Ginger Dehlinger's Blog

Before I published my first novel, Brute Heart, I asked several writer friends whether I should use my given name (Virginia) or the name friends and family called me. One author I respected opted for Virginia, referencing Virginia Woolf, however I didn't feel comfortable even having my name mentioned in the same breath as that noted author. In the end, I copyrighted the novel as Virginia Dehlinger and put Ginger Dehlinger on the cover. I've used Ginger on everything I've written since.

In fact, I have taken advantage of my name, most notably by dying my hair red. Now, when I meet people, they often say "I won't have any trouble remembering your name."

I take advantage of the name Ginger by offering gingersnaps as a gift with purchase when I sell books at street fairs or Christmas bazaars. My sign reads: "Spend $10.00 and get a sample of Ginger's homemade ginger snaps."

At Christmas bazaars, I display this gingerbread man reminder of how many shopping days are left. 

People give me items that include my name. My designer friends Lee and Sheila Stewart gave me this label which I've had pinned to my pin cushion for at least 40 years.

On impulse, I often I buy things that use Ginger or gingerbread men in some way. I bought this mini tea set at a Christmas bazaar this year. I loved it so much I made it the centerpiece on my dining room table.
I wrote a poem about my name that appeared in the anthology: Family, Vol. 2 published by The Poet (summer 2022). I am including the poem below, and that is enough said about my name.

My father named me,
not Elsie after my mother
or Anna after his
but a name without a nest
in either family tree.

‘We’ll name her Virginia’
he said the day we met,
‘but call her Ginger.’
(another treeless name)
Mom, still under Daddy’s spell,
let it be his call.

I never asked my father,
stern and otherwise detached,
why he christened me so readily.
We never talked much, anyway.
Mom just shrugged;
said she couldn’t remember.

I answered to Ginger
long before I learned—Ginny is a more common derivative,
British gingers have red hair,
the spicy alias is favored by
strippers, courtesans, filles de joie
(pure irony for vestal Virginia).

Ginger Rogers was a Virginia.
She and Fred were the cat’s meow
when I was born.
Mystery solved, I thought,
until I remembered…
Daddy’s favorite star was Barbara Stanwyck.

Who, then, was the other Virginia?

 When submitting my poems and short stories, I often begin my short bio with "Ginger Dehlinger writes in whatever genre fits the story she wants to tell." 

I can immerse myself for hours, arranging and rearranging the feast of words in the English language into a varietyof poetic forms, tones and rhythms. It's a pastime I liken to playing word games orassembling puzzles.

Recently I wrote an epistle. According to the Oxford dictionary, an epistle is (1) "a poem or other literary work in the form of a letter or series of letters." Also (2) "a book of the New Testament in the form of a letter from an Apostle."

I had too much fun writing the following poem.

The Epistle of Thistle

 Dear beloved partisan,

I am soon to depart for Damascus after a brief sojourn in Jerusalem where Ivisited Cousin Artichoke. I trust your deep-rooted diligence will prevail afterI take leave.

 

Let it be known by you and all mankind that henceforth Ishall propagate these lands with emissaries by the hundredfold. I am callednoxious and evil (lies perpetrated by Philistines), whereas I am neitherimmoral nor leprous. I am merely an ageless purveyor of herbaceous greens oftentrodden underfoot. I am magnanimous. I deliver pollen to makers of wild honey,seeds to doves and raptors without prejudice. I provide bedding for hatchlings,leaves for larvae, roots for redemption.  

Granted, my spines can be weapons. I am a pacifist at heart,although it did not distress me to learn my prickly progeny once saved Scotlandfrom Norse invaders. The Scots, who have made me their national emblem, dependon me for their Black Thistle gin. In turn, I provide solace for their liversand dyspepsia.

Enough of my glories, for I must bid thee farewell. I havemany lands to cross before my mission on earth is complete. Pray, I beseechthee, for steady winds and deliverance from scythe, plow and contagion as Ijourney on.

Your steadfast friend,
Cirsium of Antioch

  

My two younger sisters and I take a trip together every year,usually in early September when there are fewer tourists to contend with andsummer is drifting into fall. This year we went to New York City. Since I hadlived and worked there when I was in my 30’s and 40’s, I was charged withorganizing our activities.

