After-Christmas Rush

It's already started. The New Year.

Normally, I don't pack away my tree and all the trimmings until January 5th, 10th, or even the 15th. But that's because prior to this year, we lived with Mike's mom. We pretty much did Christmas her way. This year was refreshing. I set the table how I wanted it, cooked what and when I wanted to cook, and lit candles every day. I reveled in the simplicity of our very own Christmas.

In the new Cable household, the tree came down today! I was ready. With balmy NC temperatures, the weather afforded us ample opportunity to pull all the boxes out of the storehouse and begin the process.

Christmas, unfortunately, carried a mixed bag of emotions. Along with the wonder and excitement of Christmas in our old farmhouse, our oldest son, daughter-in-law, and grandson have decided to move to Arizona. Again. For Chris, a major job promotion made the decision, actually. It's hard to turn something like that down in today's ecomony. Still, we're dreading it. In just a few days, they'll be gone. I can't even say when we'll see them again. Arizona is so far away, we can't just hop on a plane like we used to, and with a new baby on the way, I doubt they'll be heading back to NC anytime soon. It's taking some gettin' used to.

But our daughter spent the holiday with us, so she helped heal the sadness surrounding the move. The three of us took in a Love Feast at a Moravian Church on Christmas Eve, spent Christmas Day in our pajamas, watched old movies, napped, ate until we couldn't find another corner in our bodies to fill, and spent the rest of the next day in a food coma.

The house was warm, cozy, and only mildly decorated. No elf threw up on my walls, not this year. Candles, a beautiful tree, and the sound of Christmas music filled the house from Thanksgiving until yesterday.

But as of today, it is officially spring. (In my mind anyway.) I'm thinking of paint colors for the porch and perennials for the garden. HGTV ran wonderful landscaping shows today, and I thought I saw a robin this morning.

Probably not.

It's just that once the tree is down, the holidays are over for me. My After Christmas Rush. Rush to get winter well on its way, as well as our lives. I'm believing in a better 2009 for everyone, despite what CNN says.

I'm thinking I just might look for daffodils in the yard tomorrow.

And I have even sang Auld Lang Syne yet.

Blessings to you and yours.

Checking In

Ah, yes. It has been over a week since opening this blog. My fingers just feel, well, dead. Like they've been hijacked or beamed up into some abyss. A world of watching the clock, daily reports, and one-hour lunches.

Although I'm thoroughly enjoying my job, I miss my old one. The daily grind of writing in my jammies, and making coffee to get through a night of rewrites. Nowadays, I find myself dozing on the couch at 9 p.m., ready to hit the sack. A pile of stories ... untouched.

I like the routine of this new job. I love my boss and his wife and kids. I feel as if I've known them forever. He's even letting me sell my book at the front desk. How cool is that? The work is fairly easy, I enjoy our patients, and I'm taking home a real paycheck. That's nice.

Someday, in the future, I'll return to writing full-time. When that will be, is in God's hands. Right now, I'll try to blog more than once a week and find the energy to stay up past Gray's Anatomy. The world is flat at the moment. I don't want that to carry over into my writing. I'm working on a way to change my writing routine, as soon as the holidays are behind us.

In the meantime, if you care to check back once a while, you just might catch a new blog.

Blessings to you and yours.

Christmas Tree Time

Tonight was our little town's official Christmas Tree lighting. The mammoth pine in front of the Bed & Breakfast was the center of attention as folks bundled up and waited for the Mayor to flip the switch.

Unfortunately, I didn't last that long. An unusually frigid day for North Carolina kept the crowds huddled around hot chocolate, coffee, and hot cider tables. After helping out at the hot apple cider table for an hour, my feet froze to the cement pad and my head pounded from the bitter cold. My fifteen-month-old grand baby wasn't interested in waiting another hour to see Santa. I worried whether he was too cold as my nose dripped and my fingers grew numb. So, we headed to the warmth of the car and home.

