The Past Five Days

I don’t suppose there’s any other way to put this. The past five days of my life have been undeniably one of the highlights of this country girl’s life. There’s nothing like the first time. The first car, the first boyfriend, the first kiss, the first job, the first time you have sex, the first baby, the first house, and the first book.

I launched SOUTHERN FRIED WOMEN on Thursday evening, June 1st, and I must say, there’s nothing like the first time you sit at a table and sign your name for a line of people wanting to buy your book. I sold 82 books that night. It was more than a success—it was triumphant! I can’t begin to explain the feelings … but I shall try.

May 31st, early in the morning I interviewed with Bill Flynn, DJ for WMAG FM soft rock radio. A ten-minute interview that was reduced to a minute on the air, but nevertheless, an interview by a prominent radio station. I was thrilled and honored to not only meet Bill, but also talk about my launch to virtually thousands that morning. Previously, I had interviewed with Mike Moore on WLOE radio in Rockingham County, and that was great because I could call in from home. But this was in the studio. A little more nerv-wracking.

Later, I spent the day anxiously waiting for my daughter to arrive. I don’t get to see Jillian much, as she lives in Ohio. It’s a crazy, fun time when Jilly comes. Her step-dad loves her to pieces and I can’t get enough of her … I wish I could hog-tie her to the porch, keep her here ... but she's got a life away from me now. I guess I'll have to live with it.

June 1st, Foxx 8 interview with Cindy Farmer … an early morning curtain call. Michael and I headed to the studios early. Ever been in a green room? I always wondered what it looked like. Nothing other than a room with chairs and donuts. Yep, these TV folks love their donuts. Michael opened the Krispy Kreme box with elation … “Want one?”

“How can you eat at time like this?” I said. My stomach in knots, I wanted to get the whole thing over with. Roy the weatherman made chit-chat with us a moment, then I was hooked up to a microphone pack and led like a puppy to the set.

Cindy Farmer is as sweet as she is pretty, but all business. I think those TV-types concentrate from one moment of news to the next, so they’re not into “getting to know their visitors.” But … all in all, I think it went as well as could be expected. She seemed to like the book. Then I watched the recording of it when I got home. Godamighty. I wore black, but those 10 pounds TV adds looked more like 110 on me. I’m not into viewing that again anytime soon.

The launch – what can I say … magnificent. I couldn’t have done it without lots and lots of people who loved me and helped every step of the way. Dena and Blair Harris stood by and greeted guests, Blair sat at the “PAY HERE” station, and Dena introduced me with a speech that people are still talking about. She’s amazing. She set the tone for how the public will view my work for the rest of my career, and you can’t buy that kind of enthusiasm or friendship. Dena Harris, an accomplished writer in her own right, gave freely that evening. I can’t begin to thank her and Blair enough.

Tim and Tina Rich, my dear friends from Ohio, stood behind the wine table and had a ball. They got a little snockered, but loved every minute of shouting my virtues to every guest that came to their table … I had to laugh watching them, but I also teared up trying to thank them … having them there, feeling their support meant the world to me.

I saw so many from writing groups, friends, family, and places I had worked, I can’t name them all … and what really amazed me was all the people who came that I didn’t know. And those who couldn't come, please know I felt your presence and good wishes. I appreciated every prayer on my behalf. Gail Gurley, Beth Hanggeli, Deb Bryant, you RULE!

The High Point Literary League members came and Lois Foscue, past President, spoke about the Scholarship Fund I was donating 50% of the proceeds from the book launch to. I appreciated their support that evening, and hope to someday speak to the members at one of their events.

The evening rain held off, the Bouldin House was the perfect venue, and over 100 guests came and filtered through the garden, meandered over the veranda, and listened to the sounds of guitarist Gregory Allen Young play and sing his soft music that wielded it’s way into the warm evening air.

June 2nd and 3rd, off to Carolina Beach! One night with my friends Tim and Tina, we ate at a great Southern cuisine restaurant on the Cape Fear River, and kicked back for the weekend. A breather for me. Visited a few winery’s, sat with our feet in the ocean, shopped at Southern Pines, and toured Pinehurst Golf Resort on the way home.

June 4th, Sunday … before my entourage departed for home, five of us headed for the winery at Childress in Lexington … ate a great lunch, tasted fine wines, and languished in the low-humidity (for a change) and sunshine.

I can't even begin to thank my husband for his tireless work on this launch. I won't even try. I'm the luckiest woman in the world. The man lives for his family ... he takes my breath away.

Now here it is Monday morning … and I’m in no mood to work. I still feel the need for another few days of R&R, with the past three months of working non-stop days and nights on this book. But, alas, the call of my novel is loud in my ears. I hear my characters whispering among themselves … they want and need my attention. I will pick up that torch this week.

Who knows, maybe this time next year … we may be in the midst of book launch number two. TELEVENGE is just around the corner, begging to be finished. And I know it will be exciting beyond belief to launch that book. But somehow, I don’t think anything will ever take the place of this first book. SOUTHERN FRIED WOMEN has started the ball in motion. For that, I will be ever grateful to the characters that called my name, and to the many friends and family that supported me on the night we launched her.

Blessings to you and yours.

A Test Of Endurance

Did you ever hear your mama say she'd been, "stretched to the limit?" Lord, I sure have. It reminds me of how I feel today. But the good news is the Book Launch is here. Thursday evening should be quite the event. Anyway, I'm hoping for one. Not for me. For the book. Southern Fried Women was a test of many things for me.

This week, it's endurance. How many more places in the Triad can I find to hang posters ... check the list ... cake, wine, chairs, music ... it's like planning a wedding reception ... only there's no bride and groom!

