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Bless This House

My fascination with houses came from my mother. From an early age I witnessed her attraction for them. First came the stories she told of family and where they’d lived in her growing years. Later, I began to share her passion for Gothic novels. All featured a castle or mansion. After Mom died, I found a list she’d penned of the places she had lived from childhood on. She moved often in her life, yet each house had a name, an identity. And often, a personality.

Mom was a dreamer, her dreams fed by the books she read. In my own elementary years I’d devoured the LITTLE HOUSE books and ANNE OF GREEN GABLES. When I reached seventh grade I discovered Mom’s beloved Gothic authors – Norah Lofts, Victoria Holt, Daphne DuMaurier, among others. The opening line of Du Maurier’s REBECCA still echoes. “Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.” The houses in these stories were strong characters, embracing their inhabitants, loving, and sometimes haunting them.

An apartment where I once lived was not haunted but at times I almost sensed its past. Once a stately home in a fine neighborhood, it had been converted into three flats. I lived on the third floor, the former maids’ quarters. Access was up a winding back staircase. Two bedrooms, original tiled bath. There was also a lone sink in each bedroom. It was a charming place and my home for three years. I shared it first with Kathy, then Donna. The third year, Tom returned from the U.S. Army, we married and he moved in. Our first home together.

In my adult years, I’ve caused realtors some grief in my searches for the “perfect house”, one I could turn into a home. Our first house was a starter, two bedroom, one bath ranch. Despite the mediocre DIY work that had been done, it had a good floor plan and was priced right. We weren’t as picky as we later became. Four years later, Tom was transferred south. By then we had a three-year old and an infant. We needed more space. In those pre-internet days, we trailed our realtor through many walk-throughs. It was worth it. Montclair Court, a pretty Dutch Colonial sat on a 1/3 of an acre at the end of a cul-de-sac. It had a massive backyard with a circular brick-fenced patio. Our next transfer came seven+ years and another son later, to the East Coast. Along with location, neighborhood, floor plan, size, price, and yard, we had another huge item to consider — schools. Our realtor was put through her paces, but she persevered. Together we found Webster Farm, a dreamy 30 year old, four bedroom Colonial in a warm and homey neighborhood. Three years later, we moved again. Our final move together.

Though many do, we never wanted to build. We preferred older houses. More charm, often better constructed. But after scouring our preferred school district, we couldn’t find the right size, style, or location. We looked at floor plans, previewed new houses. We found a builder with a good rep for quality. We chose a neighborhood near the middle and high schools. There’s a lot more to building than I imagined. I probably irritated our builder more than I ever had the realtors. It was worth it. In 1992, we moved in. Emotionally, it was hard for me to sell after Tom died and our sons moved away. Very hard. But I’ve been happy to be back in the midwest. Creekside needed to be lived in again, by a young family who would laugh, shout, love, and create new memories within its walls.

The apartments and houses I’ve lived in since I left Mom’s home have been in cities and suburbs. When I think or talk of them, their identity is usually the street or neighborhood name — Montclair Court, Webster Farm, Creekside. But I am intrigued with how houses are often individually named in small villages in old British films, and in Mom’s Gothic novels. Their names help define character.

My younger brother and his wife named their home. It’s set among tall trees. Carved on a boulder near the curb is its name, Hemlock Manor. Cool! My own retirement house, this 1960 era, red-brick Cape Cod, still cries out for a name. I’ve tried out several. Soon, I’ll find one that fits.

What houses have you lived in that stand out in your mind? Have you ever named your house/s?

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Paper, Pens, and Post-Its

IMG_4841

Backpacks for a new school year

Book stores top my list of pleasant stores to visit. Office supply stores come in second. Yesterday I stopped into Office Depot to buy a medium spiral notebook, the size that fits in my purse. A helpful young man directed me to Aisle 13 where I found a 3-pack with red, blue, and black covers. Of course, I couldn’t check out yet. What if I’d forgotten something? Better to refresh my mind. So, I strolled other aisles, as I’m prone to do. Good thing. I soon recalled I hadn’t yet picked up my donations for Project 1649, Rock County’s organization that helps homeless youths. I kept roaming but with a new purpose. I wandered, analyzing, choosing.  Backpacks, pens, pencils, highlighters.

From an early age I’ve loved school and office supplies. I guess it’s how I roll. In first grade I had a box of Jumbo Crayons. In those days, the eight colors came in a heavy, flat cardboard box with a lift-off lid. I recall placing the colors in a special order. Purple and orange were always in the center. They were the royalty, the king and queen. Brown and green were on each side, the courtiers. And on. Not sure why I did this, except for my enchantment with stories my mom read from Grimm’s Fairy Tales. As I arranged the vibrant colors, I’d think of the stories. A daydreamer.

Vintage ad for Nifty Notebook

Vintage ad for Nifty Notebook, 1963

The appearance of the Nifty Notebook in about 5th grade awed me. It had a such a cool, sleek look with it’s two top holes, and magnetic pencil box. A vintage ad from Newspapers.com shows it on sale for $.98 with filler paper at $.69. It was a bit pricey for a large family in the early 1960’s. I knew if I wanted such a cool notebook, I’d have to buy it myself with earned money. And I did. I saved and bought a lovely green version. Although I only used it for a year or so, I held on to it for ages, buried in my bottom dresser drawer, then in a box. Memories.

August is the month to hunt for and buy school supplies. Shopping for them, or even just strolling through the stores brings back the excitement of Back-to-School. Backpacks, three-ring binders with fresh packages of notebook paper, colorful pocket folders, pencils and pens, erasers, rulers, scissors, index cards, composition books. And who can forget the fragrant smell of a new box of crayons?

IMG_4830 I recall shopping with my sons for their supplies when they were young. It was a fun time, bursting with anticipation for a new school year, a year to be filled with learning and creativity. Using their brand-new supplies, they learned printing, handwriting and telling stories. They painted and colored. They wrote spelling words and numbers. They made images from their growing minds.

I’ve been a student, a mom, a secretary, and a writer.  In the wonder and joy of each profession I’ve needed these supplies. They’re the tools used to communicate and to create. Of course, I haven’t touched on the technology that first came in my sons’ middle years. The wonder of that is for a different post.

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Today’s Accomplishments

It’s been 5+ years since my last blog post. Much has happened since then but I won’t try to catch up now. Today, I…

… Cleaned the gutters. To be truthful, I hired a recommended pro to clean them. I just wrote the check. The growing forest of tiny maple trees that yesterday clogged the front expanse and back corners of my gutters is now gone. Cleared away. During thunderstorms I can rest easy, at least until fall.

… Met with my dietician to review what I have been eating, should be eating, how much of it, along with a few helpful tips to keep me on track. Good motivation for the coming months, if only I can stick to it. I also learned she’s retiring next month. Good news for her, not so much for me. I’ll miss our meetings.

… Answered a couple emails to friends. I keep vowing to surprise folks and start sending handwritten letters with ink on real stationery, mailed in envelopes with stamps, as we once did. Just haven’t gotten there yet. I love old-fashioned, penned letters. If enough of us sent them, perhaps we’d keep the U.S. Post Office in business.

