Category Archives: Non-fiction

Non-fiction, , ,

March 17, 2009,– In our struggling economy, the negative impact of a dwindling market has forced many people into survival mode. Professional speaker and author, L. Diane Wolfe, has witnessed this trend in those who attend her seminars. Aware of the need for encouragement, as well as leadership and people skills, Wolfe devised a way to reach those outside of her speaking engagements. The result is “Overcoming Obstacles with SPUNK! The Keys to Leadership & Goal-Setting.”

Available March 17, 2009 from Dancing Lemur Press L.L.C., Wolfe’s book outlines the steps required to overcome obstacles and become an effective and dynamic leader. Joined by authors David Ambrose, p.m. terrell, Darlene Wofford, Jocelyn Andersen, Bob Johnson, C. Denise Sutton, and Bill Wilson, her book energizes one’s passion for life. The five Keys guide the reader through developing a positive attitude, learning people skills, raising self-esteem, overcoming fears, and setting goals.

Tying her goal-setting and leadership seminars together into one package, Wolfe hopes to benefit business owners desiring to increase productivity as well as those seeking to improve their leadership skills. Known as “Spunk On A Stick”, her association with a motivation training system gave her the in-depth knowledge of relationships, personality traits and success principles. The author’s enthusiasm, along with the book’s easy to digest content, guarantees many repeat readings. “The book is commended for those who need a devotional style approach to leadership…” states Armchair Interviews.

Wolfe’s upcoming appearances include “An Ounce of Prevention Health Seminar” in D.C., featuring keynote speaker Michelle Obama and NCAEOP’s Annual Conference in Greensboro, NC. The author will also continue to offer her seminars through colleges, organizations, schools and clubs. “Overcoming Obstacles with SPUNK! The Keys to Leadership & Goal-Setting,” ISBN 978-0-9816210-2-9, $13.95, is available retail and wholesale from Ingram, Quality Books Inc. or publisher direct. To place an order or request a review copy, visit the publisher’s site, www.dancinglemurpress.com. Contact Wolfe directly for an interview or engagement or visit her site, www.spunkonastick.net.

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This is Your Brain When it is Creative

Non-fiction

The results of a fascinating study of jazz musicians are giving scientists a clearer picture of where creativity comes from in your brain.

How, precisely did they do this?  Dr. Charles Limb decided it would be good to compare the brain of a jazz musician when he (or she) was alternately playing by memory and going off on an improvised riff.  The only problem was, how, exactly, to accomplish it.  The usual procedure is to put a person inside a MRI machine and measure changes in oxygen that signify various different parts of the brain being utilized.

However, it is just the wee-est bit difficult to fit a jazz musician and his instrument inside a MRI machine.

So what they did was have a special metal-less keyboard designed and then had jazz pianists play both memorized tunes and riffs while inside the MRI.

The results?  Creativity in the form of jazz improv utilized the same parts of the brain as dreaming.  First of all inhibition switched off and then self expression switched on.  The musicians also showed heightened sensory awareness, with areas associated with touch, hearing and sight lighting up.

How cool is that?  That there are actually places in the brain where our creativity comes from just fascinates me.

Dr. Limb cautions that the brain of an artist or writer might well function differently from a musician and he hopes to test artists and writers next.  Um, Dr. Limb?  I’ll volunteer.  Anything to make the process of sitting down to write a little easier.

Apparently what this research will be most useful for is research into brain damage and diseases such as Parkinson’s (which a very close friend of mine just got diagnosed with).

But the lesson seems clear enough to me: all we have to do to be creative is let go of our inhibitions and let self expression fly.  I’ve been in that flow before.  Its the best thing ever, so much so that most of my life is spent in an effort to return to that state.

Contrary Souls

Non-fiction, , , ,

An inconsequential knocking, that snowy Sunday morning, set into motion a chain of events that encouraged a positive change in the hearts of two disparate lives:

Suddenly alert; my wife observed (stoically silhouetted through an old curtained window) a past polemic antagonist waiting for a response.

Muttering tersely I asked: “is that who I think it is?”

This was a uniquely eccentric person who had redefined personal rejection by adapting dissonant surgical hardness towards anyone who threatened his transcendent character. Because of untold effronteries, there was, between them, an unapproachable gulf that had for years discouraged trust, or the type of open communication that could (very often) clear the hearts fragile soil of rocks and weeds.

