July 30, 2013

My husband and I took some time away this past weekend and drove to Lake Tahoe. Our house is on the north shore where, in my view, it is a bit more peaceful and relaxing than the hotel and casino-filled south shore. We love to hike and it’s easy to take in the beauty of the space around us when we are trekking with our dogs up into the high Sierra. Because I write, I observe. It is important to me to really “see” and remember so that in future writings I can describe a scene clearly and in detail. I’m including here a few photos of views that caught my attention over recent days.

I love reading books by southern authors. Among the best, in my mind, are Cormac McCarthy, Dorothy Allison, Fannie Flagg, Ron Rash, and Barbara Kingsolver. My favorite, however, is Pat Conroy. He takes the reader to the heart of the South as no one else can do, in my opinion. When he describes a beach, a bayou, a lazy river, a grand Magnolia, or a critter of some kind, the reader is able to visualize as though she were actually there. It almost seems as if Conroy maintains that one must bear the hot, muggy, humid air that is so often a palpable presence in his detail. The rich landscapes, the neighborhoods, the mansions, and the shacks are painted in colors and specifics that pull the reader right into the place. And the characters? Yes, the characters come alive. They are real, sometimes brazen or evil, and often bizarre, but believable nonetheless. I have enjoyed every Conroy book I have read, but my favorites are South of Broad, Beach Music, The Prince of Tides, The Great Santini, The Water Is Wide, and The Lords of Discipline, probably in that order.

If you haven’t been in the South before, Pat Conroy will take you there from the comfort of your own special space.

July 19, 2013

For many people who grew up in the South, the idea of fully shedding the essence of rich landscapes and places full of myriad ambiances and even more memorable characters is likely impossible. Maybe some can do it, but I have an inkling that the tentacles of the place have latched on and are not as easily abandoned as one might think, or even hope. I haven’t lived in the South for over forty years, but in a blink, I can reckon in my memory too many nuances to count. And, that’s a good thing, because it has enabled me to employ what I know, what I understand, what I have loved, what I have detested, and what is in the heart of me, in my writing.

My first two novels are set in Tennessee and filled with dialect that reflects the region. They are available on Amazon.com.

The Waiting 

I am a writer
who wastes words
in thoughts that
cower in the corners 
of my mind.

A lifetime of longings,
reasons, solutions, and questions
lie dormant
on the stretch of a horizon
most will never see.

Moments mesmerize me mercilessly
as thoughts tumble and turn
into self-recrimination.

Inspiration, the writer's 
unreliable code word, wanders
in and out,
around and through,
never settling,
never creating,
always vanishing.

It leaves me cold
and alone,
wanting more,
realizing nothing.

It settles on my heart,
heavy and lost
in the vastness of
what might have been.

Judith DeChesere-Boyle 1987

Welcome to my blog. I wrote this poem many years ago, and it seems fitting to post it here and reflect on a time that fortunately is in the distant past.

After years of teaching at the secondary level, I can now dedicate my time to writing, to doing what I have longed to do exclusively for many years. I have two indie novels that are available on Amazon.com.