… Pulled more weeds from my backyard jungle. Yesterday I weeded for a few hours, until my back began to ache. My gutter guy gave me the name of someone who specializes in garden weeds and lawn care. The thing is, I’d really like to do it myself. I feel better than I have in years and it’s good exercise. Still, it’s nice to have an alternative. I’ll keep the man’s name handy. When I tired of pulling weeds today I…

… Sat on my deck. I savored the sun, breezes, and perfection of blue skies and a 78 degree temperature. While sunning I read more chapters of John Grisham’s CAMINO ISLAND. It’s an interesting book about the world of literary and art thievery, different from Grisham’s usual thrillers about lawyers but still a quick read, a page-turner.

… Opened my laptop and typed “WordPress.com”.  Back in June 2008, when blogs were all the rage, I started this one — Stringing Beads. It began as a journal about me and the things I love — writing, family, love, life. The posts lessened after Tom’s death. My last post was around Valentines Day 2014, a re-hash of my last Valentine to him.  I stopped blogging.  Facebook became an outlet. Today when I opened WordPress, I found I needed to figure it all out again. I’d forgotten to renew my domain name. It was subsequently sold to a Texan.  I got a new one through WP and began refreshing my mind about how to blog.

Stringing Beads is now at debmaher.net.  Whether blogs are still “hot” or not, I hope you’ll follow my new posts, and perhaps skim back through a few of the old (in Archives tag, above). Comments are always welcome.

A Writer’s Valentine
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A Writer’s Valentine

Cherish this day, and every day, with your loved one. You don’t have to spend a lot. Make it simple. This post was my last Valentine to Tom. He told me it was the best Valentine’s gift ever. Happy Valentine’s Day!  ♥

Stringing Beads

My passion is writing romance.

I grew up on

boy meets girl

stories. I watch romantic movies, read romance novels, and write

happily ever after

stories.

For years, I’ve been a member of

Romance Writers of America

©.  Most of my close friends read and/or write romance.  Finally, and most important, I have been married to my own true hero for well over thirty years.

I should be able to come up with a unique and heartfelt way to say “I love you” on Valentine’s Day.  What can I give him?  And what will he give me?

As I ponder the questions, I don’t imagine that he’ll bring home a bouquet of long-stemmed roses.  That’s okay. I carried white roses on my wedding day. In our years together, he’s brought home roses for birthdays and illnesses, for Valentine’s Day, and sometimes for nothing special.  Nothing special flowers are best of…

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Resolutions 2014

“Believe you can and you’re half way there.” ~ Theodore Roosevelt

New Year’s Day rings in with lists of resolutions. It’s a natural time to reflect on last year’s mis-steps and the new year’s missions. “This year,” the lists read, “I resolve to eat less, to exercise more, to stop procrastinating, to quit smoking, to spend less money and to save more.” happy_new_year_fireworks_and_special_effects_highdefinition_picture_170356Resolutions are posted in magazines and newspapers, on refrigerators, on Facebook and Twitter. Now there are even Smartphone Apps to keep us focused on these promises. Time’s article “10 Apps to Help Your New Year’s Resolutions Stick” helps assure adherence to improvement.

Like some of my Facebook friends, though, I’m not sure I want to write a list this year. Yes, it can help focus resolves. Writing down a goal is a first step toward achieving it, right? But will I stay focused? Is putting it on paper or online enough? Author Sharon Sala writes, “If you want to do better…or you want a change in your life, don’t make a big deal out of it. Just do it!”  Solid advice from a practical woman.

Paris - Seine - Copy 1

Tom & I cruising the Seine

The world is a scary place. It’s made scarier by those things out of our control – accidents, disease, violence, death. New Year’s Resolutions may improve our day to day life but they can’t guard against life’s tragedies.  What can help us get through is another sort of resolve – a desire to adjust our attitude toward life.  Toss out the bad.  Resurrect the good.  Cherish each day — past and present.  “Just do it!”

About four years ago I received a diagnosis. Eating healthier to lose weight would help.  That wasn’t easy considering weight loss is probably the number one fail on each list of New Year’s resolutions. But I told myself repeatedly that, if I didn’t do it, I would grow sicker and die. I told myself so often that I came to believe it. So I lived my life eating healthy. I cut out junk and counted calories.  Amazingly I lost weight and became healthier. I’ve backslid some since then, but parts of that belief are still ingrained in my brain, still nudging me toward health. I must listen. I have my sons, my family, and my goals to live for. (One is to publish the great American novel. Gotta do that before I leave this earth. 🙂 )

Two years ago my soul mate and sons’ father unexpectedly left us. His sudden passing devastated me and his family. Those who have endured such loss know more than anyone that no words can describe the pain, the paralyzing grief.  On the day of his funeral, a dear family member quietly told me that if ever I felt myself slipping into despair, imagine instead that I was the one in Heaven and he was still alive on Earth but now sinking into darkness. Would I want him to grieve in such a way? Or would I want him to learn to live without me? Would I want him happy? In the shock of my beloved’s death, I forced myself to put one foot in front of the other. I did what must be done.  That led me through the first many months. Her compassionate words are leading me through the rest.  I would want him to be happy.

My new home in Wisconsin
(Thank you, Sue, for the winter photo)

It takes a change in attitude, learning to adjust and move forward. I believe that’s what is needed to see any sort of resolution succeed. For me, that means adjusting my mindset to help achieve my goals. At midnight, as I heard a few fireworks exploding in the distance to celebrate the birth of 2014, the word brave came to me on a whisper, Tom’s voice.  I need to be brave this year and in the years to come.

There’s so much ahead.  I’ll retire this year and say goodbye to my job of twenty years. I’ll move 800 miles back to my hometown, to my new home. There’s so much to do. I’m eager for my move, but it’s also a huge change and a bit frightening. It will take bravery to make it all happen.  A list will help but this year I must focus on attitude and my new found word to guide me. In 2014 and in the years to come, I must be brave.

What word will help you achieve your New Year’s goals?  ♥

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Moving Forward

Last week I traveled to Wisconsin to visit my siblings and to attend WisRWA’s 2013 Write Touch Conference.  I also, unexpectedly, bought a house.  

It’s been a long eighteen months since my loss.  During that time, I’ve kept busy with my day job and various house projects.  But despite living in the East for close to 25 years, at heart I’m still a Midwesterner; most of my family still lives there. Last year I decided that when I retired in 2014, I would move closer to home. A logical decision, one that felt right in spite of the added drama so many nearby kinfolk might bring into my life. 

On the Internet I began to follow the southern Wisconsin housing market.  On trips, I began dragging siblings with me to see houses.  Most recently, I made offers on two separate houses, both non-productive.  On this particular trip, however, nothing seemed to fit.  Last  Wednesday, after two afternoons of seeing an assortment of selected listings, I parted with my realtor and headed back to my brother’s.  “We’ll find something next visit,” I thought.  “There’s time.”

Lovely Cape Cod

Minutes later, my realtor called about a new listing she’d just seen on their in-house board. 

When I drove up the quiet, tree-lined street to meet her in front of the brick Cape Cod, its traditional charm greeted me.  Mid-tour through the empty house, I called my local sibs, pleading with them to meet me at the house despite the busy dinner hour.   During their tour, each of them privately pulled me aside.  Although they may rarely agree on much, each said the same thing.  “If you don’t buy it, I will.” 