The dogged knocking continued.

It appeared now that I would not be able to accomplish what I had set my mind on doing, nor would my beloved wife. It was unfair, and for a moment I felt incensed with the unwanted intrusion. Never once had we considered encroaching upon another’s privacy, and never had we appreciated those that appeared on our doorstep unannounced. An undesirable thing had become manifest and, with no way to circumvent it, I had to either move with the situation or reject it.

Grumbling irritably I prayed: “Please help me with this; I need wisdom and some kind of direction that is best for all.”

I was accosted at once by an intense shaft of LIGHT.

Being similar to an invisible sword; it pierced the bulwarks of my heart and began removing every quondam obstacle that I had allowed to take root there over the years. Rendered somewhat breathless, and now feeling gallingly timid, I began dealing with a host of carking voices palavering within me with erstwhile preconception. And while this war raged back and forth in my spirit, I sensed a stronghold of negative feelings, past heartache, disdain, grief, and repudiation cleaving from my stubborn heart.

“So, I guess we should do this then huh?” my wife sighed as she fluffed her hair. With a modicum of reluctance I agreed.

Words began as a taut trickle between brothers. Eager to unburden themselves from misunderstanding, festering emotion, cankered wounds, smoldering intolerance, and years of disdain; the openness between them began submitting to a higher purpose.

As it unfolded, two inordinately complex personalities became known; both of them with a childlike desire to be loved, understood, and accepted. Together they shared tales of rejection, confusion, acquisition, and unrealized dreams. Soon the conversation had become a flow of words releasing pure water streams over and around the moss laden rocks of years of indifference.

That morning faith sprang to the occasion as reams of sophistry, chunks of unresolved feelings, misunderstanding, broken dreams, anger, jealousy, and envy were extirpated to prepare the soil for new seeds and seasons between contrary souls now willing to repent and begin anew.

richard lloyd cederberg

Overcoming Obstacles and Achieving Goals

Non-fiction, , , , ,

From the upcoming book, “Overcoming Obstacles With SPUNK! The Keys to Leadership & Goal-Setting” by L. Diane Wolfe

Life is all about overcoming.

Living to the fullest requires determination. We must possess purpose and drive. We need set goals and a positive attitude. Fear must be conquered. Leadership traits and people skills are vital. To live a life filled with enrichment and satisfaction, we need some spunk!

What is the secret? We have seen others experience great personal triumphs and satisfaction. How does one achieve this level of fulfillment? Surely there is a pill or potion we can consume that will transform our lives into something more! Unfortunately, life does not work in this manner. True success requires effort, and only we can make it happen.

All of God’s creatures were designed to live for a purpose. Achievement is part of our very makeup. Sadly, many of us get so caught up in the struggle just to survive that the result is an existence rather than a life. We lose sight of our purpose. This is not how we were intended to live, though. We need to rekindle the purpose within and ignite our spirits once again.

Will change be required? Of course! We cannot continue on our current same path. If we expect life to improve, we cannot remain mired in the same patterns. Those habits created our current situation and must be abandoned if we desire different results. It’s irrational to keep using a blue pen and hope it will one day transform into a red pen!

Change will be required in areas outside of the physical as well. It’s not just those daily patterns, but also the habits of our mind that prevent us from achieving more in life. Our attitude is a powerful influence on our world, and the deciding factor in our ultimate success. The ability to deal with other people is an important skill. Fear also begins in the mind. All of these mental traits and behaviors contribute to our overall success and fulfillment as human beings.

Too often, we allow circumstances to dictate our lives. We feel we lack in education or do not possess the right skills to succeed. We point to our upbringing and what we did not possess or experience as a child. Sometimes we even blame others for the conditions under which we now reside. Regardless of the circumstances, though, there is no good excuse for failure. We are the ones in control of our destiny.

Victory is not about waiting for circumstances- it’s creating our own. Wallowing in mud will only make us dirty, and wallowing in problems only makes us helpless. We must assume responsibility and create our own opportunities. Our placement in life can only be attributed to one living person, and the sooner we realize this truth, the sooner we can take control of the situation. Solutions exist for those who seek answers.

Taking control does not guarantee a reduction in problems. Challenges and obstacles occur for all people, no matter what path is taken. However, the ability to handle difficult situations improves with a good attitude and a purpose in life. Like a knight riding into battle, we are armed for success. We notice opportunities and solutions more readily and are not so easily frightened by obstacles.