Inside my house, the tree is lit and the mantles are decorated for the season. It's warm and cozy as the fire roars. It's Christmas tree time.

I love driving by houses at night, getting a glimpse of Christmas trees showing off in the windows. They blink and stretch toward the top of the curtain rods. Some are formal, dressed in white lights, while others dare to twinkle entirely in blue or even red. Occasionally, I sneak a peak at an old one, with those retro mammoth lights we had as kids. They came in every Crayola color, remember? Even orange. Hurling me back to the sixties when every tree was covered in angel hair and sprayed with fake snow, I love Christmas tree time.

But tonight, a fifty-foot tree in our town stands as host of the Christmas Season. I'll see it often, get some pictures, and remember it always. It will record itself in my memory book of my first Christmas Tree Time here.

I like that.

Blessings to you and yours.

The Joys of Working Women

I've got a blog post lurking in my head. Would love to stay and work on it. But it's 7:00 a.m. and I've spent too much time reading other friend's blogs. I better get my butt in gear or I'm going to be late for work -- writing for somebody else.

Oh, the joy of watching the clock.

Later, dudes.

Blessings to you and yours.

Post Thanksgiving Thanks

There comes a point in your life when you realize: who matters, who never did, who won't anymore ... and who always will. So, don't worry about people from your past, there's a reason why they didn't make it to your future.

I'm thankful, this rainy Sunday morning, for the friends and family members in my life. They are the substance of my existence. I'm also thankful, for my relationship (though sometimes a shaky one) with Jesus. Yes, I'm a believer.

It doesn't mean I'm a Bible-thumping, right-wing Conservative, in-your-face fanatic. No. It simply means, I've experienced the miracle hand of God moving in my life. I have seen the evidence of him as he has passed my way. I'm grateful he's in my present and future. I know what it means to have the blessed hope.

He is a living God. Make no mistake.

Not a fire-breathing, old man with a beard and lightning bolts in his hand, or a pissed-off God. A God ready to strike mankind off the face of the earth.

No.

He's my friend.

And like a true friend, he's always there when I need him. Never imposing, always patient, kind, and ready to remind me that I can talk to him ... even when I don't need him. He's misses me.

Thanksgiving was busy, but I was reminded of how he, like my friends and family ... needs to see me more often. We've had an on-again off-again relationship, but I've always known him to be there, waiting, faithful, and responsive. He's real to me. Very real. And above all this Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for that.

It was one of the best Thanksgivings ever.

Blessings to you and yours.

Thanksgiving Blessings

This week, I'm fixing Thanksgiving Dinner for eight adults and one 15-month old. I started last week, planning, plotting, and pouring over my recipes. It's not an easy feat. Each day demands that I cook something ahead of time.

Saturday, Mike and I scrubbed floors (my hands and knees still hurt) and caught up on laundry. Last night I looked out my kitchen window and my husband had built a blazing fire under the stars. Down by the barn, the flames shot up into the cold Carolina sky. I thought it a blessing to live in the country ... where you can still burn leaves and logs and not worry about your neighbors. (Personally, I love the smell of a good bonn fire.)

Thing is, it was time to relax. For me it was sitting next to the fire inside the house, reading a book. For Mike, (he'd had enough of the Panthers game) ... it was time to piddle outside.

A great way to end a busy week-end. Now all I have to do, is stay on target the rest of the week. I am looking forward to the holidays this year. (New house and all.) There's always a new set of problems, stress, and things to "worry" about. But somehow ... we'll get through it. We always do. I'm learning more lately about how to let all that worry turn into positive energy.

I'm standing on solid ground. I refuse to walk into my future backward, glaring at my past. This week is going to be a good week. For you, also.

Thanksgiving Blessings to you and yours.

