G-Lines

Until I can figure out a redirect method, please visit my new website and blog www.ghesslaumagrady.com

What's New?

New post on the new blog that links to the new piece on the new website.  So, that's what's new.
www.g-lines.weebly.com/blog

A New Blog

Now that the new website is underway with an attached BLOG tab, I hope you'll visit and subscribe at www.g-lines.weebly.com.  And while I'm at it, my writer's Facebook page is  www.facebook.com/writer.ghesslaumagrady, and I can be found on Twitter @GHesslauMagrady.  There's a lot of writing in store!  Thanks for checking in!

The Process and the Website

I have to say that this part of the writing process is more exciting than I ever expected.  When the proofs for LINES— came in the mail, I was ecstatic!  To finally see my novel coming to fruition? I can't explain the joy.  My mom got teary-eyed when she saw the first page, and she immediately turned to my dad to tell him that I dedicated the book to them.  He, too, got a little misty, and with everything we've gone through with Dad in the past few months, I was thankful to have this moment, to witness my parents' pride right then and there, not assume it with their existence on the other side. 

There were four books to pass out to a handful of readers, and then came the waiting game.  My anxiety built with every passing day, dying to hear anything, good or bad, just a word to know how the story was panning out for them.  Less than two weeks later, the texts came in, and to sum up the responses: all of the readers enjoyed the story, got attached to the characters (everyone loves Will!), were intrigued by the setting and historical events.  However, my proof discussions were not gushing praise for a first-time writer.  On the contrary, each reader was open about what confused them:
* "Where's the historical fiction disclaimer?"
* "It took too long to realize that Livia and Catherine were not sisters"
* "I spent the whole first half of the book peeking in on Livia's daily life, and now I feel cheated by not having more details about what happened during the time lapse"
* "I had to look up information about that march because you didn't give enough information to fully understand why the characters were there" 
The criticisms were welcomed because each reader had a positive experience but wanted more from the author.  That's the kind of stuff I need to make me a better writer, to make the book a better story.  I immediately started working on minor edits, but my reality is that I'm back in school with a new job and a ton of grading and lesson planning.  I'll return to the major revisions in LINES— whenever I can, but overall, I'm delighted with the responses, and I couldn't be more grateful to these readers for their enthusiasm, support, and honest critiques.  Nell, Theresa, Debbie B., and Russ:  you are the best!

Some people have asked if, now that I'm so close to completion, I'll change my mind about self-publishing and go the traditional route, instead.  The answer is no.  The feeling of accomplishment that has flourished with each step of this process is remarkable.  I've developed a truer sense of ownership with LINES— by taking the time to experiment with formatting and selecting a book cover, to go through personal editing and seeking critiques, to learn about social media and finding an audience.  It's been a rewarding whirlwind, and the bottom line is this:  I'm a teacher.  First and foremost, I teach.  I see myself as one who plays with words and lines and descriptions, and I think this passion for writing, ultimately, makes me a more effective English teacher.  I dabble with poetry and essays and journaling; I challenge myself with new ideas (I just submitted my first piece of flash fiction).  If I was a professional writer/author, I'd probably want to find an editor and agent and publisher, but I'm proud to be a teacher who models the joy of writing.  If a publisher wants to pick up the book after I've self-published, well, I'll reflect on that, but for now, I'm content with my blog, my chapbook, my handful of online publications, and... my starter-website!

Yep.  I keep hearing in my writing forums that every writer needs a website, especially if a book is getting ready for publication. Not knowing much about website creation, I did a Google search and found a free website option at Weebly.com.  The result is an "under construction" site that I call "G-Lines."   I'd love for you to check it out, and as always, feedback is appreciated.  When the novel LINES— finally hits the publication stage, I'm going to randomly choose one subscriber for a free book, so be sure to "subscribe" on the home page.

 G-Lines: The official website for Geralyn Hesslau Magrady

Thanks for your support!

The Book Cover for LINES—

Here's a first attempt at writing the book cover synopsis.  Your input matters... too wordy? interesting?  Comments are encouraged.