We were in Manhattan only five full days plus two half-days.All three of us wanted to see a Broadway show, and, in fact, we saw two. Onewas A Beautiful Noise, the story of Neil Diamond’s life, told throughthe songs he wrote. We loved every nostalgic minute.

The decision to buy tickets for a second show happened whenwe learned Josh Groban was the lead actor/singer in a revival of SweeneyTodd. I hadn’t made the effort to see this show in the past, either onBroadway or on tour. Somehow, watching a barber kill his patients just didn’tsound like a fun way to spend an evening. This September, however, I thoughtthe opportunity to hear Josh Groban sing was worth the price of a ticket. JoshGroban definitely met my expectations. So did my negative presumptions about themusical’s plot.

After watching Sweeney Todd, I figured the story hadto be an adaptation. I couldn’t imagine a noted songwriter like Steven Sondheimdeciding one day to write a musical about a barber who killed his patients andturned them into mince meat pies. When I returned home, I looked up SweeneyTodd, and, according to Wikipedia, I was correct. The musical’s grimstory first appeared as a piece of pulp fiction titled “String of Pearls.” Thestory was serialized by The People's Periodical and Family Library in London in 1846,1847. There is some evidence “The mad barber of Fleet Street” was a real person.

I have a feeling Sondheim, who wrote lyrics for West SideStory, Gypsy and 16 other musicals was the main draw before Josh Grobanaccepted the lead role. But, for me, the music in Sweeney Todd wastotally unforgettable. There was no “I Just Met a Girl Named Maria,” no “Sendin the Clowns.” I did not leave the performance with a single line from asingle song playing in my brain.

 

or this

 

if I didn’t hate promoting my writing.

I know this is naïve, some would say stupid, but I amuncomfortable mentioning to people I meet that I have published two novels anda children’s book. To me, it’s a form of bragging. Mentioning I’m a writer alsomakes them feel obligated to buy one of my books, pay me $5 to $15, even thoughthey receive something in return. (Something of value, I hope.)

I grew up scrambling for money, and thanks to the work ethicmy father instilled in me, I have never had to ask for money except whengetting a mortgage. I don’t write to make big bucks, which is a good thing,considering the miniscule royalty payments I receive. I write because I love playingwith words, telling stories, creating metaphors and other connections that givemy brain an occasional shot of dopamine. If readers happen to find my workentertaining, I’m happy.

That being said, Sandra Beckwith, who gives all kinds of goodadvice to writers, recently shared her enthusiasm for MockupShots, the companythat created (as a free introduction) the two Never Done promotionsabove. For a reasonable fee, they insert book covers in a variety of settings foruse in ads or other promotions. Although I didn’t subscribe to the service, I didappreciate the idea, so just for the fun of it, I tried creating mockups ofmy own.

It quickly became apparent that if I ever need a mock-uppromotion, I should leave it to the professionals.

I haven't written anything new in weeks. I blame some of this on it being summer when I have a big yard to take care of as well as normal household chores. For most of this year, when I have been inspired to write something new it was usually a poem. Not that a poem deserves less praise than a story or novel, but it definitely takes less time to write.
Charles Dickens wrote A Christmas Carol in six weeks. Six weeks! How is that possible, writing longhand with a pen that had to be dipped into an ink well over and over? Prolific writers such as Dickens may be so in tune with their craft they can just sit down and write. On the other hand, while not belittling his talent, he was married. His wife was in charge of his household.
I never felt confident enough in my writing skill to depend on it for a paycheck. I sometimes wonder if I might have had a career doing what I loved. I do know this for sure--I just can't say to myself, "OK, get your act together and write!" Something has to inspire me first. Either that or I need an incentive, and even then, life has a way of getting between me and my keyboard--interaction with family and friends, housework, doctor appointments, grocery shopping, pet care, exercise, gardening, and so on.
To me, inspiration is the most crucial part of this process--discovering something that not only moves me but has the potential to educate or entertain others. These ideas often spring from one of the five senses--a spectacular sunset, a smell that makes me cover my nose, a song that makes me cry. Sometimes it arrives in the form of a sixth sense, an idea that just feels right.
Serendipity comes into play when I'm at the right convergence of time and place for an “aha” moment that I otherwise would have missed. These opportunities sometimes reveal themselves when I take a wrong turn, either literally or figuratively, and come across a situation, idea, word or group of words that escapes the box. I carry pen and paper with me at all times so I can jot down these unusual perspectives.
Dreams and memories have great potential for inspiration because they can be so intense. Well, I have to admit as I get older the memories aren’t always so intense, but the dreams and memories I do recall are usually those with the greatest potential for writing material.
After I come up with an idea or storyline, the next step is to turn whatever inspires me into a poem, essay or novel, and for that I need motivation--some incentive that makes me sit at my computer instead of vacuuming or pulling weeds. No, I do not enjoy vacuuming or pulling weeds, but chores often become excuses to delay the writing process.
Deadlines are a great motivator. These can be self-prescribed for the disciplined writer, many of whom set goals of a certain number of words or pages by noon, by midnight, or per day. Frequently deadlines are dictated by a boss, publication, critique group, writing competition or the timeliness of the subject. Faddish or timely topics have motivation built right in because their newsworthiness has a short lifespan. Charles Dickens had to get A Christmas Carol into print before Christmas or wait an entire year--perhaps another reason he was able to write his masterpiece so quickly.