The RSVP list is long and I've been getting good radio and TV coverage. The books are available from southernfriedwomen.com or at all book stores after June 15th. They will be in Ingram and Baker & Taylor data bases, where all good stores go to buy their book inventories.

I have a feeling, there are more tests of endurance in the future. This is only the beginning.

Blessings to you and yours.

Dreaming and Driving

We do a lot of it. Not drinking ... DREAMING.

Michael and I have had to start over too many times in our lifetime. Meaning ... not acquiring much when you're moving from place to place. Not that either of us are materialistic ... because that's certainly not the case. God knows, we've had very little to even know how it feels. But when you get to our age, all the "stuff" you wanted in your 20s and 30s isn't so important anymore.

Since we married later in life (now going on four years) we want a new home ... together. Not just any home ... but land ... and possibly a log home. A goal ... a dream. And we dream together. On sunny, warm days ... like today ... we take long drives in the country. (Who cares about the price of gas, when you're looking for just the right spot to park your butt until you die.) We have dreams of entertaining ... the kids (and God hopefully someday ... grandkids.) We want to relax on a wide wrap-around porch that overlooks acres of land, with no noise --- other than nature. A pond, a stream, trees, views ... yep ... we want it all.

A place of refuge that we can hide away. After road trips, we can head home ... to a place we can call our own. I can bake pies, make dinners, or have just wine and cheese dinners should we choose NOT to eat. A place to bring antiques home and hang out my sheets. Call up friends, and have them in for dinner or the weekend. Christmas in front of a big log fire. Ahhhh....who in their right mind can blame us for dreams like this.

Not that the little house we live in isn't just fine. It is. The flowers are beautiful again this year, due to my gentleman farmer of a husband.

But what we wouldn't give to look out over a pasture with horses and a barn, and not hear traffic, or music in the cars that drive by the house, or the neighbor kid's basketball until 11:00 at night, or the other thirteen dogs in the fenced yards around us.

A place to write, a place to hike, a place to live and to die.

So we dream and drive ... from one side of the Piedmont to the other, up into the Blue Ridge and south of Madison and McLeansville. I've had blue prints ready for over a year ... I think I'll just faint the day I see the house really go up.

I'll let you know when I wake up from this dream.

Blessings to you and yours.

Flawless

Can you hear me laughing?

Nobody is flawless. Nobody. Not a single soul on God's green earth is flawless. Whew. That's a relief. I'm so tired of people in their blogs pointing fingers (especially those in the writing business) at all the mistakes and blunders of others. Never having walked in another person's shoes, we have no idea what makes a person tick.

Short of murder, or any horrific crimes to another human being or animal ... I think we should all stop passing judgment on men and women who frankly, screw up and become an idiot for a while. We don't know what events or problems in their lives caused them to do what they did. We're so quick to broadcast somebody's screw-up. Typical. The news is full of it.

Sorry for the rant today ... I just want you to remember the next time you're ready pass judgment, don't throw that stone so fast. Unless you're a flawless individual, reserve preaching about your ethics. I doubt you'll find everyone you've known or have come in contact with in your lifetime will agree with your perfection.

On a lighter note ... how about that last American Idol show, huh? They get better every year. Frankly, I didn't care who won. I thought they were both awesome. Katherine's powerful pipes will take her on her own path to stardom ... and did you notice (or is it just me) that Taylor has not only the moves but facial twitches and body language just like Elvis? I mean listen to him ... really listen ... it's eerie. We've not had anyone in the music industry that's come close to replacing (if such a thing could be done) Elvis. Taylor Hicks is truly unique, but he carries Elvis personna and that .... I would venture to guess ... will make him a super star.

Have a great Memorial Day weekend ... go out and be as close to flawless as you can ... but when you watch somebody flip the burger into the grass ... just laugh, pick it up and blow off the dirt, then put it on Aunt Bessie's bun for gossiping the past two hours about every woman in town.

Blessings to you and yours.

We Never Know Until We Try

I wonder sometimes ... if this road I'm on will have fewer bumps than in the past. Giving my speech yesterday to the Rotary Club, I heard myself talk about my life to a group of people I'd never met. I'm afraid I teared up in a couple spots, where I never thought I would. I'd gone over it and over it. In my head and out loud to friends and family ... and yet, when the "spotlight" was on me ... it was as if I'd never heard it before.

Strange.

The reaction? "Beautiful," said my friend Gail Gurley. A couple of the women said they teared up right along with me. Some enjoyed the funny parts, when I spoke about my childhood ... and some shook my hand afterwards, and said, "Thank you, thank you for coming today ... that was inspirational."

When I think about the adversities of some, the old cliche' "it could always be worse" rings in my head. Lord, let's hope not. I think talking about the past to the public puts it in a whole new light. I can only hope the road I'm on will not lead me in a circle, but straight to whatever my destiny truly is. And with any luck, it will be peace and quiet ... fulfillment and satisfaction.

Out Of The Dark And Into The Light Of A Writer may inspire some, make a few laugh, piss a few zealots off ... but it is what it is ... and I weave bits and pieces of it into each story I write. It's not something I can help, for it is the life that has called my name.

You can never be sure how you'll be seen, accepted, loved, until you put it out there. It's a risk. A roll of the dice. A shot in the dark ... but you never know until you try.

Blessings to you and yours.

Time To Start Speaking

Last minute notice, the Archdale Rotary Club lost their speaker yesterday ... and guess what?

My friend and fellow author, Gail Gurley, called and asked, "I think it'd be a good idea, a week before your book launch ... could you fill in and speak at Rotary tomorrow?"