Bright Sun Room

Bright Sun Room

An hour later, back in the realty office over take-out pizza and store-bought peanut butter cookies, my realtor guided me through my offer to buy.  My husband and I, during our 38 years together, bought four houses.  And, as mentioned above, over the past few months I’d written up two other offers.  This still felt strange, alone.  At the form’s bottom, there are two spaces for the buyer to sign – generally husband and wife.  I signed the top line, noting the other line with a degree of sadness.  Thoughts raced through my mind.  It’s serious business, committing to buy a house, alone.  It’s serious business, committing oneself to an 850-mile move into retirement, alone.

Bedroom

Bedroom

Of course, I’m not alone. Everywhere loved ones reach out in support.  My friends.  My realtor.  My family.  My sons.  And always, my husband.  During the very long 22-hour wait for the seller to respond to my offer, I felt his warm presence.  I believe he would love this house.  (Well, maybe not some of the wallpaper, but that can be replaced.)

Right now I’m in mid-process. Inspections completed with closing scheduled for summer. With luck, all will move smoothly. It’s a friendly house with good bones. With some repairs and a few minor changes to make it my own, it will comfortably meet my needs when I retire and in years to come.  It’s a bright, airy house that, next year, I’ll make into my home.  

I’m moving forward.

WisRWA President Anne Parent chats with Keynote Speaker Michael Hauge

WisRWA President Anne Parent chats with Keynote Speaker Michael Hauge

By the way, the WisRWA Write Touch Conference was great.  I heard dynamic speakers, enjoyed wonderful visits with old friends, and savored the joy of forming new friendships.  At times, though, I had a tough time focusing on conference business.  In my mind I kept walking through the rooms of my new house. I stripped wallpaper, arranged furniture, entertained family and friends, read, and created new stories in that glorious sun room.  I’m glad my roommate and other writer friends were understanding, and that our Keynote Speaker, Michael Hauge, offered a DVD.  ♥

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Mothers & Daughters

I’m re-posting this as a tribute to my mother. She’s been gone over five years now. To Mom, to my dear Aunt Fran, and to all the Moms who bless my life – HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY, with love.

Stringing Beads

I’m thinking of her today. Her gentle voice and proud image linger about me.

The relationship between a mother and her daughter can follow many paths.  A childhood friend was incredibly close to her mom. The two of them talked, laughed and shared silly secrets. Yet another good friend and her mother were like strangers; they barely spoke. At various times I have envied both. Why?

She was generous in her legacies. I cannot fault her for that.

From her I learned the value of family. She was an at-home wife and mother with a large family. At a time when bottle-feeding was rampant in America, she breastfed her babies. When store-bought Wonder Bread became the national favorite, she kneaded and baked wholesome homemade bread and cinnamon buns filling our home with an awesome aroma. Our childhood meals always saw us seated together around the table. As a young mother…

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On birds

Birds sing after a storm; why shouldn’t people feel as free to delight in whatever remains to them? ~ Rose Kennedy

ravenI never thought of myself as a bird lover.   My feelings toward the creatures may have started in adolescence when I first read Poe’s “The Raven” then saw the dark movie with Peter Lorre.   Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.”    Then came Hitchcock’s “The Birds” where flocks invaded a peaceful California town bringing with them chaos and terror.  For a short while after that I was repulsed by their reptilian quality.   But slowly some birds flew into my life bringing with them a fascination, and more.

As I matured, I remember watching a lone hawk soar against a blue sky; my heart beat faster.  I became awed with the sweeping silver V of snow geese overhead.   After a dreary winter, the brilliant red of a cardinal in the oak tree, or a bright blue jay in the maple, brought wonder to my soul.  I began to smile whenever I heard the first robin’s song in spring.  Who could not?

Mourning Dove eggs

Mourning Dove eggs

Many years ago our young family moved from Wisconsin to southern Indiana.   The winters there were warmer than our former northern home. One year I left a large hanging geranium on our side porch for the winter.  Careless me; eventually a year-end  cold spell hit and the plant died. In the early spring I found that a pair of grey mourning doves had nested in the planter.  I suppose the dead plant made a ready-made nest for the doves.  Each dawn when I went outside for the newspaper, I was greeted by intriguing coos.  As the young chicks grew and finally flew away, our whole family was awed.  Of course the next winter, I purposely left the hanging planter on the porch.  We all smiled when the gentle pair returned to hatch another brood.

yellow finch

Yellow Bird

Years later a smaller bird came to visit our new home on the East coast.  Our master bedroom sported a large arched window.  The east-facing window didn’t allow for sleeping in.  But for a while, it wasn’t the sun that roused us on weekends.  One Saturday spring morning Tom and I woke to an odd sound. We were puzzled until we saw a yellow finch, tapping against the arched window.  He came to visit regularly that spring, and the next as well.  Tom named him “Yellow Bird” and for a few years he became a part of our lives.   Yellow Bird, our happy little alarm clock.

My new parrot lamp

My new parrot lamp

Parrots, to me, are loud creatures, like an obnoxious drunken step-uncle in the bird family. I never thought a parrot might come into my life.  Then several years ago, my youngest son created a funny series of animated videos about a pirate, Amish J. Pirate.  And, as we all know, pirates have parrots.  Arrghhh!  Overnight, it seemed, I found myself strangely drawn to parrots.

Recently I’ve been searching for a new lamp.  I didn’t want a novelty lamp, just the right-size traditional table lamp to put in the front window in my living room.  For weeks I browsed in stores, in catalogs, and online.  And I kept returning to one particular lamp described as a ginger jar ceramic hand-painted parrot lamp offered by Lamps Plus.  No matter how many others I looked at, this one called to me.   So I ordered a parrot lamp, the last in stock.  A parrot lamp.  So much for traditional.  Arrrghhh!

My new lamp arrived today.  Looking at it warms me.  It makes me grin;  I sense Tom’s smile, too.  I guess there’s something to be said for parrots.

cartoon-parrot-007

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Road Trip

“Do one thing every day that scares you.” – Eleanor Roosevelt

Words haven’t come easy these last months.  I’ve struggled to simply hang on, to perform routine jobs – household projects, tasks at work – seeking a sense of normalcy in a suddenly abnormal world.  Other than two valued meetings, my once bright realm of writing dimmed into darkness.

Country Highway

But recently, out of the night shadows a plan slipped in that might help awaken my creative soul.  I decided to go on an adventure.   I would take a road trip.

So, early Friday morning I brewed strong coffee, grabbed suitcase and snacks, and climbed into the Honda Accord.  It was my husband’s car, the one he used on his daily commute.  Driving it, I still felt his warm presence.  I gave Ingrid her coordinates then began my journey across the vast green of Pennsylvania and beyond.  A three-day weekend lay ahead.

Over rivers and rolling farmland, through the turnpike’s mountain tunnels – Blue Mountain, Kittatinny, Tuscarora, Allegheny – I drove west toward Pittsburgh.  A quick stop at a service plaza netted farm-fresh peaches and a jar of homemade pear butter.  Occasionally I’d turn on the radio, scanning local stations.  Mostly I drove in comfortable silence keeping company with thoughts and memories.