Critique groups can push you to write since you are expected to have your work in the hands of the group's members by a set time. The writing group I belong to (Central Oregon Writer's Guild) helps those of us with writer's block with presentations that get our creative juices flowing. Publishing a blog helps by forcing me to post something on a somewhat regular schedule. Writing competitions work for me because they encourage me to write, stick to a schedule and really, really polish my work.
The stimulus to write can be the thrill of seeing my words on a page or in some instances, receiving an award, affirmation, or tiny payment. And the biggest incentive of all is the wonderful feeling I get playing with words, rhythm, and sounds followed by the thrill of accomplishing a worthwhile project. I definitely need to get back to that happy place.

Yesterday, I visited Amazon and ordered a copy of the latest edition of Gyroscope Review, fine poetry to turn your world around. ( Summer 2023) Below is the announcement that appears on the publisher's website:

Welcome to summer and great reading! We have a wonderful cover by Assistant Editor Elya Braden, Summer Circus, a Tribute to Chagall, and plenty of great poetry you can dig into like beach sand.

The Summer 2023 Issue of Gyroscope Review features these fine poets:

April Asbury, Joe Barca, Maddie Baxter, Lisa Bellamy, Nancy Botkin, Devika Brandt, Steve Brisendine, Marion Brown, Ginger Dehlinger, Marc Di Martino, Jane Dickerson, Mary Alice Dixon, Elizabeth Edelglass, Alexis Rhone Fancher, Arvilla Fee, scott ferry, John Findura, Hayley Mitchell Haugen, G A Hindy, Catherine Hodges, Richard Jordan, Jeanne Julian, Peycho Kanev, Kit Kennedy, Linda Laderman, Elizabeth Levinson, Jim Lewis, D.S. Maolalai, Mary McCarthy, Elizabeth McMunn-Tetangco, Patrick Meeds, Marda Messick, Susan Cummins Miller, Louisa Muniz, Abby Murray, Lillian Nećakov, Mary Paulson, Connie Post, Richard Risemberg, Bruce Robinson, Rikki Santer, Robin Scofield, Julie Standig, Gabriel Welsch, Jamie Wendt, Martin Willitts Jr, John Wojtowicz, Michael Young, Nicole Zdeb.

Not only am I one of the poets listed, but my poem, "A Summer Spectrum," has the honor of being the first poem in the book!

I ordered the paperback version. You can also order an electronic version, PLUS, you can read the PDF version for free on the Current Issue page of their website (gyroscopereview.com). 

Those who follow me know how often I experiment with form. "A Summer Spectrum" is a shape poem that is chock full of summer fun. Hope you enjoy it. 

This past winter in Central Oregon was longer, grayer and wetter than it has been in many years. Thankfully, patience was rewarded when spring delivered a fairyland of flowers. My lilac bush has never worn a dress so lush and fragrant. For miles in every direction, lawns that had been brown due to a long stretch of drought looked as if elves had painted them neon green. In no time, however, the glorious green lawns were polka dotted with gold when those pesky dandelions, snakes in the grass, even  during years of drought, enjoyed a field day. 

Today I am sharing two poems I wrote about these indominable plants--a pantoum that romanticizes them and a limerick that displays my true feelings. 

Wild Gold

She lives but for anhour

a lioness resolute—

this gold that is aweed that is a flower                                        

with healing in herroots.