"Sure, what time should I be there?"

Gulp.

I've been practicing my newest speech ... preparing for the speaking engagements my publicist is booking for me. I feel I'm close to ready. So ... I might as well find out. I guess this group is as good as any to cut my teeth on. The Archdale Rotary Club will be the first to hear COMING OUT OF THE DARK AND INTO THE LIFE OF A WRITER.

Having worked hard on this presentation, it's my life unfolded for the world to see ... revealing why and what caused the edge in my work ... not just why I write, but what events I draw from to create memorable works of fiction.

I remember delivering this particular speech to my speech coordinator ... (of course, the fabulous Dena Harris.) We'd worked on it for some time when she said, "I got goose bumps when I realized what you've been through ... if I were in your audience, I'd be enthralled with this speech."

Let's hope the rest of the world feels the same.

I'll stumble through the first few deliveries, I'm sure ... but this is my life ... I know it well. I'll have no problem making a crowd feel as if they haven't wasted their time. Sometimes, to appreciate a book, a work of fiction, or even non-fiction, it's helpful to understand where an author is coming from.

When we realize who we are, we understand that nothing can stop us from becoming that person. - Christine Lincoln

It's time to present my work and along with that comes my story.

Blessings to you and yours.

Our Nation's Capital and the Book Expo

Don't you just love that line in Forrest Gump when he thanks Jenny for walking with him around "our Nation's capital?" I think about it whenever I travel to D.C. or through it on my way to New York. This week-end was like a scene from the movie ... the Washington monument, the breathtaking buildings, the publishing world all converging to the Convention Center for the 2006 Book Expo.

SOUTHERN FRIED WOMEN sat proudly in her spot on the shelves of the New Title Display. We moved through the tightly packed isles of Warner, Putnam, Simon & Schuster, McGraw Hill, Little Brown, and on and on. Stood in line for our favorite authors. Made a few more connections, talked to booksellers. The day was grueling on the feet, but the book environment makes my heart sing.

If you're a writer, write it on your list for next year. The 2007 Book Expo will be in New York City. A must for any aspiring author. It puts it all in prospective. Meaning ... how small you are in the publishing universe. How microscopic small.

Blessings to you and yours.

Book Expo 2006

Mike and I are off to the International Book Expo in Washington, D.C.

SOUTHERN FRIED WOMEN is on the New Title Display, and I've got to see it! I'll be working my way through the crowds ... visiting every publisher's booth, publicist, agent, and otherwise that I possibly can in the short time we're there.

This is our third Book Expo (2004 in Chicago, 2005 in New York City - next year I think it's back in NYC) ... but it's something every writer needs to experience at least once in his or her career life. I'll be reporting back after I'm home. This year for me, it's more about networking, learning, and promoting my book rather than picking up every freebie I can stuff into my sack.

The Book Expo is an amazing place where the world comes together for the glory of the written word. Don't deny yourself the privilege of seeing it at least once.

My book launch is right around the corner ... it's going to be quite the par-tay. Last night I met with folks that will be attending (a surprise) and then I stopped in at the Open Mic again for the Winston-Salem Writer's Group. I didn't have time to drive to Greensboro in time for the WGOT event at the college, otherwise I would've been there listening to Mary Elizabeth Parker, Chairman of the Dana Awards, talk about "What Editors Are Looking For."

But I'm super glad I stopped at the Open Mic, because I couldn't believe my eyes. The group is growing by leaps and bounds. This fantastic writers group is over 100 members in just a year. They're doing things that amaze me ... doing something right, obviously! And everyone, it seemed, opened me back with open arms and enthusiasm.

A writer's life is full of trying to make time for everything. Book Expo, writer's groups, networking, publicity ... how do we find time to write? I tell you what I did lately. I deleted all blogs (except a few of my friends I know personally) off my bookmarked favorites from my Internet home page, as well as other sites I just don't want to spend any more time on. Use the Internet for research. Read blogs, study the craft, research the Internet but spend your time wisely. If you're reading blogs all morning or evening ... well you know if you've done it, you've used hours up that you could've been writing.

So I zapped the blogs and sites I no longer want to be tempted with! It's easier to ignore them if I don't have them bookmarked. Otherwise, I have to google them or look up their web site to type in, and I'm less apt to do that. No more blog reading unless it's something I want to research, or occasionally catch up on a favorite author or agent from time to time. But if I tune in every day ... add that time to the time I take up writing my own blog and answering emails ... there goes half my day.

No more. That advice includes you reading me ... I'd rather see you spend your time on your next book!

Blessings to you and yours.

Shelia Kay Adams - Born Storyteller

This was my second encounter with the amazing storyteller, Shelia Kay Adams. The first time was in the spring of 2004 at the North Carolina Writer's Network Conference at Peace College. Mesmerized, I couldn't get her out of my head for days. She talks about her heritage and the people of Appalachia with such grace and truth. The words that come out of her mouth are like cotton candy when it goes in. Sweet and soft.

When I saw she was going to be in town for the Storytelling Festival, I went to hear her speak and read from her book, My Old True Love. Her first book, Come Go Home With Me ... are short snippets of her life. Both excellent.

She's the first author I could sit and listen to ... all day. Expecting her first grandchild in June, a boy, you can watch her eyes sparkle when she talks about him. I felt as though she's itching to get her arms around him ... family means everything to her.

She talked about recording your family, getting their stories down on paper before they're dead and buried. I could kick myself for not talking more to my own grandparents who are all now deceased. But my plans are to get the rest of my family recorded. My parents, Mike's mom, and some of the old timers at my family reunion. There's still lots of story gathering to do.