Cathedral of Learning

As I neared Pittsburgh, partially cloudy skies greyed.  Ingrid guided me into the city and through the proper turns while rain splashed down.  The downpour didn’t last long.  By the time I reached my son’s apartment it was dwindling to a drizzle.

He’s a Pitt student, my middle son, as was his father’s father.  So after I toured his apartment we drove toward the University and parked.  We ate lunch at The Porch on Schenley then strolled over to the Cathedral of Learning, built during the early part of the 20th century in part by dimes collected by the nuns from area school children.  It’s a magnificent structure filled with beauty and knowledge.  My son showed me where he’ll attend classes and hear lectures this fall.  Together we walked around campus and I bought Pitt t-shirts – 2 for $12 at a corner street kiosk.  Too soon time ran short so we made plans for Sunday then hugged and parted.

I continued on my road trip, toward Cleveland and a Saturday writers’ workshop just south of the city.  It was the timing and location that first tempted me into registering for NEORWA’s one-day workshop.  It fit well with my needs, I thought, and might motivate me to begin writing again.  It was all that and more.

From 9 am until 5 pm on Saturday, prolific Texas author Candace Havens spoke to a group of 60+ writers on a myriad of writing topics.  She talked about goals, plotting, and brainstorming.  She gave a thrilling talk about Fast Draft – a way to generate the first draft of a novel in two weeks by writing 20 pages a day.  She discussed Michael Hague’s six-step plot structure, and Jim Butcher’s story arc. We broke for lunch and conversation with fellow writers.  The workshop continued into the afternoon –  “Revision Hell,” branding, marketing, and building an image in the marketplace.  An incredibly rich, motivating day.

Pitt Panther

On Sunday morning I drove back to Pittsburgh where I once more met with my son.  This time we enjoyed a full and varied Sunday breakfast buffet at Joe Mama’s on Forbes Avenue.  Under blue skies and sunshine, we again strolled around campus.  Then, as on Friday, all too soon it was time to part.

The drive east went smooth, despite heavy Sunday traffic and occasional summer road construction.  Two-thirds of the way home, I detoured down to the National Cemetery near Annville to visit my beloved’s grave.  The section where he rests isn’t filled so the sod is not yet laid.  The brown, barren ground around the granite stones gives it a stark appearance.  But that didn’t diminish the power of the site. For a long while, I stood in silent conversation then strolled back to the car.

I arrived home late evening.  It was a good trip for many reasons.  The open highway in fair weather brought some peace.   I cherished the visits with my son. I enjoyed NEORWA’s writers’ workshop and new writing friends made there.  I savored the warmth of memories relived.

And somewhere, along the way, a seed for a new story miraculously germinated and is taking root.   ♥

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Day by Day

In 1993 two friends had a dream.  Anne Kelleher (Bush) and Lorraine Stanton sought to form a group in the Lehigh Valley for writers who shared the goal of writing and publishing book length fiction.  The first meetings of the Greater Lehigh Valley Fiction Writers’ Group (GLVFWG) were held in Lorraine’s living room in Phillipsburg.  Although a novice, I was pleased to be among the first five attending.  For a short while, I served as President of the fledgling group.

As the group grew, we formed strong critique groups. Soon we relocated to a private club.  Then, seeking to control luncheon costs, we moved on to a public library.  We discussed becoming a chapter of Romance Writers of America (RWA), but it was felt that would exclude writers of other genres who had already joined. At some point “fiction” was dropped from the group’s name.

There were growing pains along the way, as members and officers came and went.  Within a year or so, personal reasons caused me to resign my position.  I subsequently left the group.  My writing dwindled.

When I started seriously writing again, my interest had shifted to RWA. I was, after all, writing romance and I liked the support of the national organization.  Still, over the years I’ve watched GLVWG.

The group still meets in the same library, not far from my home.  It also hosts a solid spring conference in March.  The Write Stuff brings together writers of all genres.  But January’s meeting was on Indie Publishing, a hot topic now, and one I’m delving into. And so on Saturday, I attended.

My Daily Pic - January 29

After the business portion of meeting, writer Joan Zachary gave an inspiring mini-presentation on using your camera every day.  She advocated always having a small camera at hand, and to shoot every day.  She’s done this for the past year and posts on Flickr.  Over time, she said, story ideas emerge from photos taken.

I love this day by day mini-goal, a kind of photo journal.  So today around 4:20 pm, when the sun was in the western sky, I took my camera outside and shot a picture of our bird feeder.  To me, it’s a sign that spring is coming, even if it is only late January.

Bart Palamaro speaks at GLVWG on Indie Publishing

Saturday’s main speaker, Bart Palamaro, gave a superb talk – Indie Publishing 101 – what it is and isn’t, the current state of publishing, finances, skills needed, legal matters, and so on.  The primary areas to “hire out” in Indie Publishing are editing (finding a genre specific editor), and possibly cover design.  He referred us to many online sources and links.  The best rule of marketing an Indie (or any) book, is to write a good book, then another, then another.

After lunch, Bart led about twenty-five writers through an informative, well-organized two-hour presentation on the nitty-gritty, step-by-step process of actually publishing a book on Amazon KDP.   Excellent!

So good to see the growth and maturity of this group that was once only a dream.

On February 1st I’m starting a new project.  Under the guidance of Nancy Herkness, twenty-seven New Jersey Romance Writers have vowed to each write 30,000 words in February. We call ourselves the 30Kers. Using a Yahoo Groups loop, we’ll keep each other motivated, and submit our number counts along the way. It’s new stuff, no editing as we go.  The goal is to simply produce.  Nora Roberts‘ words are a favorite….”You can fix anything but a blank page.”

I need to write again.  I need to immerse myself in a new story, to lose myself in my characters’ lives.  So, day by day, I’ll write.  And, day by day, I’ll take a picture, too.  Maybe I’ll even post a few.

To all my writer friends, thank you for sharing your knowledge, your ideas, and your friendship.

Day by day.   ♥

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Keepers

As readers, we all have favorite books.  They are the stories we can’t bear to part with, ones that live on in our memories.  The books we’d keep on our shelves forever, if such a thing were possible.  Years may pass but their presence lets us know there is a wondrous volume just waiting for us to again open its cover and lose ourselves in some amazing world.

I admit that I’m a book hoarder.  To me books are precious.  It’s hard to let go of the many I’ve enjoyed and my to-be-read pile grows ever higher.  In time I know I must downsize.  I’ll need to pass on my scores of books, giving them to others to enjoy their magic.  My Kindle will make downsizing easier.  The frailties of old age will make it easier still.  But there are a few volumes I know I’ll cling to as long as humanly possible.  These books are my true favorites, my keepers.  I enjoy being surrounded by them and cherish their presence in my life.

As a writer, I dream of publishing a book that makes someone’s list of keepers.  I long to write words that might touch and inspire others even half as much as other writers’ words have touched me.  A grandiose dream perhaps, but not an impossible one.  I have faith.

Beyond books, there are other keepers in our lives.  I love movies and count many among my keepers.  Like books, favorite DVDs line my shelves so I can watch them again and again.   Last of the Mohicans, Gone With the Wind, Gettysburg, The Fugitive, Sweet Home Alabama, The African Queen…my list is long. Good stories and characters, well produced, well acted.  Like my keeper books, these movies have become old friends.