To break out of mediocrity and live a full, worthwhile life, we need to acquire the five keys of overcoming. These keys work in conjunction with one another to unlock the secrets of personal success. We must master all five elements if the formula is to work properly. There is no one key to true success!

It is said that success is a journey not a destination. We will not master these keys before we begin our quest but rather learn as we pursue our goals and dreams. It is this growth that truly enriches our lives. And since the ultimate destination is the end of our earthly life, we possess ample time to master each key!

Thus begins our journey…

Copyright 2008, Dancing Lemur Press, L.L.C.

Available March 17, 2009

$13.95 USA, Trade paperback, 176 pages

Non-fiction/Self-help

ISBN 978-0-9816210-2-9 / 0-9816210-2-3

The home of permanent in between

Non-fiction, , , ,

My biological grandmother was still in high school when she got pregnant. Since she remains silent, a hidden participant in our family’s history, my mother’s origins are a mystery. Was my mother the product of passion, young love that couldn’t wait for marriage, clothes that flew off as kisses multiplied? Or was she the result of a moment — or more — of coercion, the forced coupling in the broad backseat of a car, the push to the ground, the inexperienced fumbling leading to blind acquiescence?

When my grandmother started to show, her parents sent her to the city. They dropped her off at the Florence Crittenton Home for Unwed Mothers. I imagine her emerging from the black car alone, tattered suitcase in hand, looking nervously up the set of granite steps. Inside, somnolent girls in the late, leaden months of pregnancy, inward, deliberate, walk slowly through the gray halls.

It is the home of permanent in between; the suppressed energy of smothered potential thickens the air. The girls, all going by pseudonyms, make very little small talk. In the nursery, rows of bundled babies silent as dolls wait, neatly packaged in individual bassinets. Once retrieved, the babies seek out their mothers’ faces, liquid newborn eyes encountering guarded glances. Both mother and child have learned not to waste energy on tears or outward displays of emotion. The bonding and the break are inevitable.

This is how I picture my mother’s birth: hazy trauma of labor, discovery delivered as flat fact — “it’s a girl.” They undo the straps, let the drugs wear off. Hours later, my biological grandmother holds her swaddled daughter, names her Lois. Lois is tiny — less than five pounds — too little to be released to her adoptive family. Over the next six weeks the pair are entangled in the monotony of new life, the seemingly endless cycle of feeding, diapering, and sleep. They calm to one another’s warm, familiar scent. Their gazes become intimate. Bone-deep.

When the six weeks are up, Aunt Ruth, a go-between, my adoptive grandmother’s sister, comes to take the baby. Waiting in the home’s entrance, the young mother frantically bounces her silent infant, dreading the break. Finally, Aunt Ruth appears, says her hello, and waits.

“It’s time.”

The mother hands over the baby. It is as clean as a guillotine strike.

Before she has time to reconsider, she races inside to the central staircase and runs up two flights of stairs to her room. Her breathing is contained, shallow, a precaution against tears. She’s been trying to memorize every inch of her daughter, the moon face framed by white-blonde hair, her blues eyes, dainty toes and impossibly tiny hands, but already the image is fading. She reaches her room and slips inside, leans against the closed door taking short, sharp breaths. A glass baby bottle sits on the bedside table, a remnant from the final feeding. The girl eyes it, finally reaching out. Then, the satisfying sound of glass irrevocably broken, the implied threat of jagged shards.

Taking several deep breaths, the young woman calms. She begins to push the glass into a pile with her shoe and decides to find a broom and dustpan.

There will be no tears.

The Dying Mother

Non-fiction, Poetry, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

It took a long time
For mother to die.

Everyone believed
She would go first,

With dad,
The last dirty-old-man,
Playing the field
Since he loved women.

Mother wore out the pages in her
Medical encyclopedia
To speed things up
On the highway
Of exotic diseases.

Before turning forty,
She had a hysterectomy
When cancer cells multiplied.

That didn’t help
Her state of mind.

Soon after that first surgery,
She left the Catholic Church
Becoming a Jehovah Witness
Getting ready to join God
Since death was eminent,
A heartbeat away.