In the 1870s and 1880s, railroad lines converge near Lake Michigan at the Great Central Depot, a hub for our country’s expanding commerce and travel.  Livia Haas knows these lines well, for they carried her from the serene tobacco fields of Quakertown, PA to the tumultuous urban life of Chicago just prior to the Great Fire. 

Class and culture lines are witnessed by the grid-like pattern of city streets designed to keep apart the wealthy and poor, to define immigrant groups.  A prayerful Livia comes to understand that these boundaries offer little hope for mingling in a society where lines are unjustly drawn.

Strike lines—sometimes effective and sometimes violent—commence in an era of struggle for the eight hour day.  The main character gets entangled in the fight, against the wishes of people who fear the consequences of disturbing those lines.

Affected by a first love, a deceased brother, and a sinister acquaintance who endangers herself and family, Livia Haas is forced to question literal and personal lines, as well as those that exist in the lineage from which she is born.

One Thing Leads to Another

The poetry chapbook is available.  The novel is in the proof, critique, and edit stage.  Things are starting to come together!

Amazon.com link

Clouded

Stephen's rock-shaped clouds
inhale and exhale
hurl across blue skies
as breezes panic
set off
constricting condensation
flesh deflation
saintly metamorphosis into shallow hills

Snake-like floatations
pronounce life
as celestial cemeteries
where restless limbs
and bones
tremble with every gust
until gravestones transform
one by one
a heart
a kidney
a lung
escorted past heaven's gate
readying to voice
wisdom
from Jonah's
whale-shaped cloud

I am the daughter of a legend

I am the daughter of a legend,
the daughter of a man who has touched lives across a spectrum of age and miles and time— 

an uncle and brother who my relatives adore,
a coach who is still remembered and respected by many middle-aged men,
a parishioner whose church members expect to see at early Mass,
a neighbor whose block members depend on for a wave or jovial remark,
a patron whose spot is saved for his weekly ritual,
a loyal friend to those with whom he is in contact and also to those for whom he prays each day,
an entertainer for all who know his wit. 
He is a husband who has stood the test of time (58 years to be exact) with faith and devotion;
he is a father (and father-in-law) of children who have reciprocated his dedication;
he is a grandfather who is loved dearly by those who have witnessed his family leadership. 
He is a legend. 
He is blessed as well as a blessing.

Dad, I can’t explain what an honor it is to be your daughter.  God did not plan to take you just yet, and I am grateful.  I am grateful to have you around for another Father’s Day, for another Sunday, for another Day of any kind.  Throughout this ordeal I have learned so much about you, about our family, and about myself.  I have learned about selflessness and sacrifice, and what great joy those attributes can bring to ones heart.  You are facing your fears with courage and tenacity, and even a sense of humor at times.  I love you for all that you are, all that you believe, and all that you have taught me.  I love you for being a legend without ever trying.

For you, a prayer, the Memorare:
REMEMBER, O most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection, implored thy help, or sought thy intercession was left unaided. Inspired with this confidence, I fly to thee, O Virgin of virgins, my Mother; to thee do I come; before thee I stand, sinful and sorrowful. O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not my petitions, but in thy mercy hear and answer me.
O, Blessed Mother, continue to watch over my dad and be his strength.  Help him to follow the path our Lord has intended, and help us, his family and friends, to do what we need to do in order for him to live with grace and faith. 

Amen.

Stay Strong

Stay Strong, my friend
Stay Strong

assumes that once I was
assumes that now I am
assumes I've got it in me to believe in what I stand

Stay Strong, my friend
Stay Strong

deep down I know it's true
deep down I know it's there
deep down the pearl aches for the shell
to lift, to say, "she's here"
but strength is more than heads held high
and strength is more than pride
internal and external peace
live freely, side by side
when I am strong

So, I'll listen to your words, my friend
There's strength to carry on
I'll find my way
I'll stay, my friend
I'm staying— staying strong.

Can I have your attention?

A message to my future graduates:
I’ve had your attention for a while now, but after you walk down that aisle, your attention will never again exist for me.  So, I’m taking this opportunity to grab it one last time.