Some people keep and prize sports memorabilia; they cherish having it around them.  Other souls value music, or fine works of art.  They take great joy in its presence.

But I believe that the keepers to be most valued in life are not books, not movies.  They are not music, not art, not any sort of collectibles.  The real keepers in life are the people who live beside and around us.  Of course, we don’t refer to these folk as keepers, someone to cherish and hold on to.  Instead we call them husband, wife, son, daughter, mom, dad, brother, sister, aunt, uncle, cousin, friend, co-worker, or neighbor.  Whatever their name, they are the angels that make up our daily lives.  We may not always fully appreciate the goodness they harbor, but it is strong, rich, and true.

During my recent heartbreaking loss, uncounted angels wrapped their wings around me bringing a comfort I wouldn’t have thought possible.  Through words, prayers, and untold kindnesses, I knew I was not alone.  In the absence of my soul mate, I might have been lonely, but never, ever alone.

We all need angels in our lives, guardians to watch over us in time of crisis and need.  Through my grief, I’ve seen an overwhelming prevalence of goodness and sympathy in this world.   I’ve found there is a prevalence of true keepers.

Angels, all.  ♥

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No Words

I met him the day after Christmas.  He was a college student visiting a close friend of his, my roommate’s fiancé.  From our first meeting we were drawn together.  Soul mates.  We wrote letters.   We telephoned.  In those pre-Internet days, over an 80 mile distance, we courted.

And we fell in love.

The day he graduated from college, he proposed.  Foolish me, I thought he was joking.  I mean, I always just knew we’d eventually marry.  Why did he need to ask? Somehow, I was wise enough not to say so.  After a stunned minute, I simply said yes.  A planner, he later said proposing to me was the most impulsive thing he’d ever done.

Before we wed he had to answer Uncle Sam’s call to duty.  He did a tour overseas.  Daily letters helped bridge the distance and gave us time to deepen our friendship.  A month after his discharge, we married.

We saved for and bought a small home.  Later we became parents of a beautiful son.  In three years another fine son followed and I relished motherhood.  He worked hard and also earned his CPA.  He took a job transfer, 400 miles south.  When he went to grad school nights for his Masters, I typed his papers.  I gave birth to our third, another wonderful son.

Another job transfer, this one to the east coast.  A few years later we moved a final time, this time building a house, instead of buying an older one.  We were determined not to move again, to keep our sons in the same schools.  The time sped.  I returned to work.  Our sons entered high school then began to graduate and go on to college.

He continued to work, with a commute that grew ever longer as traffic increased.  During this time he also ran for School Board.  He served as Treasurer and won election after election over a period of 12 years.  He earned the title of fiscal watchdog, working toward financial responsibility, unafraid to cast a dissenting vote when one was called for.

We spoke the same language, liked the same movies, and music.  Though born of different backgrounds, we shared the same values, the same beliefs.  And we talked together, not just the necessary chatter of two people who live in the same house, but deeper conversation.  He was my best friend, and my one true love.  And yet, he could still surprise me.

Always we saved and found time for trips together, to the East (when we lived in the Midwest), to Florida, the Grand Canyon, Quebec, England, and other shorter trips.  It was important for us and our sons.  We loved the adventure.  We loved seeing new places, immersing ourselves in culture and history.

With our sons grown, in late 2010 we flew to Paris and spent a magical week wandering museums, dining out, attending a French mass at St. Eustache, visiting Versailles, cruising the River Seine.  Months later he spoke of returning in our retirement to play an i-Pad accordion on the banks of the Seine.  Other trips also lay before us – Rome, a train trip across western Canada, and a Baltic cruise to Norway and St. Petersburg.

In the pre-dawn hours of November 30th, I woke to a still silence in the house.  I found him laying on the bathroom tiles.  The coroner called it a massive cerebral hemorrhage.  I could not speak.  “There are no words,” said some, writers all.  No words for the shock, and grief.  No words for the unfairness.  His whole life he worked hard, giving of himself for the good of others.  No words, except it shouldn’t have happened.  He should have had more time.

Wrapped though I am in the comfort of family and friends, I feel I’m only moving through life, doing only what is needed. At times I think I’ll walk into the next room and find him there, reading his newspaper, talking to our sons, laughing.  The tears come and go but I’m learning to anticipate them, to sometimes even welcome their healing power.

He is ever in my thoughts.  On Thursday he woke me with a simple word, as he did so often on days he left early for work.  “Debbi,” he said.  And I woke, knowing he’d been there.

On Saturday, for the first time this season, I ventured into the stores with their Christmas mania.  As I roamed the aisles only pretending to browse, I listened and watched.  A mother tugged hard on her daughter’s arm.  A father sternly directed his son to follow his list.  A woman’s harsh voice spoke to her cell.  Part of me ached to tell them, life is fragile and so fleeting. Nurture and love it.  

Love one another.  ♥

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Dear Mom

Among the family treasures Mom left behind were packets of her personal letters.  The earliest ones were written to her parents in the months after she divorced my father.  My brother was four; I was a toddler.  Mom was preparing to marry again.  Her new marriage would take her over a thousand miles from home.  Usually she wrote to both parents but one letter was addressed only to her mom, my grandmother.

  “Mother, I know what I’m doing so don’t worry.  I am very happy…and I’m sure everything is going to work out perfect.  (He) loves me and thinks a lot of the kids.  We have very nice plans for the future.  We are so happy when we’re together and we have talked everything over, and we seem to feel the same way about everything.”

Mom, Tim, and Grandma

A twenty-five year old daughter, writing to reassure her worried mother.

A few weeks ago my dear aunt sent me another letter Mom had written, one I had never seen.  This one was written in southern Wisconsin and mailed to my uncle in northern Minnesota.  It was written five years after the letter mentioned above.   By then my brother and I had been joined by two younger siblings.

“The children are going to Sunday School here now at the Faith Lutheran Church….We have been going to church there too, every Sunday since they started Sunday School.”

I know my uncle cherished his sister’s letter.  In those pre-Internet days when phone calls were only for holidays or emergencies, letters were how people communicated, how separated families kept in touch.  Letters were eagerly awaited. Receiving one was a gift.

“We had another letter from Jim and one from his fiancé…Elizabeth.  They are going to be married August 15th.  She sent a clipping of their engagement and her picture out of the paper.”

Just as my uncle had when it was new, I enjoyed receiving this letter, so many years after it was written.  It brought back precious memories from days gone by.  It gave me a glimpse into our family’s history, written in Mom’s fine penmanship.

“(All of us) went for a picnic in Palmer Park on Sunday.  Really enjoyed it.  The (kiddies) went in the pool.  We roasted wieners and marshmallows.”

This picture is from another Sunday, in another park, but the same year, and with the same people.  Along with Sunday School, picnics became a regular event, an inexpensive way to gather with family, and enjoy each others company.  I’ve had a copy of this picture for years but when I read Mom’s words about the picnic, it reminded me anew of those warm, carefree days.

