Roswell Wordsmiths

We will host another Roswell Wordsmiths Open Mic meeting on Tuesday, November 17, at 2:00 PM at the Roswell Library in Roswell, GA. 

As we build a writing community in Roswell, we want to encourage new writers and those who want to be writers to come and share their work or listen to what others are doing. Poets and prose writers are invited.

Someone in this group has already begun writing a book. Several people are already published, and they answer questions from others who need advice. We all learn from each other through our discussions. 

After working and writing with many writers and poets in NC, I know how important it is to have friends who write. We had a group of people there who were generous and caring of each other. I started Coffee with the Poets and Writers twenty years ago, and it is still well attended each month in Hayesville, NC.

We look forward to hearing Don Neder, a new author, who will speak to us about his writing journey and his new book.

This is the last month we will have online attendance. If you want to join us and can't come here, you can use Zoom with Eric Kennington; contact him at the library to register and receive the link. 

We won't meet in December, and when we come back in January, we will not continue with Zoom. I hope some of you will join us even though you don't live here. Contact me if you need more information.

Dogs I have known and loved

Wonderful Rocky, found abandoned when he was a puppy, was such a loving animal. When the cat, also abandoned, came to live with us, he welcomed her completely, and she never had to worry about Rocky hurting her. In the picture above, he was licking her ears, and she loved it. 

We quickly learned that Tiger, the cat, needed her own bed because she promptly curled up in Rocky's bed. He didn't kick her out. He just curled up beside the bed. 

My brother said that Barry and I had the friendliest dogs he had ever seen. He was right. From Brandy, the miniature poodle, Nicki, our first Samoyed, Kodi, our second Samoyed, and Rocky, our loving found pup, our dogs have all been loving. 

And the last of our dogs is Lexie, who is 11 years old now. I wish Barry could have known her. She is the most loving little thing. She likes people, no matter who they are.  If they speak kindly to her, she is theirs to hold or pet, sweet-talk to, and she enjoys every minute. She is a Chihuahua mix, and the perfect mix for me. I believe she is part terrier, because she could jump straight up on her hind legs when she was still a puppy. I had to add about six inches to my five-foot fence because she would bounce a few times on her back legs, and once she grabbed the top of the fence, she was over it and gone.

Friends have told me they prefer big dogs, but they were captivated by my Lexie. Chihuahuas are described as charming and alert. Most people say these little guys will bite, and often people are more afraid of them than a large dog. 

But Lexie senses who is good and will be friendly. She approaches with her tail wagging. And usually no one can resist her. 

Do you have a dog? Tell us about him or her in the comments below. Send me a photo of your beloved pet, and I will post it with your comment. I have found that people who love dogs, are usually my kind of people. 

A WWII Unforgettable Experience by Ash Rothlein

Ash Rothlein, in his 80s, became my writing student. He wrote this story in our class. There was not a dry eye in the room when he closed. He was surprised. Like many soldiers, he had never talked about his war experiences. Liz, his wife, said the class changed his life.

I love his closing words; they mean so much today.

A World War 11 Unforgettable Experience

Ash Rothlein

I was a soldier during World War 11. Our company was an advanced ordnance field unit closely following the invasion of the Normandy beaches of France on June 6, 1944. Once the shores were secured the allied forces fought their way slowly inland over the next several weeks.

One pre-dawn day my buddies and I were startled out of our slit trenches. The deafening roar of studded formations of American heavy bombers filled the sky. We were told there were three thousand aircraft, the greatest array of air power ever displayed during the war. We cheered until we were hoarse.  They were on a surprise raid to break the impasse of the German stronghold in the city of St. Lo. The success of that mission became the springboard for the armies to make major rapid advances toward Paris. 

Shortly after the raid, our company commander directed us to break camp immediately. We were urgently called to lead a convoy of armored vehicles and munitions supplies to our frontline troops moving ahead. I was assigned to ride in the point vehicle, an uncovered 6x6 truck, awaiting a new canvas. It was a drab, unusually cold, rainy afternoon. I envied all those who rode in sheltered vehicles.