After forty, a malignant tumor
The size of a grapefruit
Recruited an army in one her kidneys;
Like the Battle of the Bulge
During WWII,
That nasty Nazi,
A Hitler in disguise,
Was surrounded
And cut off from the rest of her body.
A rare encapsulated,
Parasitical alien life form without a visa
That the City of Hope’s doctors
Exorcised.

After Lola’s fiftieth, she asked
Her three children
What we wanted
From the house
Since death was close and
Father would outlive her to marry again.
I said, “I don’t want to talk about death.
Let’s take one day at a time
And enjoy what remains.”

My older sister and brother
Made out lists
Carting valuables home
Like picking flesh from
The carcass
While two hearts
Were still beating.

My dad died at seventy-nine
With a sour expression on his face
As he gasped his last.
The doctor told him,
“You quit smoking ten years too late.”
He was younger than her.

My brother took
Dad’s tools and the beloved Cadillac
Leaving it wrecked
Beside a road.

She cried a river of tears
After fifty-four years of marriage.
She missed dad.
I missed him too.
He was the quiet one
That listened.

Loneliness settled
Around mother like
A hot summer day
When it hurts to breathe
The scorched air
As one friend
After another
Left this earth
While she lived in that house
Alone in the desert
With her Bible
And five acres
Surrounded by a chain link fence
And sage brush
Two hundred miles from
My condo and job.

She told me once,
“In the mornings
Before I get out of bed
In this silent,
Empty house,
I forget how old I am.
I think I’m fourteen again,
But the mirror
Does not lie
And God
Is always nearby.”

At eighty-nine, cancer
Arrived one last time.
There was surgery
Removing the bleeding
Tumor in her intestines.
Mother lingered for
Two painful weeks
Screaming in agony,
Praying for an end to her story.

The call came during my
Fifth period English class
With students reading
The dramatic, tragic death scene
From Romeo and Juliet.

That day spelled an end
To more than one love story.
Sometimes death is a blessing.

I never told my students.
Let them find out
For themselves.
It’s better that way.

The Ghostwriter's Booksigning

Non-fiction, , , , ,

I went to a book signing for a book I wrote the other night–only another person, a kind doctor, signed the books.  The cover of the book features his smiling face and this same image graces the posters that were propped all around the store.

But it would be impossible for you to find even the merest mention of my name anywhere near the book.  Why? Because I ghostwrote it.

Allow me to define ghostwriting for those of you who may still be confused about it (in my travels I find many who are).  A ghostwriter (moi) writes a book for someone else and that other person’s name appears on the book.  If I’m very lucky, the “author” might thank me in the acknowledgments.  On some occasions, ghostwriters get a “with” byline.  As in “Stupid Worthless Memoir by Famous Vacuous Star with Ghostwriter.”

But most of us ghostwriters get nada but a paycheck.  Which is why we do it, of course, because ghostwriting can be among the most lucrative of writing assignments.  You are writing a whole book, after all, not just an article or series of articles for a website.  You are expected to know how to take bunches of information, perhaps some interviews, and vague thoughts and organize them into a readable, informative book.

A great number of business and self-help books are ghostwritten.  Ditto with celebrity biographies and so-called novels.  (You really think Nicole Richie has ever read a novel, let alone written one?)  Rumor has it that some popular mystery series are actually ghostwritten and many readers believe that some of the most prolific romance writers employ ghostwriters to help them churn out the novels.

I can’t verify those rumors, though I suspect they may be true.   I also suspect that many novelists have learned their craft churning out books under the name of a best-selling author.  But I think I prefer to stick to non-fiction.

To my way of thinking, non-fiction ghostwriting projects suit me just fine.  I enjoy learning about different subjects and getting into the mind of the person who I’m writing as.

Last week was the first time I’d ever actually experienced a booksigning where the “author” of the book was signing what I wrote.

I had a blast, met a lot of nice people and reconnected with the folks who hired me.  The thing is, I don’t feel the emotional connection to the book that I would with, say, my novel.  And while I’m proud of the finished product, I’m not so invested in it that I can’t let it go.

We’ll be starting the next book in the series soon and I’m looking forward to attending future book signings.  I wish I could give the book some publicity and send you to the website, but alas, then it wouldn’t be ghostwritten anymore, would it?  (And let me tell you, the whole ghostwriting thing wreaks havoc on the old resume, since I can’t really blatantly list all the books I’ve written.)

Fun as this book signing was, I look forward to the day when I’ll be signing my own novel at a book signing!