You are a blessing.  If you don’t know it already, I want you to know it right here, right now.  I need you to look at me... all eyes and ears on me... you are a BLESSING.  Do you understand how much I mean that?  Truly? 

You see, during this past year, my job became a breath of fresh air while I’ve dealt with grief and disbelief, bewildered by the depths of depression experienced by mid-life crises. Above and beyond marital stresses and health issues and financial woes—problems bound to burden mid-lifers—I’ve known of four people who not only thought about suicide but succumbed to it.  What is happening?  Is it the culture?  Why such desperation where the only option is to take one's life?  Depression can run so very deep, and my heart pains for those who suffer. There are no easy answers. Only questions to an epidemic that has a ripple effect on those left behind as the mourning and reaction, the loss and sorrow, continue to fester.  I wish I had words of enlightenment, some kind of inspirational commentary.  I don't.  But I do have your attention one last time, so I need to use this moment to say something, and here it is:  you are a blessing; you make me alive; you make me smile, make my days worthwhile, and I’ll repeat it over and over again until you get it, until I've drilled it into your minds and you believe it.  YOU are a blessing. My God, what blessings you are!

I wonder where you’ll be in five years, which college or employer is being blessed with your presence.  Wherever you are, I hope you look in the mirror and see what I see today... a blessing. 
Fifteen years from now you might be settling down with a career and/or family... more people in this crazy world to embrace you as an integral person in their lives.  Those people will be blessed, and if they don’t understand that, feel free to contact me, so I can share my message with them... you are a BLESSING.
And thirty-five years from now?  Well, you’ll be middle-aged, facing challenges that might seem too overwhelming to bear.  And when you cross a bridge that’s creaking and swaying, readying itself to break and lose strength, I hope you remember my words from the last time I had your attention...

YOU ARE A BLESSING, AND I THANK GOD FOR YOU!

The Whistle

Lines—

As far as the book's editing process goes... well, it's going, but I'm determined to have the umpteenth draft in a satisfactory state before heading to the "Deep Revision" writing workshop in June.  Fingers crossed!

One optimistic point is this:  I think I might have a new title for the novel-in-progress.  LINES—
As this is Poetry Month, I worked a poem to highlight some of the lines that are addressed in the story.  (I guess this could be called a poem-in-progress!)

We’re holding still our thoughts on faith,

and biting tongues for chief estates,

denying selves of destined mates—

Will these straight lines create our fate?

Some drawn, some veiled, but all’s at stake

when those we sever make us ache,

when those we heed suppress our sake—

Which line will stir our souls awake?

Demanding truths to be exposed,

we’ll risk the cuts by men opposed—

Will we then live our passion’s prose?

Without the crossing, no one knows.

THE FRIENDLY LOUNGE

a corner counter and a stool

that’s all it took, really, just
a corner counter and a stool

and the decadent, local brew—
that’s all it took, really, just
a corner counter and a stool

and no matter the talented barista (my name they always knew)
or the decadent, local brew—
that’s all it took, really, just
a corner counter and a stool

and the music themed walls, background sounds, books to view
and no matter the talented barista (my name they always knew)
or the decadent, local brew—
that’s all it took, really, just
a corner counter and a stool

and the patrons’ charm and chatter over a sip or two
and the music themed walls, background sounds, books to view,
and no matter the talented barista (my name they always knew)
or the decadent, local brew—
that’s all it took, really, just
a corner counter and a stool

What they say about this place is true.
“You are a stranger here but once,” because of the interesting crew
and the patrons’ charm and chatter over a sip or two
and the music themed walls, background sounds, books to view,
and no matter the talented barista (my name they always knew)
or the decadent, local brew—
that’s all it took, really, just
a corner counter and a stool


** Thanks, Rob (and Debbie, Lee, and Dan), for one of the most productive and enjoyable summers a teacher/coffee drinker/writer could ask for!

The MADRIGAL format

-----------------------------------------------------------

RAIN DROPS

They patter, these rain drops, on leaves still green
with summer’s breath, recalling dreams of you.
But then, again, the sun and snow do, too.