All twenty of us huddled together against the biting wind. Standing firm, we held on to the rails and open roof supports. Our driver rumbled along the hilly, potholed roads. Rounding a curve and heading up a steep incline, I saw, far in the distance through the mist and rain, a sprawling village cresting atop a craggy hill. Below and behind us was our convoy of one hundred forty-odd vehicles following in unison with a steady engine roar.

As we approached the village at dusk, I was dumbstruck by the unfolding scene. Every church bell tolled nonstop. The citizens lined both sides of the road, waving and cheering as one. Their reaction was a spontaneous explosion of energy, joy, and tears. They were oblivious to the cold, windy rain. Our driver slowed. We were spellbound and overcome with this gratuitous reception. With the sight of our massive convoy approaching, they realized they were indeed liberated. They threw flowers and food toward us. We responded with cigarettes and candy. We pumped our fists with tears of joy. Every child, woman, farmer, and worker reached out to us as we edged our way through the village.

 Needless to say, we were so energized by this once-in-a-lifetime experience that we rode the rest of the night to our destination without a grumble about the weather. We each quietly absorbed, in our own way, the fullness of this spontaneous happening.

Burned into my soul to this day is the eye contact I had with all those beautiful French citizens. Their relief and gratitude at finally being freed from their Nazi oppressors spoke volumes to me as to why it was an honor to serve during that war. It was indeed an unparalleled and unforgettable treasured moment of communion with people of another culture, forever reminding me that we are all one, where love abounds.     ----Ash Rothlein

The story above is the first one Ash wrote in my class. He later wrote about Normandy Beach, and our local newspaper ran a full-page write-up featuring photos of him in his uniform, which still fit.

Ash lived to be 97 and made the return to Normandy Beach, which had become his goal after writing so much about the war. He financially supported a war memorial in Bedford, Virginia, for WWII veterans.

The link below explains why Ash Rothlein is remembered and what he did in the last decade of his life.

https://www.dday.org/2022/01/28/rothlein/

I was honored when Ash asked me to write a poem and read it at the statue's dedication, but I couldn't go to Virginia and was sorry to miss his big day.

A video of Ash talking about the war and returning home.

 

 

A little AI is good Too much is dangerous

In The Progressive, Marc Rosenthal and Julie Derwinski argued “we must rise to meet the AI threat.”

“One reason AI is dangerous is that, unlike conventional computer programs, it does not just follow instructions written by people. Instead, developers feed advanced AI systems enormous amounts of data and let them build their own internal patterns for solving problems. Even their creators cannot fully explain or predict what those systems may do in every situation,” Rosenthal and Derwinski wrote. “In controlled cybersecurity evaluations, advanced AI agents have crossed supposedly secure boundaries, reaching the open Internet and breaking into the computers of outside organizations.”

“People of all political persuasions should demand a moratorium on new facilities and additional computing capacity intended to train the largest frontier models until enforceable standards for safety, environmental protection, and transparency are in place,” Rosenthal and Derwinski said. “The public must assert its authority while it still can. Where safety cannot be demonstrated, development should stop."

It is already difficult to know what is true and what is a lie on the Internet. We might need to police ourselves and stay away from AI until we know that safety measures are indeed working. But what can we do if the government doesn't get something done soon to keep this monster from wrecking things? 

But do they know what to do? These AI companies have said they must slow down, so maybe our representatives in office will work across the aisle and let those who built AI show them how to stop the dangerous practices.

A poem by me

Lonely Things

I
Its pillars collapsed; a weathered cabin sags
beside a grassy trail. Cobwebs lace each window,
dim reflections kill the sparkle of the sun’s rays,

The door hangs ajar, expecting no one.
No one leaves. Ivy hugs each timber on the walls,
holding rotting wood together.

Unsafe railings on the porch trellis wild roses.
Pink buds become blood blooms, attached to sturdy stalks
with thorns and gray-green leaves.


II
Eyes shrouded with reality,
Ellie wraps her body in his old black sweater,
a benign shield against the cool emptiness,

She dozes in her chair. She dreams.

A ballroom filled with swirling skirts, pink chiffon,
dancing slippers, amid manly dark blue suits.
At seventeen, she chooses him, blue eyes, a gentle smile.

She takes the shy boy’s hand and leads him
with her heart through decades of delightful days
and years of deep devotion.

