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Monthly Archives: January 2013

I step back into the pages and walk around inside my novel

“Nearly every day…I walk down the hall to my office, sit down at my computer…and write.

I step back into the pages and walk around inside my novel…getting my bearings…finding my characters once again in the storyline.

They are suspended in time, waiting for me.

It’s true. I’m the only one who can move the characters along in the storyline. I hold their fate in my imagination…in my words. I’m the only one who knows where they are going, what they will do next…where and when their part in the story will end.

And so, I continue to walk with them inside the novel. They are like best friends, familiar friends, I have grown to love and understand. It will be bittersweet to let go of their hands when the book is finished.” ~ C. L. Gillmore ~



An author is speaking clearly and silently inside your head


Across the millennia, an author is speaking clearly and silently inside your head, directly to you…

“What an astonishing thing a book is. It’s a flat object made from a tree with flexible parts on which are imprinted lots of funny dark squiggles. But one glance at it and you’re inside the mind of another person, maybe somebody dead for thousands of years. Across the millennia, an author is speaking clearly and silently inside your head, directly to you. Writing is perhaps the greatest of human inventions, binding together people who never knew each other, citizens of distant epochs. Books break the shackles of time. A book is proof that humans are capable of working magic.” ~ Carl Sagan


You once said I had saved you



When there’s nothing left to burn…you have to set yourself on fire.

“You once said I had saved you, but the truth is you saved me,
By waking me up from years on end of details and complacency.
You found the girl who once was filled with dreams and desires,
Gave her the strength to strike the match that finally lit the fire.”

~from the poem One Final Season by C. L. Gillmore~


Even as a young child…

Take a deep breath


“Even as a young child I wanted to write. I found out early on that writing and imagination could take me much farther than any of the small Midwest towns I lived. Each day I dreamed of new adventures in faraway places…adventures I tucked away inside my heart. When there were too many to hold inside, I took a breath, and let my words flow onto paper.”

~ Excerpt from the novel, A Friend Request, by C. L. Gillmore~

The sacred space in your heart

begin again


“The most sacred place dwells within our heart, where dreams are born and secrets sleep…a mystical refuge of darkness and light, fear and conquest, adventure and discovery, challenge and transformation. Our heart speaks for our soul every moment while we are alive. Listen…as the whispering beat repeats: be…gin, be…gin, be…gin. It’s really that simple. Just begin…again.” Royce Addington

Gentle, beautiful lyrics…

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“Many years have passed since those summer days
Among the fields of barley
See the children run as the sun goes down
Among the fields of gold
You’ll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley…”

Weave beautiful tapestries with carefully chosen words

Weave a tapestry with words


“Writers weave beautiful tapestries with carefully chosen words and phrases…often using the threads of personal memories and experiences. By keeping self-indulgent threads subdued within the pattern, they create a finished piece that is warm and familiar and comforting—relatable.” ~C. L. Gillmore, 2013~

Thoughts become my words

thoughts become words

“As a child I used to lay in bed for hours in the dark at night, thinking about every possible thing in my life. I still do…but now those thoughts become my words…and the words become my poems, my books.” C. L. Gillmore, 2013

Silver and Gold

old bike by a tree

Shepherd in the new, usher out the old
One shines silver, the other glows gold.

Seasons once passed at a gentle pace,
But soon rush by like a downhill race.
The dreams and schemes of yesterday
Trail on the wind as legacy.

Oh, bittersweet days of lost Decembers,
Moments we begged never to remember
The faces and places of what was to be.
Now we pray to recall each memory.

Spring stirs ‘neath winter’s gray covers,
Hope awakens summer and quietly hovers.
The tears and fears from every sorrow
Strengthen us now so others may borrow.

Shepherd in the new, usher out the old
One shines silver, the other glows gold.

–C. L. Gillmore, January 2012