Shelia's background so closely mirrors my own that I feel kin to her. If you love the music and the stories of Appalachia, then read her books ... and go hear her sing next time she's in your area. The love ballads she and her husband sing will melt your heart.

Shelia Kay Adams can go home with me anytime.

Blessings to you and yours.

Speech Writing 101

(First I want to bitch about how slow this damn Eblogger site is. If you're considering setting up a blog ... go elsewhere. Use another blogging company. This one sucks. It's like using dial-up.)

Geez, rant is over.

I'm in the process of fine tuning my speech. This is the speech I will be giving to groups who are not only interested in me as a writer ... but my book, and more importantly ... what was it that cultivated my writing career. I've been reviewing this with a coach, friend-Dena Harris-who has taught speaking, is a member of the NSA, and of Toastmasters ... (and has also ghost written work for a life coach.) Dena says she gets goosebumps when she hears me give this speech. And all I do with Dena, is read it back to her ... I'm not really "giving the speech" just yet.

But Dena's reaction is exactly what I want. Goosebumps. I want the listener riveted to the seat, mouths gaping, and goosebumps. Because, in truth, certain events in my life have given me something to write about, and I want those who take the time to come listen to me speak, to understand that and come away with a feeling of triumph.

Writing a speech is not easy. First, as a writer, I write the darn thing and then wonder if I can deliver it, all the imagery ... if I can speak it as well as it's written. It's a tough project ... so in comes Martin Rader ... speech coach to the stars. I'll be working with Martin on the delivery, getting it into the hearts and minds of my listeners. Not wasting their time.

Another step in the writing process. You see, writing a book ... is just the beginning. You have to promote the book. (I know ... you've heard that already.) But how much do you think about speaking to hundreds, and hopefully thousands ... yeah, that's what I'm talking about it. If, as a writer, you cannot fathom yourself speaking in front of a group of people, then it's time to reevaluate what you're doing. If you want to write for pleasure ... never intending to sell you work, then no problem. Just write. Enjoy yourself.

But if you want to sell, then take a drama class, speech class, join Toastmasters! Do what you have to do to break that fear of speaking!

Side note: I read a good book this week ... Unfinished Life by Mark Spragg ... I love it when authors break the rules set up by "experts." No less than six points of view in this book, and it works! Plus, it's been made into a move ... with Robert Redford and Morgan Freeman ... but my suggestion is to read the book ... it's much better than the movie.

Okay ... back to cleaning up the speech.

Blessings to you and yours.

What If It Didn't Matter So Much?

A person very close to me was asked this question recently. What if what people thought of you didn't matter so much?

The question, right off the bat, brought out a great answer ... "I suppose I would do a lot of things different."

Think about this. Isn't it amazing, mind-numbing in fact, that so much of what we do is all because we want to please somebody, make others happy, want others to think well of us. Oh yeah, I hear it said so often ... I don't give a damn what others think of me ... but their actions tell a different story.

I think most of what we do in life, is because we want our families, our friends, our co-workers to like us, not disappoint those we care about. What if it reeeaaallly didn't matter so much what anyone thought of you? How would you change? How much of a people-pleaser are you?

I think we all are. Some of us more than others. Is it so wrong? How much does it hinder our own happiness?

I don't have any answers. It's an interesting question, though. One I thought you might like to ponder on.

What if it didn't matter so much?

Blessings to you and yours.

Big Love

Okay, I’m no TV freak. In fact, I rarely watch it. Some people I know can’t live without it and have it on 24/7. It drives me crazy, but I’ve learned to ignore it. Anyway … I have to admit – I look forward to Sunday nights. I’ve watched the Sopranos forever, but now … I’m hooked on the show, BIG LOVE. Have you seen it? It fascinates me.

It’s about a polygamist, his three wives and all their children. Another look into the minds and world of those who embrace the out-of-the-ordinary. However, this family is not part of the “order.” They live in the real world and try to hide their polygamist life-style. Bill Paxton plays the husband of these wives, and the plot, needless to say, is riveting.

I found myself appalled by it at first, because all we really hear about polygamists are the child abusers and those that abuse the welfare system … we see weird people on TV that look like they’ve come right out of the 19th century. They live in a commune in Utah and we think all Mormons are like that. Have you heard about the horrific Warren Jeffs? Google him. Read up on this madman.

So going into the first episode, I was ready to turn it off before it even started. Then I watched the first fifteen minutes, which turned into twenty, and so on. Now, I’ve not skipped an episode! If this type of polygamy truly does exist, I can see how some would embrace it. The children are loved and always cared for by a family member, and the women really do have a mind of their own, choosing among themselves the nights who gets hubby. But, alas, it's not an easy life, as the actors are quick to point out.

It's true that the problems seem to far outweigh the benefits. It’s definitely a fantasy world for a man, but for women? Other than the fact we all know there are some days you just need your space from your spouse, I can’t imagine sharing my husband with anybody, not like that. It seems this type of polygamist (other than sharing the same husband sexually) lead wholesome lives. (But what is wholesome to one could be pagan to another, I suppose.)

On the flip side, the whole religious issue, obviously, interests me. The way these people bring religion into their world amazes me. The Bible also talks explicitly about adultery … so where do they, how do they, draw the line?

In the meantime, it’s fascinating table conversation, and the show is fun to watch, as the writers do great work with the plot. The actors are stellar, but you need to see it from the beginning. Of course, HBO will run it all over again … and again.

I asked my husband, after last night’s episode, could you handle two more wives, honey? He laughed. “Are you kidding? I can’t handle you!”

I rest my case.

Blessings to you and yours.

Ghost In The House

I'm dead serious.