As sunset closes evening’s door, a chill befalls the room.
Ellie lights a lamp, lingers, her fingers touch the strings of his guitar.
The warmth of him surrounds her like a well-worn blanket. 

His distant voice comes, singing, “I need you at the
dimming of the day.”

                            By Glenda Council Beall

Ready to Write? Class Cancelled

Writers Circle around the Table continues with Zoom classes in October.

Thursdays - October 8, 15, 22, 6:00 - 8:00 PM

Fall is here, and we had a long rest over the summer. I hope you continued to write more of your wonderful stories about your life, your family, and your loved ones for those who will come after you.

Maybe you think no one will want to read your history, but they will. Maybe the younger ones don't seem interested now, but one day, when they are older, they will be so glad you wrote your stories. 

When my family history book was published, my brothers and sisters, my cousins, and others wanted the book. 

Some years later, at a family gathering, my nephew's teenage children asked me for copies of the book. They wanted their own books and asked when I was going to write a book with them in it.

 

History books in school will not tell your story. Only you can tell what your life was like growing up in the twentieth century, before cell phones, smart TVs, electric cars, computers, and so much more that is happening so fast now. 

Did you learn your multiplication tables? Did you learn cursive writing? Did you add and subtract without a calculator? Although we don't want to believe it, our lives are already the history of a couple of generations. An editor recently told an author that her novel, set in the 1990s, was historical fiction. 

I grew up on a farm with no electricity until I was ten years old. We listened to the radio, powered by a large battery. When I write about those times, I also write about how we didn't think we had less because our neighbors on their farms lived the same way we did. And we were blessed to have good parents of good character who were honest and loving. 

But some had hard times, abusive parents, were abandoned when they were small, and other things that made their lives difficult. If you had those issues, how did you overcome them and become who you are now? You can help others with your words. Write about those things and tell how you survived and how you feel today about your childhood.

 

What do your children know about their grandparents? Where did they come from? 

You know the drill: Send me a check for $40, made payable to Glenda Beall. Email me to register and get my home address. gcbmountaingirl@gmail.com -- put writing class as the subject.

My PayPal account is not working. Don't use it.

Don't wait too long. If we don't have enough sign-ups by October 3rd, we will have to cancel.

If you paid for a class and could not be present, just let me know that you plan to be with us. No fee is due.

I look forward to seeing y'all online.

Photo from Roswell Wordsmiths

Glenda and Carol are sitting together; Susan is to Carol's left; the long blond hair belongs to Linda Sands. This was taken during a break, so some are not in their seats.

I believe the man whose back we see is Bo Hiers. Linda is reading from a working manuscript she says will be part of her next novel.

Roswell Wordsmiths

Carol Crawford

 Writer and poet Carol Crawford is also an editor (www.carolcrawfordediting.com). She was our guest speaker at Roswell Wordsmiths. We found her talk informative and interesting, as most of those present are beginning writers.

Eric Kennington, the library's branch manager, is extremely helpful to me as I get this writing group going. We have worked together for about three months. We were pleased to have all but one of those present read their short prose, ranging from fantasy to a story about a Vietnam veteran who survived a battle he could not forget. 

I am most grateful to George Weinstein for posting this meeting in the Atlanta Writers Club newsletter.

Widely published author Linda Sands saw the announcement and joined us. We heard her read and were impressed with her reading and her writing. She didn't tell us, but she was selected as Georgia Writer of the Year, and she lives in Fannin County, Georgia, where Carol Crawford lives. 

Linda Sands

It was great to meet Don Neder in person. Don is my co-host and will be host when I can't be there. His book on mindfulness will be published in September, I believe. He is now researching his new book on his parents' lives.

My thanks to Marcus, Patricia, Susan, Bo, William, and Wava. I look forward to seeing you next month. 

I am appreciative of my non-writer supporters, Gay, Stu, Nancy, and Lee, who came and enjoyed listening to the writers and meeting them. 

I think we will all benefit from this group: meeting writers, making new friends, learning about writing, and I look forward to teaching more writing classes.

We want to build a community of writers in Roswell, GA. If you want to be a writer but need some encouragement, join us on Sept 15 at 2 PM at the Roswell Library. If you are a published writer, we would like you to join us. We can learn from you, I'm sure.  Email me and let me know if you plan to be at the Roswell Wordsmiths next month.