Category Archives: Cait Collins

PAIN TO PEACE

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Pain to Peace

I was in the sixth grade when my father received orders for Dow Air Force Base in Bangor, Maine. My memories of Maine are vivid. I can still visualize the old four-level house on Blackstone, the forty inches of snow that fell from one storm, our snow forts and snowball fights. I loved the woods that surrounded our military home on Langley Drive.  I spent hours roaming the birch and pine forest, picking wild blueberries and raspberries. Then I’d return to our duplex red-eyed and sneezing as I was allergic to evergreen sap. (To this day, I cannot have a real Christmas tree.) I treasured our Saturday visits to Acadia National Park and Bar Harbor. For some reason the ocean waves assaulting the rock coast called to me. Perhaps it was the untamed wildness of the currents and tides, or the raw beauty of the colors of rock, water and sky that fascinated me. Or maybe the reason was in my astrological sign – Cancer, the crab, a water sign. Whatever the reason, I never forgot the three and a half years we lived in Maine.

I always planned to go back, but as with so many things, life interfered. Work, family, marriage intervened. I finally returned in June of 1995. I lost my husband to cancer in June of 1994. In the months that followed, the losses mounted. It seemed every phone call contained a death notice. After singing at a friend’s funeral service in November, I fell apart and my mother declared, “No more.” Even though there were more losses, I did not sing, nor did I attend the services. Instead, I looked for a getaway, a place where I could find peace and revive my spirit. The answer came in an ad in YANKEE Magazine for the Maine Windjammer Association. There was something about the picture of the majestic schooner at full canvas that attracted me. I called the 800 number to request more information. Within two weeks, a packet arrived in the mail and the planning began. My family wasn’t too keen on my going alone, but I stood my ground. This trip had to be for me. Seven months later, on a gray, wet Sunday afternoon, I stood at the edge of the wharf and requested permission to board the MARY DAY.

In 1994, the Maine Windjammer Association listed fourteen ships in its fleet. A number of the wooden ships were rescued from the old fishing and trading vessels built in the late 1800’s and in the early part of the 1900’s. These tall-mast beauties weathered storms and the ravages of time, and earned the honor of National Historic Landmark. In the early 1960’s, new schooners designed and built specifically for windjammer cruises, were added to the fleet. the MARY DAY was the first of the new ships. The newer vessels were built in the tradition of the wooden vessels of earlier days with an attention to the craftsmanship of a bygone era.

My windjammer cruise differed from a luxury cruise in that it had no frills. Think of it as camping on the water.  A passenger could choose to lounge on the deck or to augment the crew.  By working with the crew, one experienced sailing in the old tradition. Meals were prepared in a small galley on a wood-burning stove.  The anchor was raised using a two-man pump wench. Sails were hoisted by two teams pulling the rigging lines in tandem. Ropes had to be coiled, decks swabbed, the wheel manned. I worked, but I still reserved time to sit on deck and commune with nature. I watched eagles glide across the sky; saw harbor seals play along the islands in the bay; laughed when the dolphins would leap and splash in the gray-green water. I felt the breeze kiss my cheeks and the sun burn my neck.

Windjamming is an experience I will never forget or regret. I relive the thrill of taking the polished oak wheel and navigating our course while our captain stood at my side guiding and encouraging. Nothing compares to the sight of the tall ships skimming the water. They are beauty and majesty, a tribute to our forefathers’ seafaring skills. I would love to sail again.

This longer-than-normal Outtake does have a purpose. I followed my gut in a quest to find peace. Not only did I regain my center, I discovered the setting for my second novel GRACE ISLAND.  I continue to feature this beautiful state in novels and screenplays. I encourage every writer to follow his instincts in writing his story. Others may make suggestions, but you are the captain of the work. Do not allow other voices to force you to make changes you are not comfortable making. No sea captain would leave port without plotting his course. By the same token, a writer should plan before starting the story. I’m not suggesting a forty page outline with twenty pages of character sketches. However, a character list and brief notes on story and plot are essential. Just I required guidance and encouragement when taking the ship’s wheel, a writer needs critique and suggestions to solidify his work. Know when to say enough. I’ve seen authors write, rewrite and edit a piece until it no longer resembles the original premise. Do your best and let it go. Use every experience, every emotion, even the most painful ones, to color and build on the plot. Writing a novel or story is not an event, it is a journey. There are obstacles and disappointments along the way. With this in mind, I wish you, my fellow writers, fair winds and calm seas as you travel your writer’s journey.