Well ... serious. This thing thinks it's funny to scare the crap out of me. (Only for the moment.) The first time we noticed it was about two months ago. I work late at night, usually. The house is quieter, I can think more clearly when there are no phones, TV noise, Mikey interruptions. So, it's late and Michael is already in bed, but still awake with the bedroom door closed and his TV on low. I'm in my office with the door open, the rest of the house is dark. Suddenly, across the hall from my office -in a dark bathroom- my hair dryer (which is plugged into the wall) comes on.

I think, what the hell is he doing up using my hairdryer? Michael hears it and thinks what the hell is she doing using her hairdryer this time of night? I roll my chair back, look across the hall, the bathroom is dark, the hairdryer is running. Now you have to see this hairdryer. It's a Vidal Sassoon with knobs that give your thumb a bruise every time you roll it on. Maybe because it's new. But it's still a tough push with your thumb to roll it on or to roll it two clicks to HIGH. Which is exactly where it was. Rolled to HIGH.

Next incident - I'm working late at night, Michael has gone to bed, turned his laptop off and unplugged it. We share an office, his desk is in the opposite corner of the room, so our backs are together when we work. Needless to say, I'm working away on edits of Southern Fried Women, and I hear his laptop come on. I look over and there's a picture of me on the monitor --- his screen saver. I'm thinking that's unusual, he went to bed without turning off his computer. I keep on working, say to myself that I'll turn it off when I go to bed, then a while later I realize it's off. I look down ... it's unplugged. I shake my head, thinking about the hairdryer, and keep working. Moments later it flips back on again ... showing my picture on the monitor. I kid you not.

Third incident - I'm standing in my bedroom by the closet. The only time we watch TV in the bedroom is at night. You have to use the remote and one button turns these on by holding it down. First the cable box turns on then the TV. It's sometime after dinner, I'm looking in my closet for something, and the cable box and TV snap on. By themselves.

Fourth incident - Michael's cousin comes to stay with us, and the walking sticks we have displayed in the room she uses, (which haven't moved for a couple years - shame on us) suddenly fall over in the middle of the night.

Fifth incident - I walk into the kitchen, my mother-in-law is watching TV while fixing dinner. The TV goes haywire. We both think it's the cable acting up as it has been known to do. We think nothing of it. I go back to my office. The fuzzies on the TV stop. Later, I walk back into the kitchen. It does it again. We think nothing of it. I walk out, the TV goes back to normal. Third time, it happens again, we look at each other ... the TV in the family room is also on but is not doing what the kitchen TV is doing and they're on the same channel! It stops when I leave the room.

Sixth incident - Michael's in the livingroom, I'm (where else) in the office writing. All of a sudden I hear the TV blaring in the bedroom. It come on by itself and is turned up extremely loud. Guess what's on? A televangelist, no less. We NEVER watch that channel. This incident bugged me for days. My book, Televenge, is about the dark side of televangelism.

Most recent incident - Last evening. I'm in the bathroom, getting ready to go to a book signing at Barnes & Noble, and I try to open the door to leave the bathroom. It won't open. I'm locked in. The door can only be locked from the inside. It's one of those that you just push the button on the knob. But it's NOT locked. The button is up. But the door won't open. I BANG on the door. The dogs go crazy, Mike is working-he's not home, my mother-in-law starts kicking the door trying to get me out, I'm thinking maybe I can squeeze out the window, but even though the house is a ranch, it's still a drop to the ground. We're freaking out by now.

Finally, I holler for her to go to the tool box in the garage and get me a phillips screwdriver - "Shove it under the door, Mama! I'll take off the door knob." Me being the physically challenged person that I am around tools, I finally manage to get the door knob off after five minutes of being all thumbs. But it still won't open! Damn it! My hands are greasy, my hairdo is gone, I back up and slide down the wall. I'm going to spend the rest of my life in the bathroom!

Finally, I tell her to slide a flathead screwdriver under the door. Bada Bing! I pop the hinges off and tell her to push the door in from her side. She does (the dogs are still going crazy at this point) and the door - yay - comes entirely off. We stand there looking at each other, sweat pouring down our faces, our eyes as big as half dollars ... drained. What would've happened had I been alone in the house? I suppose a bubble bath, a pedicure, and possible cleaning out the medicine cabinet I've been putting off, would've been involved.

Okay ... enough is enough. This haint has to go. They say Southerners own their haints. I don't know where I picked this one up. But it's not funny anymore.

Am I scared? Well, it does give you the heebie geebies, but NO, I recognize these things. I know what it is ... my mother had all kinds of experiences in her lifetime. Enough to fill a book. Some people will read or hear about this and think we're crazy, and that "everything can be explained away." Typical reactions to the unexplained. For centuries.

I have to laugh. You can say that all you want, until it happens to you. Then you explain it and let me know what you come up with. Ha!

I've heard it follows families. It really does not scare me ... like I said, my mother has been dealing with it all her life, kind of like diabetes or a hearing loss. Do I believe in ghosts? Not sure what it is. I just know these things don't just happen. There is another realm of existence out there. There is the unexplainable. Whether people want to admit it or not. All I know is that ever since I started writing about my family's history ... weird stuff has happened.

Maybe it's my grandma. Who knows. I know I have authority over it, I know we laugh about it a lot, and I know ... it just may be trying to tell me something. I went to the book signing anyway and everything was fine.

Perhaps, there's a local ghostbuster team I can call?

Blessings to you and yours.

Countdown To Launch

The book is done ... printed ... complete. The list has been made ... and it's time to get even busier ... getting it all done will take take every bit of the four weeks we have left. I saw a quote by Oprah the other day and it resonated with me. "The universe is a complicated place, and if you're going to thrive, you'll need to dance to your own music." I suppose it can be said that every book published can be promoted differently.

