by a Member…’”.

The woman laughed. “Yes, I have already heard about this ‘Garden Master’ from some of the other people here this morning. I will be very, very careful.” She winked an eye.

Paula smiled. She was not pleased with the Garden Master at the moment and enjoyed the woman doing an end-run around him. She stood and stuck out her hand to the woman. “My name is Paula.”

The woman took her hand. “Hello. My name is Bengta Andersson.”

Bengta! Malmo! Then she remembered. Her great-grandmother — her mother’s mother’s mother — had been named Bengta and she was from Malmo, Sweden. What a weird coincidence…

“May I ask what you are writing?” asked Paula.

“I am an Environmental Studies major at the University. I am working on a paper about urban sustainability and today I am gathering data on how community gardens function within an urban sitting.”

“Well, you came to the right place then”

“Do you have a few minutes to answer some questions?”

“Sure, come on in.” Paula spread a piece of canvas on the ground and the two sat there for quite a while, chatting about the garden.

A child’s laughter floated down the pathway between the plots. “Bella, come back here!”, shouted a stout, dark-haired woman.

“Hey, Delia!” hollered Paula to the woman.

“Paula, how’s it going!” Delia said as she grabbed on to the hand of a giggling five-year-old. “Bella, you can’t go running around now. You know the rules. No running allowed. You sure are handful today.”

“Mama, I want to go see the sunflowers,” pleaded the child, tugging at her mother’s hand. “Please? They’re just over there,” she pointed down the path.

“Alright, but do not go out of my sight.” The child barreled down the path. “WALK, please…” Delia rolled her eyes and turned to Paula and Bengta.

“Delia, this is Bengta Andersson, a student doing some research in our garden; Bengta, Delia Lopez”

“Pleased to meet you, Bengta.”

Paula turned towards Bengta and said, “Delia grows the sweetest tomatoes in the Garden. One of her Cherokee Purples and a shaker of salt is all you need. She’s got the Touch too. There is nothing she can’t grow and there’s always plenty of it.”

Delia made a dismissive motion with her hand. “She’s talking me up so I’ll give her some of my heirloom seeds next Spring,” Delia said with a smile.

“That’s not true,” Paula chuckled. Then she reached out and touched Bengta on the arm. “Oh, I just thought of something. You should interview Delia. What she does is so cool. After she gives away bushels of produce to all her friends and family, she gives what’s left over to the food pantry at St. Fiacre’s church.”

“Really?”

Delia cast her eyes downward. “Well, sometimes they’re the only fresh fruits and vegetables available to the homeless people.” Then she looked up with a wicked glint in her eyes. “And I know the Garden Master thinks I’m selling this stuff to the church. I love watching him run around trying to prove that I’ve violated the ‘non-commercial’ clause.” Delia chuckled.

Bengta started to ask a question, but the sound of voices stopped her. “This way, come…” said a slight voice. Two men were coming up the path, struggling to carry a large wrought-iron garden seat. Beside them was a waif of a woman. She wore a pair of dark polyester pants and a green sweatshirt with the faded words “Las Vegas: Born to Gamble.” She had on a large canvas hat and curly wisps of short gray hair stuck out of it.

“Hi, Mrs. Nakahara!” Paula shouted and waved.

Delia added, “Etty, it’s been awhile. Where have you been?”

The elderly woman waved back and smiled. “Just a minute. I’ll be right back.” She opened the gate to the flower-choked plot directly across from Paula’s and directed the men with the iron loveseat where to place it.

Bengta whispered to Paula and Delia. “Is that who I think it is? Is that Etsuko Nakahara — of Nakahara Enterprises?”

“Bingo. Though she doesn’t really have much to do with the business anymore. Her daughters and grandkids run the show now.”

Bengta was almost dancing. “But do you know what she’s done? She and her husband pioneered concentrated gardening techniques in this country. They revolutionized the whole concept of growing the maximum amount of food on the smallest area of land. Amazing! Can you introduce her to me?”

“Sure. It’s your lucky day. We don’t see her very much now. She has this huge home in the Valley but she and her husband started the Garden years ago and I think she has a fondness for the place. She usually sends a grandkid once a week to weed and water her flowers.”

Mrs. Nakahara exited the plot and motioned the men towards the parking lot. Then she turned to the women. “You like my new garden seat? I can come now and sit with my flowers.”

Delia quipped, “Hey, Etty. Did you get your permission slip from the Garden Master to bring in furniture?”

With a mischievous smile, she pulled out a slip of paper and waved it. “Yes, yes, I have my papers.”

Paula made introductions once again and Bengta launched in with one question after another. Paula and Delia followed them into Mrs. Nakahara’s flower beds. She settled herself on her new garden seat as if she was a queen holding court.

They had not been talking long when a child’s cry rose from down the path. “Hey! No running, you little— !” shouted a stern male voice..