Cait Collins

WINDJAMMING

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Windjamming

An icy drizzle penetrates my newly purchased plastic poncho as I drag my suitcase down the weathered-plank wharf toward the schooner. At anchor, the MARY DAY lacks the grandeur of the full canvass pictures in the brochure. Still the wooden vessel enchants me. I feel as though I’ve stepped a hundred years into the past as I stand at the ladder and request permission to board.  Homer, one of the ship’s mates, greets me and helps me load my luggage on to the deck. He holds out a calloused hand to assist my climb up the rope and wood ladder. Leading me through the hatch and down the steep companionway steps to a dimly lit corridor, we approach my cabin’s open door. Two sets of thick plank bunk beds bolted to the wood walls dominated the room. A small sink hugs one wall. Naked bulbs dangle from the ceiling and provide sufficient light for reading, dressing, and basic grooming. The shower and the head (bathroom) are on deck. As the cabin is below the water line, a damp chill invades the dim space. After stowing my gear, I make my way to the saloon to meet my fellow passengers. We huddle around the wood-burning stove and introduce ourselves.

I wake to the aroma of fresh coffee. A chill hangs heavy in the small room. I dress quickly and hurry topside to infuse my sleep-fogged body with caffeine. Rain drops plop onto the canvas overhang, adding to the gloom of the early hour. The heavy stoneware mug warms my hands as I sip the strong coffee our cook provided.  I soon realize my Amarillo, Texas clothes are not warm enough for the early June rains. Our captain assures us we have time to go into Camden for any last minute purchases, so I head for a clothing shop near the dock.  With two pair of stretch pants, two Maine souvenir sweatshirts, a bottle of wine, and a six-pack of Diet Coke stuffed into my canvass ice-tote, I retrace my steps to the slip. Changing into my warmer clothes and donning my ugly but practical foul weather gear, I climb the companionway to the deck.

Camden Harbor is one of the busiest ports in Maine. Boats from outboards to schooners to yachts anchor in the sheltered waters. The harbor master maintains a strict schedule for moving craft from their slips into the bay.  The tug ties onto the MARY DAY and hauls us from the far end of the harbor towards Curtis Island.  Once past the Coast Guard Station and Curtis Island Lighthouse, we enter Penobscot Bay. The tug releases the lines and we are on our own. The captain requests volunteers to help hoist the sails. I join one of the two lines. Grabbing the oiled jute rope, I listen to the captain’s instructions. His commands echo across the water. “All together, pull!” “Right side, hold.” “Left, pull!” Inch by inch, gray-white canvas rises to the sky. The kid, Scooter, crawls across the mast protruding from the bow. Wearing flip-flops, he balances on the ropes and releases the rigging securing the canvas to the polished wood. One wrong move and the teen will plunge into the icy waters of the bay. My unused muscles burn and scream by the time sails fill the sky. I make a decision as the five-mast beauty glides into the open water. Tomorrow, I will lie on the deck, train my camera lens on the masts and shoot Scooter as he scampers up the tall spikes toward heaven.

Cait Collins

ON BECOMING A SENIOR CITIZEN

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On Becoming a Senior Citizen

I dreaded turning fifty, but three weeks prior to my birthday, I met a talented writer whose praise for my writing erased all my depression. As my sixtieth birthday approached, I realized I looked forward to the day. No depression this time, no doubts about aging. Instead I looked forward to another decade. You see the older I get, the less I fear. I have my successes and my failures and celebrate both. I care less about what others think and put more emphasis on what I’ve come to know to be right and honorable. There’s less drama in my life. And I get senior citizens’ discounts.

I remember the first time I saw snow and my first snow storm. I met an English gentleman, had my first and only high tea. I experienced a stormy ferry ride from Nova Scotia to Newfoundland, and I sailed a windjammer, hauling canvas and taking the wheel. I recall my father taking us to a regatta, seeing the Royal Canadian Mounted Police in their bright red uniforms patrolling the grounds. I’ve felt the mists of Niagara Falls on my face, gone snorkeling, watched dolphins play. I was privileged to be elected as a delegate to the state convention and assist in the election process. I was the first female video tape operator in Amarillo, Texas. I saw the development of an industry from back and white television to color to digital to high definition. Alan Shepherd blasted into space, John Glen orbited the earth, and man walked on the moon. I saw John Kennedy six weeks before his death. I remember the Civil Rights Movement and the tension following the shooting of Martin Luther King, Jr. The Secret Service finger printed me so that I could join the local press corps for President Gerald Ford’s visit to Amarillo. Computers were huge main frames with data was printed on punch cards. Now home computers, internet, and wireless printers are the norm. I stood in line at the bank while the man at the window robbed the teller. I am a member of Delta Psi Omega, a national honorary acting fraternity.