Once In A Blue Moon

That's my blogging efforts these days. Once in a blue moon. The weeks fly by. This working full-time thing has tied up my time, my writing mind, and my sincere efforts to blog consistently. I'm amazed at how fast time has passed since my last entry. Thanksgiving is next week and I find myself still dreading computer time at home. When you work all day on one for somebody else, it's not fun to face it at home for yourself. It's just not.

I've determined that after Thanksgiving, I'm going to find a routine to write. Although I do squeeze in a bit of writing time nearly every day, it's not enough. Not compared to past years.

All I can do right now, at this minute, is say I'm sorry I'm such a wus when it comes to my blog. I will try harder in the future. And if by some miracle you decide to check in from time to time, just know that eventually ... I'll be writing under that blue moon.

Blessings to you and yours.

Whining For No Good Reason

I've spent the end of October and the first part of November getting busier at work, crashing when I get home, then waking at the crack of dawn only to start yet another day. Weekends fly by. I feel as though I'm outside myself, watching my life pass by like an old movie. Halloween has come and gone, and thankfully, a President has been elected. All while I'm attempting to squeeze in time for laundry, a new recipe, and yard work.

A trip up to Mt. Airy, Pilot Mountain, and the Snappy Lunch Diner last Saturday lifted our spirits. The air was crisp and Autumn colors exploded over the foothills. A fleeting afternoon that although fun, it flew by.

I don't remember life being like this when I worked full-time before. I'm forcing myself to find a good book this weekend. I've started several bad ones, which have all landed back on my shelves with note to self: give away. (Somebody publish something worth reading, how 'bout it?!) But lately, it seems all I want to do is cuddle up with my husband on the couch and watch hours of mind-numbing TV. This past week election coverage was interspersed with HBO and ESPN. Nothing great, just plain old TV. I'm not a TV person, that's the weird part!

Quite possibly it's the season. Other than building a new fire pit out by the barn, we don't spend much time outside. The cooler weather means winter is coming. Life, in and of itself, is slowing down. In nature and inside me. I'm whining when I should be writing!

Work is good. In fact, it's great. If I have to work, this is the place for me. A fantastic boss, I work alone, I enjoy meeting the patients, and it's over at 5:00 p.m. There's no taking work home, worrying about getting behind, fear of tomorrow. It's perfect and I'm thankful for it. But I'm feeling guilty for not writing while I'm dozing on the couch.

I suppose it's going to take some time to sort it out. Get the feel of this full-time work thing again. Now if someone would just buy my novel ... my whining would stop. Ha!

Blessings to you and yours.

Halloween Fun In Oak Ridge

Ahh, been a while. Sorry about that. Working full time leaves me pooped at the end of the day. Last Saturday was our Halloween bash in town. Enjoy the pictures!

Hauling The Trash Out Of Our Life

I'm not pack rat. I love a clean house, order, and simplicity. But during last week's garage sale, I realized I had trouble letting go of a few things that ordinarily, I would've stuck right out there on the table and slapped a price tag on it. Maybe it's because these items have belonged to me for such a long time, it didn't seem natural to watch them being carried off by somebody else.

Things like - lamp shades I'm not using, chipped knick-knacks, picture frames, and dishes. It's not like I'm going to use these "things" any time soon. If ever. So why couldn't I bear to part with them? Possibly I didn't want to dig them out of the closet and haul them out to the garage, just to haul them back in if they didn't sell.

Habits, problems, issues in our lives are like that. We hold on to them, because they been there for so long, they couldn't possibly belong to anybody else. We're embarrassed to "put them out on the table" for folks to see. And what would happen if we tried to rid ourselves of the habit, when in the end ... we take it back anyway?

Something to think about, eh?

Blessings to you and yours.

Getting To Know The Neighborhood

Not all garage sales are alike. Today we had our first garage sale at our new place. We host a bi-yearly sale, inviting family to bring their junk/treasures to sell along with ours. In years past we've seen our first customer before dawn, usually at 6 a.m., selling out by 10 a.m.