The nightingale is friend and sets me free
to weather days of clouds and changing hues.
They patter, these rain drops, on leaves still green
with summer’s breath, recalling dreams of you.

When morning comes, your image fades.  I wean
my thoughts and wash away your voice, renewed.
And then I am reminded by the dew.
They patter, these rain drops, on leaves still green
with summer’s breath, recalling dreams of you.
But then, again, the sun and snow do, too.

----------------------------------------------------------

SEEN

The dirt is dug; the box is slowly hauled
to this, his resting place where grass is green,
and though the flag will fly, his life’s unseen.

The husband, dad, and son who had been called,
who answered with a conscience proud and clean.
The dirt is dug; the box is slowly hauled
to this, his resting place where grass is green.

Crossing enemy lines, the chaos stalled.
He heard his baby cry across the sea,
the fatherless who honors land that’s free.
The dirt is dug; the box is slowly hauled
to this, his resting place where grass is green,
and though the flag will fly, his life’s unseen

to all but those who honor land that’s free.

-----------------------------------------------------------

TIME

The pages turn to when I’m in my prime.
I sigh.  Reality is hard to face
when knowing you’re gone and can’t be replaced.

Sons grow—already five-seven, five-nine—
these teens, who kiss me still before they race.
The pages turn to when I’m in my prime.
I sigh.  Reality is hard to face.

What happened to the future that was mine?
You chisel away at such a quick pace,
and as you pass, I pray I age with grace.
The pages turn to when I’m in my prime.
I sigh.  Reality is hard to face
when knowing you’re gone and can’t be replaced.

--------------------------------------------------------

LIVIA:  MY HEROINE

Together we discovered who we are.
And yet, dear friend, it's time to set you free.
I need to live beyond our history.

Your character became my shining star.
Your conflicts kept me from much needed sleep.
Together we discovered who we are.
And yet, dear friend, it's time to set you free.

Still flawed, it's true, but I will leave you marred.
It's what we learned about ourselves, you see;
a perfect world was never guaranteed.
Together we discovered who we are.
And yet, dear friend, it's time to set you free.
I need to live beyond our history.
---------------------------------------------------------

Stars on Land

A sonnet originally written for my main characters, Livia and Will.


How bright my world could be, if in your hand
I place my own! But fear will fiercely pound,
as quickly as my heart upon the sound
of words so dear from lips I understand.

Your shimmer leads to grief as fine as sand.
And if the lights connect across the ground,
the constellation Truth will then be found.
I can not stand too close to stars on land.

Without a glow, what then will come of night?
How can I find my way through streets so dim?
If not with you beside me as I tread—
companion to my soul, my eyes for sight—
there is no sun or moon; the path is grim.
Our fingers touch; the stars inflame ahead.

Howl

Never touched.
Forever felt.
Like wind
and spirit.

Your howl is
heard in the
whispers of
sweet sorrow.

Like wind
and spirit.
Forever felt.
Never touched.

In my own words...

I'm trying to spend a few hours with my book this weekend.  I have so much editing and rewriting to do, it's overwhelming.  But every once in a while, I come across a line that inspires me to keep the faith.  Here are three of my favorite lines from the novel-in-progress:

I don’t condone defiance toward God, ya see, but won’t I forever encourage the questioning of mere men.

I long for night, for sleep.  People think it’s because of fatigue, but it’s not.  When I close my eyes, you come back to me.

Each time we lower our heads and turn away, we allow the establishment to continue their cruelties, and they use our silence as their protection.  We are their victims, and we are their shields!

An Elegy for Jack Kerouac (Poem a Day Challenge, Day 16)

Aww, Jack, we stood,
you and me,
in my dreams, on the road,
whoopin’ it up in the heavens on
earth
where our dreams—
tiny pebbles—
were dropped and rippled along
the waves,
cast out to sea,
real dreams, real waters,
real like the winds on Desolation Peak
real like the flames in your head
that would speak
to you,
and through you,
to me.

