9/11 Memorial 2024 
We haven’t forgotten that day…we, each, know exactly where we were when that terrible thing happened. That horrific thing that we never imagined could happen here. I remember I turned on the TV at about 10 that morning, going to catch up on a little news…at first, I thought I was seeing a trailer for an action movie on the screen. Then I tuned my ears in and realized the disbelieving tone to the journalist’s voice, the horror at what we were all watching across our nation. And then the unbelievable on top of the unimaginable, another plane slammed into the second Tower.
Americans gathered today in NY City, at the Pentagon, D.C., and in Pennsylvania to pay respects to the heroes lost that day.
WE AMERICANS WILL NEVER FORGET!
9/11 Memorial (2014,) I’ve been watching those terrible days on TV, relived, from 9/11/2001. The release of new, sometimes grisly, information about that horrific, bright blue, autumn day when our beloved cou
ntry was invaded for the first time in our history, (if you don’t count the Brits). Over the years I have written some poetry of my reflections, my heartbreak as I visited ground zero and the firehouses [back in the early days], then observed the almost finished repair a few years back. It’s pretty for a cemetery. The building I’m not so fond of the architecture; for me, it resembles a middle finger thrusting into the same blue sky, daring them to try it again? I don’t know…………so here is my latest offering and a couple from other years on this anniversary of our souls weeping, forever changed.
the forever wound (Haiku)
A deep gaping hole
newly covered with scar flesh
a cemetery
the reflective pond
the bright thirteen year old trees
the lost souls still there
the money-men charge
fees to visit our worst time
Ah, America!
Anniversary 9.11.11
I wait to exhale
will terrorists celebrate
with their big loud bang?
walking among us
to celebrate what they did
murder innocence
today, a grief day
remember a bright, fall day
ten short years ago
Ground Zero 9.11.12
Heartache fills the chest
Terrorists murdered thousands
Pain is fresh and new
Haunts walk the gardens
Four hundred trees, firemen all
the fountain of tears
Green leafed trees stand tall
Names carved never to forget
Red, white, blue flies proud
(c) Trisha Sugarek
The question begs: Have we learned anything?
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From stage play to novel was an incredible journey for me as a playwright turned novelist. In playwriting, you must tell your story in 100 pages or less, definitely in less than two hours and everything you want to relate to the audience must be conveyed through the dialogue. In the theatre world, there’s a term: “method acting” which means you get as close to your character as you can. If the character you are going to portray is a prostitute, you follow and talk to whores. (been there, done that. Honolulu, 1992 ) If your character is a woman who’s husband has been in prison for the past 13 years, you get inside her head or better yet visit him in prison.
For someone who was so comfortable writing in the genre of ‘scripts’ this was a scary prospect. Yikes! I thought, a novel was at the very least 70,000 words and over 300 pages long. What could I possibly have to say? One year and four months later I had a 335 page novel in my hands. Evidently my characters had plenty to say! At times I was surprised and delighted with my women and their stories. At other times appalled. As many writers will tell you, at some point, the characters sort’a….no…they definitely take over and you become simply the typist.
A good writer is always observing and watching other people and their interpersonal relationships with others. Relationships are complex and rarely resemble yours. And of course…listening. Everyone speaks differently, with a different word choice and a varied cadence to their speech. This can translate to your writing and add another layer of ‘flavor’ to your dialogue. 
If you are a screenwriter or writing fiction you probably think you have no interest in theatre. One of your best sourses to learn about writing dialogue is the theatre. Live stage plays are the Mecca of good or bad dialogue. Go there, observe and learn! 

A few BOOKS












stepped back further in time to the Civil War era. This is a morally complex story about the McBride family, subsistence farmers whose principles are brought to the foreground after their eldest son runs off to join the Confederacy after being influenced by his staunch Confederate grandfather. The father, Ennis, goes after his son, leaving his wife, Joetta, (my main character) to look after their younger son, and the farm. What follows is a harrowing time for her, and the rest of the family as she is bound to stand by their beliefs, and by doing so, becomes a pariah in the community.
DE. It looks . . . never-ending. It looks impossible. It looks like a fever dream. Chaotic. Messy. Dumb. I’m usually at a loss at the start. There are days/weeks of staring at nothing. Days/weeks of thinking, thinking, thinking. Trying to write, tossing it out, trying something else. It’s endless discussions with other writer friends. Eventually, a foundation, an inkling of THE idea comes. Then, it’s brick by brick through the first sentences, to the first paragraphs, and first pages. It’s getting through those 1,000 words a day goals. It’s self-editing, killing words, and birthing better ideas. Then comes the moment of angst when someone else reads it. Then the agent reads, and then the editor. There’s praying involved during the “others are reading it” phase. Lots of it. Then comes the polishing, (copy edits) honing, (first pass pages) and then, voila. Book!




time, and when I finally took a break, I’d look around in a daze. I’d become so invested in that world, I think I was surprised I wasn’t “there,” instead of sitting on a couch in my living room. That kind of story made me want to create something similar. The idea of affecting a person’s mood, thought process, and emotions resonated for whatever reason.