Today, we didn't see customers until about 8. Everyone had had their coffee. There was no mad dash to be first in the door. Nobody bickered over the prices. It was a constant, steady, and slow stream of customers. In nice cars, clothes, and even full make up on a few women. (We're not in Kansas anymore.)

I tried to hide. My idea of doing a garage sale is falling out of bed, throwing my dirty, unbrushed hair into a pony tail, washing the night's grease off my face, and pulling on any pair of sweat pants and t-shirt regardless of the holes, paint, and coffee stains. Hey, at garage sales, I'm selling my junk, not my books. I'm not out to win any beauty contest. I like making $150.00 on crap that's been sitting in my shed and closets. It's worth a morning's work for that.

But it was interesting, having a garage sale in this new neighborhood. At first I thought we'd made a mistake, because there was nobody waiting to get in. But eventually, they trickled in until most of our stuff sold. Most people wanted to talk, find out who we were, where we came from, and if we knew the history of our house ... because after all, they'd lived in this town all their life, their grandma used to know the old lady who lived in our house, and they could tell us all about it. After all.

I felt like it I was hosting a family reunion instead of a garage sale. It was a blast, the folks were friendly, complimenting our home and barn. But I'm drained. I feel like I could go back to bed. Except there's $150.00 burning a hole in my pocket.

Garage sales, I've discovered, are the perfect way to meet your neighbors. It's like an invitation to coffee, and browse the tables for old books, Nascar paraphernalia, beanie babies, and mugs with and without cracks. And the talk is always light, fun, and friendly. Not a bad way to start a Saturday.

Blessings to you and yours.

Leonardo

When you hear the name, do you think DaVinci or DiCaprio?

So I was reading Parade Magazine last Sunday (October 5, 2008) because one of my favorite actors adorned the cover. In an interview with Dotson Rader, Leonardo's star power has no boundaries. And neither does his burning desire for normalcy. He seems to be grounded with a better-than-average head on his shoulders. Not just in looks, but smarts. I love the way he's matured, grown not only as an actor, but as a man.

My point in mentioning this is that he said something amazing. It struck a chord with me. A loud, hard chord. Talking about his parents, he said, "All I have left are my parents ... I know that if one of them had been any different, it would have sent my life into a spiral of misunderstandings and insecurities about the world and about the relationships I have. Ninety-percent of the people I meet are dealing with issues they can't overcome because of bad parenting. That's the truth. There's that side of you that says, 'Time to get over the hurt and move on,' ... it's hard to do. So you just hang on to the emotion that this one didn't love me, or why didn't that relationship last? That stuff stays with you forever. You want to say, 'Get over yourself! Come on! Time to grow up!' Some people are able to do that, but a lot of us remain victims of it. So I was fortunate with my parents. Without them, I would never have been able to be as level-headed as I am, considering everything that's happened to me."

DiCaprio's parents were divorced when he was very young.

Made me think of my own grown children. I don't they they've ever gotten over some of it. It's my opinion anyway. I think they've been dealing with issues of bad parenting for many, many years. But it's over. Way over. We can't undo what's been done to us. They both are wonderful, wonderful people, thank God. Adults now, on their own, with great lives they've carved out all on their own.

Or did they?

I think they became such admirable adults because they were so determined not to make the same mistakes their parents did. They did a good job. But instead of feeling like DiCaprio feels about his divorced parents, I think ... their dad and I are still (on some level) the 'bad' parents. Now, no misunderstandings here, I know they love me ... and of course, their dad. They really do love us.

Maybe it's just I'm feeling the miles between us. They live so far away.

Anyway, not to worry. They don't read my blog. Or my books. I really wasn't the perfect mom. But they are and always will be, the reason my heart beats.

Leonardo says he wants to be known as someone who stood for something. I guess we all do.

God bless you, Leonardo DiCaprio, and your mom and dad ...