Delia jumped up and tore out the gate. “Bella! Bella!”

Down the garden path ran the five year old with a look of terror on her face. She flung her arms around her mother. “Mama, a man yelled at me! He said I was a bad girl.” The child began to sob.

Around the corner of the garden path, a short rotund man came huffing and puffing. He wore a pair of Bermuda shorts and a t-shirt with the Loma Vista City Gardens logo on it. Underneath the logo was a plastic badge that read “Garden Master.”

While Paula helped Mrs. Nakahara get out of the seat, Bengta ran after Delia and came along side her and the terrified child. “That’s the Garden Master?” Bengta whispered in disbelief. “This little man?”

“You, Delia! Is this your kid? Do you realize that she almost knocked over Mr. Schlessman? You’ve been warned about this before.”

“Fred, who do you think you are to yell at my kid?! You got a problem, you bring it to me. You do NOT pick on a 5 year old. Got it?

Fred’s face turned an odd color of red and Paula thought for sure he was going to pop an artery.

“Listen, I’m gonna, gonna — ” he began to sputter.

“What? What are you going to do to me?!”

Fred raised a forefinger and shook it at Delia. “This is the final straw…this is your third citation and you are out of here!”

Delia took a deep breath and was about to say something.

“Fred,” came a soft, firm voice.

Mrs. Nakahara walked slowly forward and stood next to Delia and Bengta. The three of them stood shoulder to shoulder against the Garden Master. Paula held her breath. The birds had stopped singing and a cloud passed over the sun.

“Fred…” With a sober face, Etty looked Fred straight in the eye.

“What is it, Etty?” he curtly responded.

Here it comes, thought Paula, retribution day.

“Fred….How are your dahlias?”

“What?”

Paula turned and stared at Mrs. Nakahara.

Etty continued, “Your dahlias. You used to grow really nice ones.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Marji used to love it when you brought them to her.”

“My wife? Um, yes, she did.”

“I sure miss her, Fred. She was so sweet.”

Fred lowered his head and seemed to be struggling for words.

“What are you doing with your garden these days?” asked Etty.

“Uh, nothing, really. No time, you know, with Garden business and all.”

“Nothing?”

“I just mulch it a bit, maybe grow some rye grass to turn under again.”

“You have been out of the garden for too long.”

“Well….”

“You should go back and plant something. I can help you. I will send one of the boys over with some bedding plants.”

“Etty, that’s not really nec-”

“Yes, yes it is. I’ll send some over tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Etty.”

“Now, what were you going to say to Delia?”

“Um, nothing. It’s okay.”

Delia reached out a hand to Fred. “No hard feelings,huh?”

Fred shook it briefly. “Well, I’d better go now…” and he waddled away down the path.

“Well done, Mrs. Nakahara!” gushed Bengta. “You handled that wonderfully.”

Delia had picked up Bella and was rocking her slowly. “Good job, Etty.”

Paula shook her head. “Wait, what just happened here? Are you going to let that little toad get away with talking to Bella like that?”

The three women turned and stared at Paula. “What do you want us to do?” asked Delia.

“Well, get him fired as Garden Master. Get rid of some of his Rules.”

“Why? He’s a good manager and we need the Rules.”

“What? We need them?”

“Well, yeah… if we didn’t have them, people would be doing all sorts of stupid things. You know, like a couple of weeks ago someone actually threw nut sedge into the compost pile. What an idiot!”

Paula blushed.

Mrs. Nakahara touched Paula on the arm. “He’s really a good guy. He just lost his way a little bit. He needs to remember why he is in the Garden.”

Bengta stepped forward and picked up Paula’s hand and opened it. Paula was still holding the jade-colored beans she had been sowing earlier. “This is what it is all about, Paula. This is all that matters. Come on. Let’s finish what you started.”

The four women and Bella slowly walked back into Paula’s plot. Bengta distributed the rest of the beans and all of them, even Mrs. Nakahara and Bella, knelt to the ground and began pushing the beans into the holes.

Bengta began singing in Swedish. It was sweet and familiar and it stirred something in Paula. A vision of her mother and grandmothers entered her mind and she felt as if she were going back in time. She felt connected to the women in her garden and with the women in countless gardens all the way back to the beginning. Paula did not understand the words but the song resonated within her and she began pushing the beans into the ground in time with the song.

When the last of the beans had been sown, they stood and waited while Paula raked a fine tilth over the holes. Together, as if on cue, the five of them began lightly stepping on the covered holes to make sure the beans connected with the earth. Delia began to sing in Spanish and their treading of the soil turned into a rousing dance.

And they danced and danced until the sun went down.

L. Gloyd © 2008

Ode to Grecian Eggs

“The Eggs and I”

I belong to a online creative group called The Tholos.

This was the result of a prompt entitled “The Cosmic Egg”

Manipulated Photograph

L. Gloyd (c) 2008