In the letter my aunt sent me, Mom also wrote about my little sister’s illness, and of my step-dad’s still fledgling business, how much money he’d earned the week before, and his hopes for a city contract.  These small details make this particular letter even more priceless, more poignant.  More poignant still is what she could not write in it.  Just over a year later, an unforeseen accident would take the life of her youngest son, my brother Tim.

I believe in the value of holding on to old family letters.  While some details may seem insignificant now, in a few years time they’ll refresh treasured bits of memory, and serve as a part of family history.

The Internet has pushed letter writing into obscurity.  For the wordier among us, it has been replaced by e-mail.  Others rely on Facebook or Twitter for rushed messages. Twitter only allows 140 characters but a lot can be said in a few words.  I can almost see a snippet from one of Mom’s letters tweeted to the masses “Baked a chocolate cake today.”   Those words alone would remind me of her.  Of course, it wouldn’t be in her handwriting, on the prettiest stationery she could afford.

I do like aspects of the new social media.  I love the ability to almost instantly see pictures of my grand-nieces and grand-nephews blowing out their birthday candles.  I love the shorthand way of sending an animated electronic greeting card.  And I know how very much military families treasure frequent e-mailed messages from loved ones serving overseas.  I do hope they think to print them, or save them in some manner, for the future.

Tucked away, tied in ribbon and stacked in a sturdy box are letters my husband wrote to me when he was stationed overseas.  In another box are those I wrote him.  We haven’t looked at them in years, but each one was received with as much joy as any e-mailed message.  In old age we’ll sit down and re-read these letters written and mailed with love, and loneliness.  Memories will awake.

Do you save old family letters?  How long has it been since you received a handwritten letter in the mailbox?  How long since you sent one?   ♥

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Thanksgiving Blessings

As we gather to celebrate this Thanksgiving Day, let’s each take time to reminisce on holidays past, and those blessings yet to come.  Finally, may we rejoice and be grateful for the good in our lives today.

May you and your loved ones enjoy a peaceful, memorable Thanksgiving. Happy Turkey Day to all! ♥

 

🙂

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Self-Publishing – A Cautionary Tale

Wikipedia defines a vanity press as “a publishing house that publishes books at the author’s expense.” The term vanity is apt.  A book from a vanity press is most commonly born from a writer’s need to be published, whatever the cost. There are no gatekeepers at a vanity press. The only limits are the size of the author’s wallet and the amount that author is willing to spend on a dream.

Early on in writing, I learned that vanity publishing was to be avoided. English teachers, critique partners, and other fellow writers all spoke of self-publishing as the bad boy, the guy from the wrong side of the tracks – undesirable for one pursuing a respectable writing career.

The birth of the Internet then e-publishing and e-readers blurred that definition. Suddenly anyone could self-publish, regardless of the size of one’s wallet.  The limits were lifted.

Joe Konrath at WisRWA 2010

I first heard Joe Konrath speak at the WisRWA Conference in Spring 2010, but I wasn’t ready to hear his gospel. I don’t remember much of his talk (but I did take a great pic at the book signing; he signed a peanut for me :wink:).  Guess I still hoped some traditional publisher would recognize my brilliance and wave a favorable contract before me.  But e-Publishing?  Wasn’t that the same as vanity?  No thanks (sorry, Joe).

Then came the RWA National Conference in New York City in June 2011, and the buzz about self-publishing. At dinner one night, author Mary Stella mentioned Joe Konrath’s name. Her zeal touched me.
When I returned home, I looked up his column, The Newbies Guide to Publishing. I started educating myself.

Was self-publishing the right path for my full-length novels?  Could I do it freely?  Would it harm my reputation?  Then I realized, what reputation?  I wasn’t published. Despite some contest wins, at the rate I was writing and submitting, I wasn’t likely to be. Publishing something, anything, would give me a stake in the new world. I could learn the ropes until my novels were ready.  For the first time in ages, I grew excited about writing.

So a few months ago, using free guidebooks, I formatted and self-published two little e-books.  I paid $10 each for an ISBN from Smashwords but that was my only cash outlay, and it wasn’t technically necessary.  You don’t need an ISBN to publish on Amazon or Barnes & Noble.  And yet now these little books are available on Kindle e-readers, the Nook, on Smashwords, and other e-reader sites. I’ve even had some sales. It can be done.  More important, in a few months time my first novel will go online.

I believe there’s a huge difference between independent self-publishing and vanity publishing. Both may have the same result – a published book.  But in indie publishing the author is empowered, working freely.  In vanity, the author pays someone else for the opportunity to work.

This past week I read that Penguin Books has created a company called Book Country Fair.  For a premium price of $549, Penguin’s Book Country will format an author’s book and publish it on sites such as Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and so on.  There’s no editing.  No cover.  You’ll need to provide those at your own expense.  Oh yes, in addition to the $549, Book Country also takes 30% of the book’s royalties, for life.

By publishing through Book Country, on an e-book sold by Amazon for $2.99, an author earns $1.47 (plus pays the initial upfront fee of $549).  By comparison, if an author totally self-publishes on Amazon, each e-book sold for $2.99 earns the author $2.05.

Why would anyone want to publish through a vanity press?

I urge you to read more about this issue on the following sites:

I’m adding my voice to the chorus.  If you choose to self-publish your work like a growing number are doing, please do NOT pay out a large upfront fee AND royalties, such as those charged by Book Country Fair and other vanity publishers.  It’s simply not necessary.

Finally, please share this with others by clicking the button/s below.  All comments are welcomed.   ♥

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The Times They Are A Changin’

       “The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance.” – Alan Watts

On Saturday, October 29th, those of us living on the U.S. East Coast were pummeled with a pre-Halloween storm. “A fifty-year storm,” one weatherman called it. By early evening over a foot of snow had fallen. Our trees, still holding tight to their brilliant autumn leaves, were quickly blanketed with wet, heavy snow. Branches began to droop dangerously low.

We lost our power around 1:30 PM. I was at my desk writing on my computer when the lights flickered on…off…on…off, in rapid bursts, as if struggling to hang on. Finally the power failed altogether. Lamps, computers, and all things electrical went out.

The electric igniter on our gas range didn’t work, but that’s what kitchen matches are for. For a late lunch, I heated chicken rice soup on the stove top instead of the microwave. And instead of completing another chapter on my computer then watching Bride of Frankenstein on the television as planned (it is almost Halloween), my husband and I spent a few hours engaged in deliciously quiet conversation.

After a time, a dear friend called from Wisconsin and we caught up on her life, and mine. Then my brother and sister-in-law called from their nightmarish vacation in Hawaii. (Yeah, nightmare…in Hawaii, but that’s another story.) More talk. I’m glad we still have a non-electrical land line. My cell phone battery never would have lasted.

Our power was restored before nightfall. We were lucky. As I write this, many in the East are still without electricity as diligent linemen work non-stop.

Youngest son called home around 11:30 PM. His bus from New York City had been cancelled so he took a different line but it didn’t go to where he’d left his car. So, around 1:00 AM middle son and I drove to a Park and Ride to bring him home for an unexpected overnight visit. On the drive there we skirted four fallen trees.  This morning revealed cracked branches in our own backyard.

Such were yesterday’s small adventures, courtesy of the changing weather patterns. But global warming and changing climate, if that’s what it was, isn’t the only change going on in the world. Change is constant, and it is everywhere.