Sometimes, though, I feel like I'm flying blindfolded ...

Four and a half weeks until SOUTHERN FRIED WOMEN is officially launched.

My head is swimming.

Blessings to you and yours.

Pat Conroy and Friends

I attended the NC Festival of the Book in Durham last Sunday. The campus of Duke University was filled to the brim with literary types ... book lovers of all sorts.

Michael and I had just stepped out of our Honda and walked up the sidewalk, when Pat Conroy pulled up in his Lincoln with his wife, Cassandra King, and Anne Rivers Siddons in the back seat. Another relative of Pat's, a kind, sweet gentlemen (who teased me ... stating he couldn't believe I allowed Cassandra to blurb my book ...) stepped out of the car and needed assistance getting into the building. My husband went to look for security to come to his aid, while I stood and chatted with the group. Pat was adorable, to say the least, shook my hand, and ushered me right up to his wife in the car ... then he was quickly swooped up by "festival people" and taken to the Page Auditorium where he would be on stage (in rocking chairs) with Doug Marlette and Bill Ferris ... giving the thousand or two in the audience what they came for. A talk about their lives, their work, and their decades-long friendship. Funny, touching, and mesmerizing to have these great writers in our midst.

I gave Cassandra a signed copy of my book, which she had happily blurbed, and was able to visit with her and Anne Rivers Siddons for a few moments before they were also bombarded with people wanting to get close--wisk them away to the place they needed to be before starting their own panel, along with Mary Kay Andrews, Writing About Southern Women. Right up my alley, eh?

But before I headed to the Reynolds Theater to listen to three of my favorite women authors, I caught most of Pat's talk and then ducked in the signing line in time to meet Pat again and have him sign my copies of Beach Music and My Loosing Season.

Of course, you know, I network while standing in any line of book lovers. When I started handing out post cards about my book SOUTHERN FRIED WOMEN, (I'm a blatant self-promoter--as you have to be in this business) a feeding frenzy began. Everyone around me, about a dozen people, wanted my post card and then ALL of them asked me to sign it! One woman even asked me to sign her autograph book! HA! I was awed beyond belief. What a feeling. And all I was doing was standing in line, just like they were, waiting for the famous Pat Conroy to make an appearance and sign our books.

But they found out I was an author. I'm quickly realizing, that title carries with it a mystic and a certain small amount of celebrity. I've always felt it about other writers, but never thought for a moment it would happen to me. BUT (a huge but) ... I know where I stand in the scheme of things. My humility and sincere appreciation that anyone would want to ask for my autograph, will astound me all the days of my life. Because I know who I am and where I came from. I'm just a country girl, that likes to write books. Anything beyond that, will always amaze me to no end.

I'm sure Pat and Sandra Conroy feel the same way. They're just Lowcountry folk, humble and precious people. Writers I aspire to. I was blessed to have met them, touched their lives if only for a moment.

Blessings you and yours.

Update on Dad

Three hours on a conference call with my sisters and my parents … is there a drink strong enough for that?

We worked it out. Still can’t tell you what burr got up his butt for the letter he wrote, but it doesn’t matter. We hashed it out – aired our grievances, and declared our undying love for each other.

Sometimes you just have to … let it go. Realize, your parents aren’t perfect, but they’re the only ones you’ve got, and I didn’t want to loose them to such silly and stupid stuff as “why aren’t you calling me more?”

Ugh.

We’re strung out in four different states; it’s not going to be easy. So, my sisters and I decided (collectively) to do the conference call thing with my parents every Sunday. At least for a while. It’ll make them feel better, I think. And truthfully, it’ll make me feel like we’re all a family again. Gone are the days when we could all drop into mom and dad’s house at the same time. We all used to live within hours or minutes of each other. That doesn’t happen anymore. I think the years have taken their toll on daddy, and maybe, he’s just a little sad.

We'll still keep tabs on his physical state more, and try hard to "watch" him (and mom) more closely over the coming months. Make sure they're happy and healthy 70 somethings.

So, we buck up. Do what we can, and realize … family is family. No matter how you look at them. I have my best friend, Tina, my husband and his family, my children, and my dear friends here in North Carolina and I love them dearly. But we can’t choose our family. They’re our past, present, and future … so we might as well make the best of it and love them all … unconditionally.

Blessings to you and yours.

Gardening Woes

It's a wreck. And it takes hours of backbreaking work to make it pretty again. Last year's weedy and overgrown garden looks like an orphan with long, stringy and matted hair.

Ughhh.

The flower beds in the front have all bloomed and have been weeded and fertilized. New topsoil has been added and anyone driving down the street would think we know what we're doing. Ha!

Don't venture in the back yard. Other than the peony bush, which is beautiful, and the petunias that have reseeded themselves from the previous five years ... we need to spend a few weeks weeding and planting. But - never fear ... Michael is getting his farmer tan as we speak. He's plowed through half of the garden, pulled the worst of the weeds, worked the soil, and planted tomatoes, green beans, cucumbers and bell peppers. And radishes, let's not forget radishes.

The shed needs work, the flower bed all down the fence line needs a little TLC, and the deck needs painted, but other than that - it's still April (for two more days.) We'll get there.

We've always planted green beans (pole beans) by the deck. They wind up the side of the railings and it's beautiful, giving us pots of delicious beans for the supper table. Except last year, our little dog, Ariel, decided she liked snacking on green bean leafs. She ate off the tops of our deck beans, and that was that. Who knew ... our pooch likes salad.