I have loved and lost, and lived to love again. I stood at my mother’s and my husband’s bedsides and watched them lose their battles against disease. Friends have died. Children were born. My faith waivered and was restored.

I don’t mean to sound like a braggart. The truth is we all have experiences that are unique as well as universal. Our experiences shape our lives and add richness to them. And it’s these experiences that can lend depth and color to our characters and stories. As writers, we should never fear to draw on our own experiences to bring added dimension to our work. It’s easier to write about standing at a gravesite when you’ve been there. How can you write about love if you’ve never experienced it? It can be done, but authentic emotions tell the story best. Use what you have witnessed, experienced and felt as you craft your stories. Your work will be better for it.

Cait Collins

I NEVER KNEW

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I Never Knew

When we packed up Mom’s belongings, my sisters and I did not take time to read through all the papers in her cedar chest. We looked for the necessary documents and dumped the rest in a box. I started sorting the files one winter afternoon. Mom kept every transfer order, citation, and shipping inventory from Dad’s service career beginning in 1939 when he entered the Civilian Conservation Corps to his retirement from the Air Force in 1969. I learned things about my father.  He served in two branches of the military; the Army Air Corps in World War II and then was recalled to the newly formed Air Force during the Korean War. He was an expert marksman. His fitness reports indicated he was respected by his peers and his superiors.

I enjoyed these revelations. They brought me closer to my dad, but I treasure his green notebook. You see, I met my grandfather that day. Frank Brown died in 1941; six years before my parents married and ten years prior to my birth. But when I read Dad’s handwritten stories, I met a wise, simple man who loved his family. I also learned where Dad got some of his homespun declarations like, “You will finish high school even if I have to take you to class and bounce you on my knee.”  I’m thankful we have this notebook.

Journaling and maintaining family records might seem frivolous, but they have a purpose. For example, they validate history. Think back to your history classes. How many times was a journal or set of letters cited to verify the facts surrounding an event? Mrs. Dickinson’s writings detailed the battle of the Alamo. Letters from the American West to families back East told of the hardships involved in settling the frontier. Homemakers’ recipes spoke of canning vegetables and making jams and jellies to feed the family during the winter months. These personal glimpses of history are priceless as they involve the common man and not just the historically famous names.

While I don’t believe it necessary to record putting the carrots in the Crockpot, I do suggest recording special events for posterity. I wish I had listened when my parents and grandparents spoke of the Great Depression and the Dust Bowl days. I further wish I had recorded the stories. My nieces and nephews will never hear about the events from the viewpoint of a family member. There is nothing to pass on to them so that they will know their great-grand parents and great, great-grandparents contributions to history. My father was wiser than I. After all, I got to meet my grandfather seventy years after he died.

Cait Collins

Toss, Salvage, Donate, Keep

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Toss, Salvage, Donate, Keep

One of the benefits of moving is the opportunity to go through all the stuff in the house and do major editing. I make four stacks – keep, toss, salvage, and donate. It’s not always easy to decide which pile is the right one. Toss is more obvious. Trash is trash and surprisingly I accumulate a ton of that. The salvage pile includes items like a blouse with a missing button. Keep and donate are more difficult. Dishes, clothes, and furniture normally fall into all the categories. Sometimes I make a fifth stack called “I’ll decide later”. By the time I’ve gone through everything, I have packed boxes labeled for the movers, tagged boxes with bright pink sticky notes for charity, and bags of trash are ready for the dumpster. Even with all the editing, I realize I have too much stuff.

Sometimes we need to assess the baggage in our personal and professional lives. Over the years, I learned we carry around baggage that hinders our growth toward healthy attitudes and creativity. Let’s start with the toss pile. Get rid of procrastination. This is one of my weaknesses. I tend to put off things I could be working on now. I claim I can do my best work under pressure, but why add to my stress. Get rid of guilt, resentment, and the “I can’t” attitude. They are counter-productive.

Salvage that under the bed project. I have a novel that fell apart because of September 11, 2001. I took a break from packing to read parts of that story and decided to box it because I think it may be some of my best work. When I’ve completed my current project, I plan to pull out MACON GEORGIA and rework it. Most writers have such manuscripts. Perhaps now is the time to revisit the work.