“The only thing constant in life is change,” wrote French author François de la Rouchefoucauld in the 17th century. Given the times he lived in, the man well knew what he was writing about. So, too, did Bob Dylan. His classic 1964 song, “The Times They Are A Changin‘” became an anthem during the Viet Nam peace protests of the 1960’s as well as the Civil Rights movement. It maintains its popularity.

This morning I watched a news story on CBS Sunday Morning about Asian carp that have escaped from Arkansas to the Illinois River, and the havoc these vicious leaping fish are wreaking. The story told of other invaders to the U.S., the Kudzu vine creeping across southern states, the Burmese python slithering through Florida, and others. A sign of our changing world as species once unknown in this country flourish in a landscape with no natural enemies.

Gunpowder caused massive change in the Middle Ages. The invention of steam engines heralded the Industrial Revolution. In today’s world, along with weather and environmental changes, the primary element of change is technology and its many ramifications.

Earlier technology – telephones, radio, and television gave way to computers, microwaves, cell phones, i-pads, e-readers. The list grows daily. Keeping up with hardware, software, and applications is not always easy, especially for this aging baby-boomer.

As writers, the change in most minds is the transition from traditional publishing to e-publishing. The issue is more complicated than it might seem to those unfamiliar with the topic. What is happening is creating a far greater change than if inventors had simply built a better printing press for established, traditional publishing companies.

E-readers and companies like Amazon, Smashwords, and Barnes & Noble, have given writers (not just publishers) the ability to publish electronically and distribute that work easily, efficiently, and cheaply – all without the need for traditional agents or publishing houses. For the first time in history, writers have become empowered, in charge of their own careers.

Will a lot of rubbish be published? I imagine so, but doesn’t that already happen in print publishing? How often have you paid good money for a print book by an author everyone raves about, only to toss it aside? There will be bad writing in e-publishing, but I believe good writers will also emerge, outshining the bad. Professional writers will create stories that today’s editors and agents, many barely out of college, now reject simply because “it won’t sell” or “it doesn’t rock my boat.”

Writers will win, and so will readers as stories of all lengths, all genres, all topics, become available. And traditional publishing?   Change, my friends, is constant.  Plunge in, move with it, and join the dance.  ♥

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NJRW – 2011 Writers’ Conference, Day 1

This weekend I’m attending the Put Your Heart in a Book writers’ conference sponsored by the New Jersey Romance Writers.  Three hundred plus writers, agents, and editors are gathering to celebrate writing. It’s a much anticipated, much loved regional conference. Many arrived Thursday to hit the ground running early Friday morning.

In Friday’s three-hour Pre-Conference workshop, NY Times and USA Today best-selling author Brenda Novak spoke on Emotion: The Heart of the Novel.  A few highlights from her talk – Creativity happens in a series of tiny sparks, she said.  The more ideas we have the better.  Take risks.  Expect to make lots of mistakes.  Develop a network of colleagues.  More than anything, she said, creativity is about hard work and sticking with it.  I especially enjoyed her words on subtext in our writing.  We write who we are, she said then told of a writer who’d written a stellar lighthearted contemporary; every part was technically perfect – the plotting, dialogue, character development.  But the inherent negativity of the author bled through and the manuscript never sold. Subtext, she said, will leak through.

After Brenda Novak’s superb presentation, I joined up with three writers I’d met last year – Laura Thomson, Marta Bliese, and Laurel Wanrow.  All are members of the Maryland Romance Writers.  We stepped out into the chilly October air and across the parking lot to the Kona Grill for lively conversation over lunch.

Friday afternoon was divided into three forty-five minute workshop sessions.  Each time slot provided a choice of six workshops to attend.  For my first session, I chose to hear Brenda Novak again, this time speaking on Networking: Sowing the Seeds of Success.  The equation for writing success, she said, is to present a quality product (our writing), have an eye for opportunity, a credible source (can you deliver?), and the right networking mentality.  She gave pages of helpful info in a short amount of time.

My second session was given by award-winning author Annette Blair who writes single titles and vintage magic mysteries.  Annette spoke on Stuck in the Middle – A Life Raft of Solutions.  She recommended reading Christopher Vogler’s THE WRITER’S JOURNEY (several times), and referred also to workshops by Barbara Wallace and Deborah Hale.  The more conflict in your story, the more pinches and twists, she said, the stronger your middle will be.   She passed out a worksheet that she advised using as a template for our sagging middles and which we reviewed in detail.  Incredibly helpful.

My third and final Friday workshop was NY Times bestselling suspense author Laura Griffin.  Her topic was How to Make Any Book a Page Turner.  We need to open our book with a character the reader can care about then immediately introduce conflict into the story.  One of her many suggestions:  Each chapter must end with a hook.  Beyond that, she said, end each chapter with a powerful and vivid word.  Instead of “a pool of blood on the floor” write “on the floor was a pool of blood.”  More vivid, more emotional.

At 6 pm we all gathered outside the Diamond Ballroom for a cocktail reception before the awards ceremony.  Midway through wine and pasta, fire alarms blinked and blared, although the sound was muffled by our conversations.  We were asked to vacate to the parking lot and front lobby area.  Fire trucks arrived and firemen trooped into the building.  The adventure sparked some writers’ imaginations and provided fuel for some future scene. 😉 Within several minutes, though, we were allowed to return and resume our reception.

Each year, NJRW honors its contest winners in an awards ceremony.  The Put Your Heart in a Book award is for unpublished writers.   This year’s winners:

Put Your Heart in a Book

  • Short Contemporary – Judith Wherett – RUNNING FOR HER LIFE
  • Single Title Contemporary – Jeanell Bolton – PASSION
  • Historical – Dianna Quincy – TEMPTING BELLA
  • Paranormal – Dawn Groszek – ROSE OF HOPE
  • Romantic Elements – D. B. Schuster – BREACH OF CONTRACT

The Golden Leaf is awarded to those contest winners who are published with an RWA recognized publisher.  After each category’s finalists are announced, an intriguing snippet of the winning entry is read by sultry-voiced Anne Walradt.  This year’s winners:

Golden Leaf

Hall of Fame Inductee, Cara Summers

When authors succeed in winning three Golden Leaf Awards within a category, NJRW inducts them into the Golden Leaf Hall of Fame.  Friday’s ceremony was crowned by inducting two such authors – historical author Hannah Howell  for her award-winners in the Novella category, and Cara Summers for her award-winning Short Contemporaries.

After the awards ceremony I was invited to attend a late night gathering hosted by the group from Maryland Romance Writers.   Several of us sat talking, laughing, sharing our stories, and working through two pitch sessions.  Saturday would be another full day.

Writers, what did you find most valuable about this conference or another you may have attended? Please share your comments.   ♥

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Listen to the Universe

That whisper you keep hearing is the universe trying to get your attention.    ~Oprah Winfrey

The past months have been crazy-busy.  While trying to keep current with day-to-day tasks at my office day job, I’ve had new projects and programs to learn.  At home I’ve been writing steadily, preparing my work for launching.  Through it all, I’ve been desperate to read and absorb all I can about the ever-changing world of Indie Publishing.