And blessings to you and yours.

Learning Something New

I'm learning a new software system. A medical software system. For my new job. And it's not easy. This weekend, I felt as though I were cramming for a final. My head hurt, I drank pots of coffee, and finally last night, my eyes gave out. Thing is ... I'm only half way through the book.

It's relatively easy to understand. But you know me, I have to know this thing! I pour myself over each page, making notes, trying to imagine each sequence. Ah-ha! I finally realized last night that this is the first time I've ever learned a software system totally on my own and entirely from the book! Not an easy task, especially when you're new to physical therapy and it's been a few years since running a medical practice.

The office is still under construction. A new physical therapy practice that is almost, but not quite, ready for patients. So I can't get my hands on a computer with this program on it, and until that time, there's been no sense in getting any instruction from the maker.

I'm wondering if I'm going to be so far ahead when I finally do get hands-on instruction, that I'll just whiz right through each application. Or, I'll have learned it wrong on my own, and become totally confused.

But in some aspect, working in medicine is like riding a bike. Some things have been drilled in so far, there's not a chance of forgetting. While others are new, fresh, interesting. The business side of medicine is complicated, and the insurance companies all have their own language. It's not easy. Yet I know, like anything else in life, once you apply it, learn it, know it ... you've got it! Until the next update. Policy change. Medicare notice.

Life goes on. I think I'll go read some good fiction.

Blessings to you and yours.

Strong Women

Strong Women ...
May we know them
May we raise them
May we be them

An anonymous quote, beautifully scripted on a decorator pillow that adorns my bed.

How many strong women do you know? Have you known any? Don't think about Mother Teresa or Eleanor Roosevelt, but consider the women you meet every day. What makes a strong woman? Do you raise your daughters to be strong women? How?

Are you a strong woman?

Think about it.

Blessings to you and yours.

SCREAM!

Is there nothing more disgusting, disturbing, and annoying than some jackass punk who has turned up the bass on his "radio" so loud that you can hear it a half-mile away, in your house, with the windows closed? (No exaggeration, here.)

I moved out to the country for peace and quiet, and yet gangster-wanna-be high school punks out here in the sticks STILL race down my road on occasion, with the music cranked so dadgum loud, I can't imagine their hearing isn't affected. Mine is. And my windows are closed!

There's got to be a law. There's got to be some way this invasion of my peace and quiet can be stopped.

And I'm not an old fart! I'm a classic rock lover from way back. But this shake-the-windows-in-your-car-and-my-house has to stop.

Beware, crack heads. I'm taking down license plate numbers and reporting them, hoping eventually we can create a law to stop your stupidity.

I love to bitch on my blog. It's gets it off my chest.

For what it's worth.

To Be Content

I look back at the past five years of my writing career with smiles and moans. I never expected the turns and twists, the bumps and the bruises. Well, maybe a few.

But it seems this writing thing I do, has taken a mirror image of my past struggles. We writers often think there's going to be a big pay-off someday. That fate is going to hand us a trophy for our diligence and our damn-it-all tenacity to succeed. Many of us fully believe we will find our rightful spot on the shelves of Barnes & Noble. And some writers see their name on the bestseller lists across the country.

Yet, for as much as I believe in dreaming those big dreams, I'm finding the "pay-offs" if you will, are not always what we anticipate. And like my daddy says, "wishin' ain't gettin'."

I sat next to a couple of lovely ladies this past week at the High Point Literary League's Fall Luncheon, where Jodi Picoult was the guest speaker. These ladies were as enthralled with the fact that they were sitting next to me, the author who wrote Southern Fried Women, as they were to hear Jodi Picoult. To these women, Jodi and I were on the same playing field.

Ha! Can you imagine?

I tried to explain, I'm a starving artist compared to Ms. Picoult who is light years ahead of me. But they didn't care a twit. They said they loved my book, "as much as anything Jodi had written."

