Cholla Blossom gets a lot of grief: betrayed by everyone in her life, foiled at every turn, and foreseeing her own death in visions. Plus, several of my beta readers say her name is too hard to pronounce (CHOY-a), and they don't see why I'm unwilling to return to her original name, White Dove the bland. No, just kidding—the name I gave her initially as a placeholder isn't bland, just stereotypical. Here are some of the reasons I chose this difficult name for this angsty teen.
The segmented jointed stems of these species of "jumping cholla" have barbed spines that embed themselves in your skin if you're not careful moving through the desert. Experienced hikers often carry a comb to flick away any joints that hitch a ride. Grabbing onto a stem with your fingers is a mistake you're unlikely to repeat.
So this plant is lovely but prickly and hard to get rid of, just like Cholla Blossom. And it is literally picked in the bud, just as she fears will happen to her; the mature fruits of most species of cholla are not eaten, except in times of starvation.
I watched an amazing supermoon rising over the Superstition Mountains, in 1984. This photo reminds me of that experience.
At my rain house, the puddles all spread,
From under it, short streams run.
I stand atop the Temple of Mist;
About me, the mist wreaths my head.
Cupbearers bring me the liquor of life;
The blood-red drink I swallow.
Cast up on the earth as the milk of my making,
The shining road draws the sun.
No more the fields be dry and hollow,
Green shoots no more a-burning.
Swift come the clouds to the Rainsinger’s call;
The spadefoots start their singing.
At the rim of the world the storm it waits,
With thunder and lightning a-borning.
I intend to make this a personal journey, a diary of sorts, as I embark on the next stage of my writing. As my dear husband, Matt, describes it, I am faced with the choice of writing novels as a hobby or actually striving to become a professional novelist.
That will require a whole new level of commitment of time and energy, as I work to increase my skills as a writer and also learn to promote myself as a writer.
I had my mother teach me to read when I was four, and I've never stopped. Now I can play with words all day long... it's the best job in the world.
Site powered by Weebly. Managed by SiteGround