 

A lioness resolute,

she grows inimpossible places;

with healing in her roots,

produces hardy goldenfaces.

 

She grows inimpossible places.

Her wind-borne manetakes hold,

produces hardy goldenfaces

that turn white whenthey grow old.

 

Her wind-borne manetakes hold,

making summer rifewith riches

that turn white whenthey grow old,

then soar onchildren’s wishes.

 

Making summer rifewith riches,

she lives but for anhour,

then soars onchildren’s wishes—

this gold that is aweed that is a flower.
                                       GingerDehlinger

The Invasion

They pounce on my lawn with a roar,

survive curses, spade and lawn mower.

In spite of the spraying,

they seem to be staying.

It’s time to declare all-out war.
                                      Ginger Dehlinger

 

Today’s blog post is short on words but long on clear, rational thinking. What a wonderful world this would be if every citizen of every country believedGhandi’s Seven Sins were truly sins.

        Wealthwithout work

        Pleasurewithout conscience

        Knowledgewithout character

        Commercewithout morality

        Sciencewithout humanity

        Religionwithout sacrifice

        Politicswithout principle

Last month (February 13-18) I visited a friend in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. The San Miguel International Writer’s Conference was being held that week, so I decided to participate in a small way by attending one of the guest speaker presentations and signing up for a workshop.

 

                                      San Miguel street with parish church in the distance. 

My friend and I kept busy that week, but since we had some free time the night of the 15th we bought tickets to hear Benjamin Lorr speak. Brooklynite Benjamin Lorr, high school teacher and writer of non-fiction books, embarked on his writing career with Hell Bent, a wild exploration of the world of yoga. His second book, The Secret Life of Groceries, delves into the inner workings of supermarkets and grocery stores. I haven’t read either book, but I understand he makes what sound like dull subjects into something close to magical.

Lorr’s presentation focused on the importance of becoming intimate with your subject matter before you write about it. “You can be much more honest,” he said, yet keep your readers immersed in what you have to say, partly due to your credibility, partly with the level of detail, interrelationships, and nuances you include.

                                                                   

The workshop I chose to attend was led by Laura Juliet Wood. Ms. Wood lives in San Miguel where she teaches English and writing to children. She earned a B.A. in creative writing from Hollins University and an M.F.A. from Columbia. Her poetry has been widely published.

She presented us with a number of examples of prose poetry, some of which, like a couple of poems by Amy Lowell, I found surprising. While analyzing the structure of numerous examples, I learned prose poetry is well-constructed prose that uses typical poetic devices such as alliteration, rhythmic phrasing, metaphor, etc. with limited rhyming and punctuation. I came away realizing much of the poetry favored by contemporary journals and anthologies is prose poetry, possibly because readers find it more accessible. I also came away happy to know that most of the poems I write are prose poems.

Quick-change Artist

                         by Ginger Dehlinger

Cirrus ceiling,

artist's dream canvas

stippled with flicks of flame

scarlets glowing hotter

corals burning brighter

at the horizon

where a fat, black, lizard of a cloud

basks in the incandescent orange

skin on fire, nose to tail.

Stunned by its own masterpiece

the sun lets go of the day

snuffs out the lizard's fiery halo

and pinkwashes the skyline,

turning once-passionate cloudlets

into daubs of mauve and lilac

that cool and coalesce

in the pearl-gray hush of twilight.

 I had never considered the visual impact of books until I came across this photograph of the Royal Portuguese Cabinet of Reading in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

Maybe it’s not the books themselves, but the gilded arches and pillars that frame them or the intricately carved railings protecting the library's landings. On the other hand, remove the hundreds of colorful spines decorating the shelves and the visual impact is greatly diminished.

 

This book store in Chengdu, Sichuan China raises the book buyer’s expectations to lofty heights. The display is so dazzling I might forget what I came there to buy.

I had my novel Brute Heart framed as a book carving.

Someone loved books so much they created a library cake.

Here’s a bookmark decorated with books.

If you love books, especially those bound in fabric or leather, the variety of colors and sizes shelved in any book store or library has visual appeal.

During the Covid pandemic, I ran across a collection of books that aren’t as visually appealing as those above, yet display a different type of artfulness.

Even a book's interior can be crafted into a form of art.

And every pundit worth a grain of salt, even beloved Andy Rooney, is photographed in front of a colorful wall of books.