My book. A collection of short stories. My only book, so far. A small accomplishment in comparison to Jodi P. I felt a little embarrassed. Embarrassed that I have not been able to yet see the success I thought I would by now. Embarrassed I'm such a small fish in an ocean of authors.

But then, I got to thinking. If this is all the success I ever see, then I'm going to be okay with that. I'm going to hope that Don Maass is right, that it does take a good decade to make a great novelist, but if it doesn't happen ... I'm going to keep on writing because ... that's my heart. That's what I love to do. Not because I think I should be on the same playing field with Jodi, or Nora, or Danielle, or Diana. When you get to my age, and you've been through a few of life's wars, your accomplishments begin to take on different shapes. Strange how that happens.

Does that mean one should settle for whatever comes? No. It means we writers must find contentment to be who we are, not who we hope to be.

Should I continue to pioneer my way to publication? By all means. But it doesn't mean there's going to be a big party waiting at the end of the trail. By all means, dream big. Always dream big.

Just know, there may never be a big "pay off." There may only be one book and this blog. But as long as I write for the right reasons, believe there's a few who want to read what I write, then I'll keep plowing my field. Sowing my word seeds.

Harvest may be a ways off. I may have to pray for rain. But in the meantime, I'll just go ahead and write the next story.

Blessings to you and yours.

Cookie Weather

I love to bake cookies. Especially in the evening, they make the house smell yummy. But I especially love to bake on cold, wintery evenings. Like tonight. We've skipped Autumn and have landed on a Winter's day. A prelude of things to come.

After working for ten hours, there's nothing better to clear your head than fresh baked cookies, a glass of cold milk or hot tea, and a good TV movie. Along with a crackling fire. A toasty blanket. And a riveting book to read during the commercials.

This evening, I popped a couple dozen chocolate chips and peanut butter chips into a brown-sugar cookie batter, added a few chopped walnuts, and Wa La! Comfort food to get through a night of howling, cold wind, rain, and dropping temperatures.

It's amazing how a batch of hot cookies, fresh from the oven, can melt away your problems. (Godamighty, I sound like a commercial for Pillsbury.)

I feel like I'm preparing for the holidays. This year, in my new (old) farmhouse, I'm ready for it.

It's cookie weather. And I'm ready for it, too.

Blessings to you and yours.

What A Dish!

Saturday, Replacements Limited in Greensboro held the grandest yard sale of the year. A dish lover's paradise, over two acres of porcelain, china, dishes, bowls, serving platters, you name it ... they had it. In boxes on the ground. Hundreds and hundreds of them. Close out patterns, some chipped, but most were not. You could dig through the boxes, pick around and pull out a real find! The place was packed, but folks walked away with thousands of dollars of dishes for $5.00 a box!

And so did I.

After I hiked a mile from the parking lot, it was $5.00 to get through the gate and $5.00 for an empty box, which you could fill as full as you wanted. Or could carry.

I was in heaven.

Fortunately, Michael came to my rescue to carry my box instead of relaxing and waiting on me in the car. So then I decided ... I'm going to fill the darn thing up!

And I did.

Beautiful plates, a few serving bowls, and tea cups and saucers. 130 pieces in all. All for 5 bucks! That's almost for free!

What am I going to do with them, you ask? Some have already been through the dishwasher and have held my breakfast. Some are on my walls. The rest will end up in my own garage sale. I'll make more than 5 bucks on what I sell, you can bet.

But then, a few will be given as presents, Christmas and otherwise, to friends and family whether they like pretty tea cups or not. (So look out!)

My husband has always said I am "quite the dish!" Ha. I guess that's not far from the truth.

Blessings to you and yours.

Are These The Last Days?

I think Wall Street would like us to think so. CNN and the rest of the networks have to sensationalize something, don't they? I mean, well gosh, there are ratings to think of. They've got to keep us glued to the Boob Tube somehow.

Your remember Y2K?