So, you have my sympathy if you're buzzing the local greenhouses, nurserys, and Lowes this spring. Trying to fit in outside work with inside work. As much as I hate cold weather and winter, it does give you a rest from working in the yard. But then, as much as I bitch about it, I absolutely love it when it's all green, producing, and manicured.

Time to get out in the yard and pull and few weeds, plant a flower or two, and pull a few muscles.

Blessings to you and yours.

Is That You, Dad?

All of a sudden, my dad has turned into someone I don't know. I think I've been romanticizing him for quite a while now ... possibly I was wrong to do that, I'm not sure. I've been writing all these great things about him. A few to be published for Father's Day in a local WV newspaper. And now ... I'm wondering, who is this man I call, "daddy?" He is a special person. Or at least, I thought he was.

My siblings and I received a very weird and out of the ordinary letter from him last week. A letter to all of us, addressing the fact that since he worked 6 and 7 days a week "all shifts" that it entitles him to more of our attention. That mother "applied herself more than need be ... " so why aren't we calling?

I'm not sure where this is all coming from. What started it? He wants (is demanding) more of our attention, even naming some of the older grandchildren along with his ranting.

I can tell you ... this unfounded complaining baffles me. I spent hours with him last year and this year ... on the phone ... researching my stories, talking about our family's history, looking up things on the internet, sharing information and we visited them in Florida (where they live) twice last year. It's hard for me and for all of my siblings to just pick up and spend time states away ... anyone would understand that. They spent over a month, maybe two, with my sister in Ohio recently.

We do call. And I know for a fact, my siblings have NEVER ignored them. My siblings, probably even more than me, call them and see them. Maybe not every week, but I doubt there's ever a week or two that goes by but what mom and dad hear from one of us, or one of their grandchildren. Frankly, truth be told, they NEVER call us. Or if they do ... they never leave a message.

That all aside ... I'm concerned. I'm a baby boomer with aging parents. Should I be concerned for my dad's health at this point? He still drives ... maybe we should start becoming more alarmed than we are. This behavior is out of character for my father. At first, it frankly pissed us off, then when the reality of it hit, we were all hurt. Especially the grandchildren. Did he really think he could pull us in closer by alienating us? By throwing one of his famous temper-tantrums? That may have worked with our mother all these years, but it won't work with his grown children. How do we tell him that? Geeez.

He's an intelligent, warm and interesting man, my dad. I hate to see those attributes dribble away.

I think he's still special, but something's amiss. I feel his childlike behavior, his entitlement, his expectations need to be addressed. I wonder if all grown children of elderly parents experience these types of problems? Do we love them through it, or do we "discipline" him for his childish comments and pouting?

My siblings I have lots to talk about in the coming weeks ... where did our dad go, and can we get him back again. It's a family crisis I believe everyone goes through to one degree or another.

Blessings to you and your parents.

Can We Learn Too Much?

Just as a writer can "over-write" a story, there comes a point one can "over-learn." With the mammoth amount of information regarding the craft of writing on the Internet, the books in print from "professionals" in the industry, and the plethora of writing conferences available ... I think it's time to say ... Enough!

There comes a moment when you just have to put the books down ... and write.

As wonderful as it is to have it all at our fingertips, it's also a roadblock. I know writers who spend their entire day, or at least half of it, scouring the net instead of writing. Then when they begin to write, their creative instinct is in the toilet. They're constantly referring to the last piece on grammar they just read, or whether their verbs are right, or their mind wanders to the blog by some snarky agent that's had it with crappy query letters ... and it literally zaps all thoughts of character, plot, and conflict right out of a writer's head.

We never stop learning ... but the best way is by doing ... not sitting on the sidelines watching everybody else. Sure, it's competitive, and you're going to make mistakes. There's no doubt, we writers must crawl before we walk and walk before we run. There's nothing wrong with learning as much as you can about the craft, take classes, and by all means - go to writing conferences.

But - there comes a time when you have to put all the good advise, all the book learning, all the well-said words from coaches, teachers, and other writers -- put them all into your brain funnel and see what comes out the other end. You can work on your marketing plan when you're close to finishing your novel. You can think about publicity when there's something to publicize. You can read all the blogs and web sites by other writers and how "they did it" when you've allowed yourself the spare time to digest it. (That includes mine!)

I would rather see writers find their voice, write their ideas, rewrite the stories they stuck in the back of the file cabinet last year, than to think they're not good enough to write because "how can we remember all this STUFF!"

Sometimes, when I'm listening to music, there's just one note ... one chord or piece of the song that moves me. I may write pages and pages of crap, and there's one little paragraph that outshines them all. One sentence that usable. One word that just pops out and becomes part of the finished story. My point is - the two best ways to learn how to write are these. 1) Read, by this I mean read other finished books, and number 2) Write.

Simple, isn't it. Doesn't it take all the guesswork out? Sure, we'll get rejections, and it might take longer ... but we'll find our own unique voice, and the work will become publishable. To the point one might even break out.

So, don't worry about how much you don't know. Don't dwell on the success of writers around you and the fact that you feel so far down the ladder. When it's time to find an editor to help you with your final submission ... you will. When you need to find a critique group ... they're out there waiting for new members all the time. After you've written your book and think you need to learn how to write a query letter, the information is as close as a google or your next Writer's Digest.

In the meantime ... find time to write your heart out. That's all you need to know, for now.

Blessings to you and yours.

New York City and Southern Fried Women

What a combo.

