Grace Dukes

.

.

July Newsletter

It is mid-summer. The heat we had hoped for, during the rains of April, has arrived. High nineties with muggy seventies at night. The haze obscures the towering mountains like a shower cap - and that, it is. At any given moment, rain pelts my beds of fragile petunias with a heavy hand. Tomorrow, I shall be on my knees before them, discarding the blossoms that graced a beautiful yesterday. My twin cats sleep away the humid days, waiting until dark when they chase a blue-bottle fly through the house and with wondering eyes, stalk lightning bugs glowing in the summer dark. In times like this, I don't know who I am. Duty bound, I sit at my desk, pen poised over my clean, white sheet of paper - my mind empty as a plate. My thoughts dip and soar like a kite on its wayward string, pulling against the tether, longing to be free. I would rather be painting china. This business of writing is not a time or place. If so, why have I done my finest writing at 3:00 a.m.? Why the hastily scribbled notes on my car seat, waiting for the light to turn? How can I leave a cliffhanger of a mystery on T.V. because of the urgency of my thoughts selfishly demanding my attention? Writing is so interruptive, a tyrant in my world within. Where is that same tyrant now when I face the blank sheet before me, emptied of even one thought? Natalie Goldberg, famous writer and teacher, tells me that writers live twice. They shop at the grocery store, cross the street, pick up children from school, make lists. But there is another part of them, one that lives everything a second time. They savor the texture from the ordinary moment . . . the aura around a fat, honey bee half buried in the throat of a morning glory . . . tasting the rain . . . listening to the wild heart of a storm. And so I sit here, reminiscing about storms and life and kites. And I know that at any moment now, I will turn to my plain, white sheet of paper and transform it into a fertile field - one that will take my errant thoughts and lift them, like my kite, in the clean, fresh wind. And I will know who I am and what I am about. May your summer be overflowing with all good things. ...................................................Peace, Grace Dukes

.

.

.

Biography

Grace Dukes is a retired business woman with a wide range of previous accomplishments in and out of commercial publishing. She has written numerous items for classroom use (Foundation for Illiteracy, U. of Michigan) as well as material for the general free-lance market - all in addition to her business work, her four hundred plus speaking engagements to civic and religious groups, and her three year run as host for an hour-long radio talk show in Michigan.

Retired in rural Tennessee (and unable to truly retire), she continues to write fiction and nonfiction, particularly mysteries for the adult, young adult, and juvenile markets.

.

Publications

Short Stories:
Too numerous to list

Young Adult Fiction:
The Mystery of Windmill Island (mystery)
The Body in Elevator M (mystery)

Adult Fiction:
Lord, What Are You Doing Next Tuesday (humor)
The Deathly Scent of Lilacs (mystery)

Non-fiction:
Color Me New

.

.

Notes & Links

MAIL: (in care of) ................................................... R K & A Post Office Box 1513 Pasadena, MD 21123 Email - ideashop@att.net

A small amount of Ms. Dukes' work appears on the IdeaShop - (http://ideashop.home.att.net/)

.

.

(copyright waived)