Trouble is, it's hard to separate honest reporting from sensationalism. Folks are always running scared from one thing or another. From Anthrax, terriorism, long gas lines, poison Tylenol, coffee, sugar, and even colored toilet paper. But nowadays, they're running from just the possibility of bad things. Always looking over their shoulder for the next bomb to drop. In my opinion, this financial crisis could be solved in one fell swoop. Let's get out of Iraq. Period. Simple. (Well, I wish it was that simple ... but we spend billions every day fighting a war nobody wants.)

But that's too simple for Congress. Somebody is making money off that war, and it sure isn't the average American.

I'm also very, very familiar with "end-time" signs. The born-again Christian's belief in the end of the world. Go to http://www.raptureready.com/index.php and check it out.

It's not just the journalists who have everybody scared to death. I grew up with the fear that God was going to destroy the earth any second. Truthfully now, I vividly remember thinking that my children would never grow up. It was in the late 1970s and I honestly believed that we (the good Christians who were rapture ready) would never see the 1980s.

I'm not so gullible in 2008.

I'm also not so arrogant to think these aren't the "last days." But I don't worry about it anymore. I live my life. I can't change the gas situation, the money market situation, or the problems with the Federal Reserve. All I can do, is cast my vote and pray. Besides if you believe in the hereafter, like I do, our lives are just a blip on God's radar screen.

Are these the last days? Nobody really knows. Nobody.

What I can do, however, is have peace in my own house. I refuse to live in fear. Flat out refuse.

And if that means keep the Boob Tube turned off, that's what it means. If that means boycott web sites like "Rapture Ready," then I will.

My trust in God has nothing to do with the world and its problems. His eye is on the sparrow, you know? I won't bury my head in the sand, but I won't live as though these are the last days.

Even if they are.

Blessings to you and yours.

Pioneering A New Frontier

I've been thinking about the word pioneer. I wrote in yesterday's blog, "My plan is to pioneer a path to publication ... " Hmmm. What do you think I meant?

Numerous definitions in the Dictionary drove a chill down my spine, as if someone dropped an ice cube down my shirt:

One who is first or among the earliest in any field of inquiry, enterprise, or progress ...
To be the first to open or prepare a way ...
To take part in the beginnings of; initiate ...
To lead the way for a group; guide ...
Being the earliest, original, first of a particular kind, etc. ...
One who opens up new areas of thought, research, or development ...
Leading the way; trailblazing ...

Am I a pioneer? Can I do this?

Pioneers traveled to our country’s frontier for many different reasons, they all wanted an opportunity to start new lives.

I too, want an opportunity. A life as a writer where my work is read by millions.

Most pioneers were farmers.

Most writers are hard-working citizens. Not looking for a hand-out, we work relentlessly in solitude. Most writers are middle-class, average folk ... not celebrities who can't write a lick and are handed publishing contracts for their stories written by ghost writers.

Pioneers went to Oregon, Texas, and other areas of the frontier for land available for homesteading.

I, too, will venture into a frontier, an unknown territory, to homestead my place on the book shelves of America.

Pioneers wanted the rich, fertile land for their crops.

My desire is to find rich, fertile minds -- hundreds of thousands of readers for my books.

Other pioneers traveled to the frontier because they had heard stories that made the new lands sound like magical places. Some went to the frontier in order to prospect for gold, to hunt and trade.

My frontier is filled with stories, new lands, and magical places. I will also prospect for gold, hunt, trade. My wagons have a way to go, my load is heavy, but my spirit is stronger than ever. It took time to cross the country, danger rode along with each pioneer, some never made it. But in the end, they blazed a trail. Found a better way.

My intentions are not to discredit the industry, but just to find a better way.

In the end, I recall and will live by the Pioneer's Creed: The Cowards Never Started. The Weak Died Along the Way. Only the Strong Survived.

Wagons Ho!

Blessings to you and yours.