Donate your time to other writers. Every writer has something to pass on to their peers and beginners. We’ve all learned something along the way. Maybe a trick for formatting or tracking submissions would help a beginner or even a more experienced writer. Don’t keep your tips to yourself. Think about all the folks who helped you, and return the favor.

There are definite keeps in life. I treasure my family and friends. They have supported me through the bad times, shared my tears and disappointments. They have celebrated my successes and kicked me in the backside when needed. I could not survive as a person or a writer without them. I keep copies of my successes to encourage me when the project stumbles. And I maintain a file of failures to keep me humble when I succeed.

Cait Collins

To Be or Not To Be

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To Be or Not To Be

The Bard said “What’s in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet.” Now I’m not sure I agree with that statement as some roses have no fragrance at all. I prefer to think a rose by any other name would still be as beautiful to be more accurate. American Beauty, Queen Ann, Peace, Fourth of July, Purple Passion, and Oranges & Lemons are varieties of roses. Different names but all roses.

So what’s in a name for authors? The question is posed during the question and answer session at writers’ conferences. Should I use a pen name? The answer is not always simple. While there are valid reasons to have a pen name, for the most part they are not necessary.

If an author writes more than one genre, a pen name might be a wise move. For example, a fan of a well-known romance writer purchases the new novel expecting an exceptional love story. Instead, the novel is a graphic murder mystery. Such a jarring departure from the expected might harm the author’s reputation as a romance writer. In this instance, a pen name might be a valid choice.

When an author’s name is not considered easily marketable, an agent or editor might suggest a pseudonym. Sometimes the writer chooses a nom de plume to hide his or her identity. I wonder what the congregation would say if they learned the minister’s wife wrote erotica. One conference attendee thought a pen name would protect her from possible legal consequences when writing a tell-all book. It will not. An attorney will trace the AKA.

Before making the decision to use a pen name, consider your reasons for wanting the name. If you decide to take a pseudonym, check the laws in your state. Some states require you to register the name as an Also Known As (AKA). Whatever your choice, remember it’s your legal name that must appear on the contract.

Cait Collins

Ambushed

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Ambushed

I’m fortunate to have four of my five sisters living here in Amarillo. Once the repairs were completed, they came over to help me move the furniture into place and make the place a home. Sister #5 has a flair for interior decorating and she’s not shy about letting you know she doesn’t like your ideas. I spent time drawing room layouts to scale just to make sure everything would fit and she didn’t like it. When I left the living room, Number 5 rearranged a section to her taste. Then she started on my office.

Now don’t get me wrong. I appreciate her efforts. I’m not the best designer, and she has good ideas. I’d even admit I like her placements better, but I don’t want to give her a big head. Still, she could have asked about moving the television and chair instead of greeting my return with the finished product. Honestly, the room looks great, so I will overlook the ambush.

As writers, we need to be open to a different perspective on our work. Face it we are too close to the piece to always be objective. “My mother loves it,” is not a critique. Mother loves you and will gush over your story. You need unbiased reader or a critique group. I’m have both. My reader is honest but fair, and I have the best critique group around. These folks allow me the chance to step back and take a critical look at my project. Have I left out vital information? Does the current scene contradict a previous scene? Are my characters always acting appropriately? Often they are correct in their assessments, but they are never cruel and always willing to discuss their suggestions. We do not always agree, but I have fresh ideas and the opportunity to accept or reject their viewpoints. They respect me and my talent, and in turn, I respect them.

Not all readers or critique groups are good. Unfortunately, some writers are more focused on “rip it apart” instead of “can we help make it better”. Look for writers with personalities compatible with yours. You want and need support and advice, not slash and burn. Remember, you are not married to your group. If it’s not working out, you can and should walk. Do not give up on finding the individual or team to help you be your very best. Better to receive criticism from people who care about you and your manuscript than be ambushed by an agent or editor.

Cait Collins

Rest in Peace Harry Potter

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Rest in Peace Harry Potter

 An era has ended. The final installment of the Harry Potter series hit the theaters making even bigger mega bucks for the franchise. That’s fine as I enjoyed every movie. With HARRY POTTER AND THE SORCERER’S STONE, a ten year journey began for my nephews and me. One was seven and the other twelve when the movie came out. I bought the tickets and the boys bought the snacks. This was our tradition for each movie.

My eyes misted as we left the theater following the DEATHLY HALLOWS Part II.  My nephews are now college students and fine young men. Watching the guys grow up fascinated me. One year they were kids with wide-eyed wonder and dreams.  Now they are fine, talented young men setting goals and focusing on the future. I’m honored to have had these special moments with them.