Aww, Jack, we were free,
you and me,
in my dreams, on the road,
angelic
beatific
prolific
on life’s journey where we danced
high
above the clouds
of gusting dust and
smoke
swirling behind the tail-
pipe
as we zipped along this sacred soil,
our souls splashed and re-
baptized,
bare and blessed,
caressed,
fired up with every step
when we’d meet and greet
the beings of human-
ity.

Aww, Jack, what a pity,
you and me
were only in my dreams,
on the road,
picking lotus flowers
lush along the path of
enlightenment,
left to suffer
with nirvana never found.
To be true,
on this road,
in this God-forsaken world,
you were holy sent
but never in your
element.

Aww, Jack, I pray that you,
not me,
that you
(and Sal, maybe)
through death
found peace
found paradise,
that your soul didn't have to pay a price
and could finally burn,

“burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow
roman candles exploding like spiders
across the stars
and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop
and everybody goes
‘Awww!’"

GO CHARGERS! (Poem a Day Challenge, Day 13 - an animal sestina)

Today we are encouraged to write an animal sestina (in a nutshell, a 39 line/7 stanza poem with rotating ending form of the same six words while using iambic pentameter... right?). Definitely the most challenging poem to date. At least there wasn't pressure to rhyme.   Here goes:


The charger’s chosen first for ev’ry battle
to lead its troop to certain victory,
so all the town can raise their flags and cheer.
The soldiers ride, heads high and filled with pride,
adored by all, accomplishing their goal.
They praise each horse for being such great sports.

A mascot for their school in ev’ry sport,
the charger represents athletic battles.
To play with honor is the major goal,
of course, they’d like to see a victory.
No matter win or loss they end with pride.
No matter win or loss the fans will cheer.

To morning games we travel with good cheer.
We pray for pleasant temps with this fast sport,
as Chargers take the field with schooling pride.
Opponents block and trap in this great battle
as crowds cry out to fight for victory.
And finally we clap as refs call, “Goal!”

On courts they shoot for two or three field goals
with sideline rivals chanting fervent cheers.
The Chargers strive for OT victory;
the Lions want to dominate the sport.
And so it goes, the steal a key in battle,
long pass, down low, the lay up brings us pride!

They join, the boys, for fun with full school pride.
To strengthen skills with each new set, the goal.
The girls, though, serve and spike in focused battle.
A winning match received with joy and cheer.
I’ve got it!  OUT!  It’s mine!  A vocal sport,
a lively treat despite a victory.

For school and independent victory
they run with steady speed and pacing pride.
Endurance crucial for this graceful sport,
each stride and eyes determined on the goal.
Awaiting lines they’ll cross to such great cheer,
each meet, the stars prepare with mental battle.

The Chargers battle on for victory,
Each teammate cheering on Ascension pride.
Play hard, set goals, respect the school and sport.

A City Poem (Poem a Day Challenge, Day 12)

A friend can laugh but keep the story
of silly stupors, on tangents we'd go,
in all our glitz and youthful glory
we'd blend with stars and steal the show.
And if one traveled too close to the sun,
the other reminded, it’s all in fun.

But, no!  You’re so much more than fun!
You filled a void both wide and deep.
A pressure valve released, I'd run
to magical trances on your streets.
For life, at times, we could not bear;
we needed a place and people to share.

Ah, yes! You were the place I'd share
with those who needed serenity, too.
Together we rambled, a nightly affair,
until we had to pay our due.
When daybreak brought us back to woe,
this city was both my friend and foe!

A City Poem #2

CHICAGOU

Prairie of Potawatomi pride
Discovery of Domingan and du Sable
A Fort on the river

Blood of the Black Hawk Wars
Ashes of the great conflagration
Second and windy

Hub to railroads
Liar to immigrant dreams
The White City

Home of Hull House
Riots of Haymarket Square
The Jungle

The Race Riots
The White Sox
The Black Sox

Wrigley Field curses
Super Bowl Sweetness
Three-peat, Three-peat Bulls

Oprah

Skyscrapers and projects
Gardens and ghettos
Limos and cabs and buses and bikes
The El

Gourmet and comforting
Irish, Italian, Mexican, Polish,
Asian, Ukranian, German,
Jamaican, Ethiopian, Puerto Rican...

Chicagoan.