Still, this week I’ve had moments when I’ve heard the whisper of the universe.  They’ve jarred me from intense focus and opened my eyes to a sense of the world’s wonder.  None of the moments were huge. No weddings or childbirths.  No grand championships, or lottery wins.  Just everyday events that softly nudged my soul.

On Friday at work, a new mom brought her seven-week old son to the office to see his grandfather.  I was just coming back from lunch when I saw them walking toward me in the hall. We stopped and talked. Smiling, I watched mom hand the babe to her dad.  He lifted his grandson (his first), cradled him against his shoulder, and gently rubbed his back.  A few co-workers gathered round ooohing and ahhhing, as we women tend to do when we look on a new baby, especially a cutie like this little guy. And while I watched the proud grandfather hold his sweet, sweet grandson, I felt a tiny tingle as the universe whispered. This is life.

Friday night we attended our high school’s football game. Both teams were undefeated. In the chilly October air, hubby and I sat close on the metal bleachers, atop a red plaid stadium blanket that pre-dates our thirty-something sons.  From the booster clubs’ refreshment stands, the scent of hamburgers and fries drifted our way. The bands blared, crowds roared and feet stomped shaking the stands as plays were intercepted, players were tackled, and finally took the ball in for a touchdown, and then another.  Final score – 20 to 16.  We’re still undefeated. 🙂  We don’t go to games often, but when we do, I hear the universe whisper.

Saturday evening, four in our family went out for an early dinner to celebrate son #2’s birthday.  We sat at the table sipping coffee, munching simple food, licking our lips over ice cream desserts.  Throughout the meal we caught up on each others’ lives, and reminisced about earlier times.  They talked of the time son #2 cut his younger brother’s hair.  “You cut his hair?” I asked. “Yeah,” he said. “You wrote a column about it.”  Funny, I had no memory of the event, or my article.  “How old were you?” I asked.  “Young enough that I was using those little kid’s safety scissors.”  Still no memory, not even of the article.  He shrugged.  “Maybe I cut it up with the safety scissors.”  More talking, laughing, savoring our time together.   And as we parted with warm hugs outside the restaurant, the universe whispered again.

We drove home, passing broad farm fields filled with brittle cornstalks.  Off in the west the sun was setting in a brilliant yellow-red glow, radiating off the clouds.  I wanted to take a picture but was afraid we’d be too late to catch it at home.  My husband turned and drove up to the old Indian Tower on a hill high above our town so I could capture some of the fading brilliance.  And once more, the universe whispered.

It is easy to let precious moments slide by in a rush of daily routines – going to work, cleaning, laundry, shopping.  But as writers, and as humans, we must pay close attention.  Such little moments are gold to claim and commit to our stories, not only to make them real to the reader, but also to live on in our memories.  The velvet feel of a baby’s silken skin.  The proud love in a grandfather’s face.  The blare of a high school band after a touchdown.  Laughter at family stories.  Aroma of strong coffee. The fading brilliance of an October sunset.

I’ve read that the secret to good writing is to just write.  But in our writing we must also learn to pull raw emotion from our daily lives, to transfer those feelings to the written word.  No heightened soap-operaesque overkill, just simple human emotion.

We must listen to the universe.   Thank you, Oprah.  ♥

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Project: Blog Fix

Most bloggers crave readers.   They pounce on reader comments faster than a hot, homemade Toll House cookie just pulled from the oven.  Well, some of us do anyway.  😉

Two weeks ago in Successful Blogging I spoke of social media and ways to draw more readers.  But how does someone start?  How do we add flavor and substance to a bland blog?

Here’s a mini-primer in Blogging 101.  Yes, it is basic, but read through and see what you may have missed.

1. Custom Header – A header is the stationary picture at the top of a blog. A custom header helps identify a blog. Does your current template allow for one? If not, change the template to one that does. Then use it. In Dashboard, click Custom Header. Insert a photo you’ve taken, or one that works for your blog. Some bloggers change headers seasonally; others keep it consistent.

2. Custom background  – A whole new look is born by changing background margins.  Insert a soft picture or a new solid color every few months.  I love greens and blues. They go with my header so I vary those colors. Try seasonal colors. Or a photo of ocean waves, clouds, or something else appropriate to your blog’s theme. Experiment until you find what you like.  In WordPress go to Appearance; Background.

3. Tagline  – “Just another WordPress blog” is on a lot of new WordPress blogs, just below the title.  WordPress puts it in the template as a placeholder.  It is not meant to be permanent. You are promoting your blog. So, what is your tagline?  In a few simple words, what is the focus of your blog?  Go to Settings.

4. Categories – A category keeps related posts together. It quickly tells your reader what to expect. Is your post about blogging? Death? Baseball?  Halloween?  Never let your category read “Uncategorized” or it’ll look like you don’t know what you are writing about.  Add the category on the same page where you are typing your blog.

5. Tags  – Tags are more specific than categories. They are a string of words that hones in on your main topic.  In a search, especially in WP, they help readers find your blog. In my prior post on  Successful Blogging, my category was Blogging.  My tags were: Blog, Facebook, gaining readers, marketing for writers, social media, Twitter, success, and writer’s resources.

6. Share – I’m repeating this one from an earlier post, and I may repeat it at a later date; it’s that important!  Make it easy to pass your blog on to others. Post Share links to Facebook, Twitter, StumbleUpon, and others. Include an e-mail link so the reader can send it to a friend.  In WordPress, go to Dashboard, Settings, Sharing and follow directions. Be sure to check mark the boxes at the bottom so they show up on all pages. For an example, see my Share buttons below.  (Hint: If you liked this article, please pass it on!  🙂)

7.  Paragraphs – I’m still surprised how many bloggers write long, unbroken paragraphs. Blogging is like newspaper writing. Paragraphs should be short and easy to read.  Find a natural break and use it, even if your old English teacher might wince. Blogs are about readability, not perfect format.  After you write your post, review it and look for a way to condense or break up the paragraphs. White space makes easier reading.

8.  Links – Links are a bonus for your reader and can be on your sidebar or in the body of your post.  For more permanent sidebar links, search for other blogs/sites that complement yours then create a link.  Under Widgets, move Links to the sidebar.  Then on Dashboard go to Links.  Create new links and link categories. By default, link categories are in alpha order so play with your titles. Occasionally test your links to make sure they are still active.

You can also create links to sites within the body of your article, like this one to Lifehacker (no special significance here, just an interesting link I found).  In this case, highlight the word, then click the link icon above where you are first typing your post. Insert the URL and click add link.

9.  About – If you want readers to connect with your writing, tell them who you are.  Use a two-liner and a photo in the sidebar, or a few paragraphs on the “About” or “Bio” page.  Preferably both.

10.  Contact – Readers should also be able to contact you. Many bloggers shy away from putting an email address on their blog where anyone, including spammers, can see it.  Instead, add a contact form box on your blog.  A good place to do this is on the About page, where you’ve written your short bio.

Creating a blog is a methodical process.  Take it step by step.  Readership develops over time. You’re competing with a lot of other blogs. Make yours tasty, sweet and easy to digest and the readers will find you.

 How do you add life and professionalism to your blog? What advice would you give to someone new to blogging?  ♥