Anyone who knows me is aware that I’m not a sports fan. In fact, other than equestrian sports, in which I joyously participated for two decades, I have no interest in any sport whatsoever. So, when I heard terrific buzz going around about a book named Diamond Ruby and found out it was about baseball, I knew I wouldn’t read it.

But, because I had heard that the author is a genuinely nice (and talented) man and I wanted to be supportive, I bought two copies of Diamond Ruby (one for myself and one for my baseball-lovin’ brother). I figured I’d put my copy on the shelf and that would be the end of it. But one night I decided to at least read a chapter or two, and, as the saying goes, the rest is history.

Diamond Ruby by Joseph Wallace is a wonderful story that’s very well told.

Ruby stole my heart—a bright and talented and sympathetic character, she beat the odds, and she beat them on a multitude of levels. Set against the backdrop of 1920s New York, this novel is rich in history, it is also human and heartfelt and uplifting. I’m particularly fond of stories where triumph rises from the ruins of adversity, and Diamond Ruby is just that. And more. Oh, so much more.

Bravo, Mr. Wallace! You gave me hours of true reading enjoyment. Before putting your novel back on my bookshelf, I’m going to keep it on the chest in my writing library for a few weeks to remind myself how important it is for me to crack open a book I otherwise might pass by.

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When I first saw this photograph I was drawn in to the point that I could have written a novella about the boy and his dog.

Perhaps I should have.

Perhaps I will.

This single image brought memories flooding back to me of my childhood years on the farm—barefoot days spent running through the open fields with our dog, Midnight, at my side, his ears flopping in the wind. And when I think about those days and all the hours I spent outside exploring, learning, imagining, and dreaming, I can’t help but wonder: what is happening to the children of today? I see them walking to school with earphones crammed into their ears—oblivious to bird-songs. I see them hunkered down in their seats on airplanes engrossed in some animated computer game to the point that hey have no interest in looking out the window to see the Grand Canyon looming below. And I see them “hanging out” at malls on sunny days while the mysteries of nature goes unexplored.

This past weekend I gave an author talk at the Velma Teague Library in Glendale, Arizona. In the front row of the audience sat a lovely young woman who listened intently and scribbled notes. When I had finished speaking and asked for questions, she raised her hand.  She was a creative writing teacher and she told me how much she enjoyed the character development and the sense of place I created in my novel. So much so that she would be using my novel in her classroom. She then asked what advice I would give her students on those topics.

I told her that being awake and aware was the key. When we are fully in the moment, when our senses are completely engaged and we are truly awake and aware, we train ourselves to be open. And, when we are open, we soak up our environment like a sponge. Being a human sponge is the single most important thing that I, as a writer, can do. By opening my senses, I expose myself to the nuances of all that surrounds me. Everywhere I look, everything I see and hear and taste holds the magic to stir my creativity. The inspiration for a well-turned phrase, a story, a poem, or a full-length novel is everywhere.

Truly. Everywhere.

I’d write more on this subject, but the birds are singing, a breeze is sneaking through the window and tickling my face, and the urge to get outside and soak up some good subject matter is impossible to resist. As I walk toward the river, I hope I see a child with his/her dog enjoying the magic of nature, but I won’t know until I leave my computer and get out of the house.

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