Just as my nephews grew up, so must our characters grow and change. When the story opens, the protagonist faces a problem. As the tale progresses we learn what he is willing to do to solve the issue. How disappointing it would be to finish a novel or leave the theater knowing the protagonist never learned anything from his hardships and life journey. In the end he is the same self-centered, weak individual we met at the beginning. What a waste of time, money and effort. Chances are you would never again invest in that author or screenwriter’s work.

Writers also face growing pains. The first short story or manuscript may be rough, but we send it out hoping our efforts will attract the attention of an agent or editor. Too often we are met with scathing rejections or at the very least polite form letters. The true writer does not quit. He keeps on producing work, honing the skills necessary to achieve the ultimate goal of publication. Then there are the writers who refuse to listen to critiques and continue making the same mistakes. They stagnate and die without ever realizing the goal.

My advice to all writers is simple; take advantage of opportunities to learn more about the craft of writing. Enroll in writing courses at a local college. Find a writers group and get involved in the meetings and activities. Attend writers’ conferences. Practice the art of networking. Accept one very hard fact; you may never have your work on the shelves in a bookstore or see your name on a movie screen. Even if this is your reality, the journey is worth the effort.

Cait Collins

I Prayed for Rain, But…

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I Prayed for Rain, But…

I hate moving, but I finally got around to looking for a new apartment and changing my address.  The apartment’s great.  It has everything one could want:  good square footage, tons of storage, private patio, fireplace, laundry room, covered parking, two pools, and a workout room. I hired the fire department’s moving service to load and transport my belongings and proceeded to set up my new home. Unfortunately, my upstairs neighbor’s washing machine malfunctioned and my apartment flooded. So here I sit, watching the ceiling over my breakfast bar buckle and sag while I make bets with myself on how long it will take for the sheet rock to fall to the floor. (I’ve settled on 10 AM Tuesday morning.)

No, this is not a joke. Less than one week in my new place and I feel like the movers just unloaded everything. Unexpected, yes, but then again, that’s life. As we are well aware, stuff happens. Wise ones prepare for it and use it to their advantage. As writers, we must view the unplanned as a tool to make our work stronger and more real.

Let’s address the practical first. Back-up your work. My office was in the path of the flood. The complex’s maintenance team handed my computers to my sister and me. I was nearly in tears as we dried them off and checked them out. You see, three hundred pages of my four hundred page novel were on one of the units. “Did you back this up?”  Of course I had backed it up, but my external hard drive was in the office and I didn’t know how much of the room was under water.  My new plan is back everything up on the external hard drive and on a disk or flash drive.

As for the creative side, use an unexpected turn in your work as an opportunity to explore subplots in your storyline. You may first think “Where did that come from?” but do not delete it. You may not have planned the romance or the death, but what if the event is the catalyst that moves your story to a higher level? Why not explore the possibilities? Should you decide not to use the event in the current work, save it in your “unplanned and unexplainable file” for a future project. Never, never, never toss out your outtakes. They could be a goldmine later.

Cait Collins

“I AM,” I SAID

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“I am,” I said 

I often find myself wondering who am I, or what am I? With the stress of the daily grind, I lose sight of my identity and my purpose. As I begin this new adventure in writing a blog, I’ve decided it’s time to set the record straight. I am Barbara Propst aka Cait Collins. I am a widow, a daughter, a sister, an aunt, and a friend. Above all, I am a writer.

Why do I write? I ask myself this question quite a bit; especially when my characters take me in a direction I did not intend for the story. The truth is I write because I must. If I do not write something every day, all those crazy characters invading my mind will zip in and demand to know what my problem is. Have I forgotten I left them clinging to a ledge facing starvation?  Where’s the white knight? So you don’t know how I get out of this mess!  Oh, yeah, these fictous monsters drive me crazy and keep me up at night.

While this scenario might be a bit of a stretch, there is a grain of truth in it. I write because I have stories tell. I write because I believe I have something to say. I write because it’s cheaper than a therapist.

Yes, writing is good therapy. Think how many of your enemies you can kill off in a story. You get out the bad stuff and remain free from a prison term.

Seriously, I invite you to explore creative adventures with me. I don’t have great pearls of wisdom, just simple thoughts on a craft I love. There’s no theme to my Outtakes. I’ll write whatever I take out of my mind.

– Cait Collins

Click on the author page above to connect with Cait.