My trip to the Big Apple was filled with dinners in the city and talking about my book. Friday night was dinner with an agent and editor couple, as well as Saturday with another agent - all three people have become great friends of mine ... and professionals I've learned so much from. It was pure pleasure to place a copy of my first book into their hands. The rainy weekend prohibited sight-seeing, but I've done plenty of touring in New York, I needed the rest in between drives through the Lincoln tunnel and into the city.

The International Women's Writing Guild on Sunday proved to be my best performance yet. A panel of twelve authors, all of us speaking about our own publishing process. Everyone has their story and many of them struck a chord in my heart. It's a rocky road, and not always a sweet one. But the authors all had something important to say -- about their work -- about publishing. The audience could take a word or two home from each of us.

I spoke regarding my own experiences through this crazy maze of publishing. I must have resonated with many, because the positive responses fed my readiness to finish my novel. The next piece in the puzzle. A interesting thing happened, though. A woman in audience came up to me later, grabbed my hand and said to me ... "you must publish that book!" It wasn't so much what she said as how she said it, the look in her eyes ... haunting.

So ... Televenge is the next work to be done. Southern Fried Women was the precursor to it ... it's done now. I'm going to be speaking all around the South and reading from the SFW - but in the back of my mind ... Televenge is calling to me for completion. I went to New York City to introduce my collection of short stories to the world, and I came away with a clear path as to what I'm supposed to do next.

Blessings to you and yours.

Starbucks and Minton Sparks

The Writers' Group of the Triad hosted Poetry, Jazz and Java, along with the GSO Library last evening. An open mic at Starbucks and a room full of poetry lovers. In honor of National Poetry Month, I had to go to at least one PJ&J ... as I do love to hear author's read their work ... poetry or otherwise. But this time ... I decided to honor my favorite poet, Minton Sparks.

Good ole' Minton ... when I read her poetry, I see her carrying an old suitcase full of clothes down a railroad track in her best house dress. I can smell the sawdust and imagine the look on her face as she sneaks in the back of a revival tent to rest. I can hear the cicada and feel the heat of the day picturing her as she drinks sweet tea on the front porch with all of her "criminal cousins." I love that gal. Nobody "sings" poetry better than Minton Sparks.

I read four or five poems by Minton ... my favorite being John 3:16, Guest Preacher at Prayer Meeting. The room was packed, lots of younger students, one of which asked me if 1) I would be reading at my book launch and 2) could she could bring her class. "Of course!" I said.

The poetry inspiring, some of these people read their work and I had to wonder, why weren't they already famous? I don't write poetry, but I love to listen to it and recognize good poetry when I hear it. Good job, Greensboro poets!

But this was a great opportunity for me to read again in front of a group, practice delivery of lines, and invite another flock to my launch. Gregory Alan, Professional Jazz Guitarist, played and sang. I've seen Gregory perform at various book launches, at many of the events for National Poetry Month ... and I realized last night (or Michael did) that we had to have him play at our launch! Talented, extremely talented man.

Leaving this afternoon ... to pick up my books in Baltimore, then on to New York City and the Big Apple Conference where I'll be speaking on Sunday. Butterflies in my tummy - galore.

Stay tuned.

Blessings to you and yours.

Writers' Night Out

Last night was open mic ... Writers' Night Out ... only this time it was with the Winston-Salem Writers! Wow! An enthusiastic crowd of about 30 and talk about talent! Poetry and prose, all mixed in together - I LOVED IT. Extremely friendly folks and you could tell ... they really wanted to be there.

Some writing groups I belong to (which shall remain nameless) are tired, old, and worn out. The people could care less about each other and especially about supporting the group as a whole. There's no comradery, plenty of bitching, old-fashioned thinking, and it's just plain awful to be a part of it anymore. The only thing they agree on is that they disagree ... on just about everything. I don't have time for that anymore.

It really becomes apparant when you visit a group like the Winston-Salem Writers. Because I not only want to go back ... I plan to join them!

Maybe it's because they're a young group, but it became obvious to me after the room filled to capacity, this was the highlight of their day. The writers range in age from 30 to 80 ... corporate executives to the unemployed ... and the applause for each reader was genuine. I couldn't get over the enthusiasm for each and every reader.

I met some of the coolest people ... folks that had something to say ... and it didn't matter to them if they ever published a word, they liked the fact that this group gave them the opportunity to share their work. No-one felt bigger and better than anybody else and the crowd at the coffee house thought nothing of staying until the last one read. Over two hours of writers reading their work.

Amazing.

I read. Of course. Two pages of a story from my new book, SOUTHERN FRIED WOMEN. I read from VERNELL PASKINS, MOBILE HOME QUEEN. I thought it was well received ... and I invited the group to my book launch ...

Warm, warm folks. I'm still basking in the sunshine of it all.

Blessings to you and yours.

Crazy Week

I keep trying to get back to all those questions I've been asked about writing. But they take time to answer thoughfully ... and God knows I've not had time to answer thoughtfully lately ... this week is no better. So bear with me ... keep reading ... I'll get back to the list soon. If you've followed my Journey, you know I skip around ... but I get to it, eventually. I don't apologize for my A.D.D. anymore ... what's the point? Now that I know what it is, I realize I'm not making excuses for my scatter-brain ... it's who I am. That's why I have Michael ... he holds it all together for me. :-)

We're off to New York City this week, so the craziness begins. We're picking up the first copies of SOUTHERN FRIED WOMEN in Baltimore on the way, can you feel my excitement through this email? It's like walking through water ... I'm almost there.

The to-do lists are long, but the air is charged ... I've written my speech for Sunday and now I'm off to a Southern woman's favorite hot-spot for last minute shopping.

Wal-Mart!

Blessings to you and yours.

I Yam what I Yam

Popeye was one of my favorite comics as a kid. I don’t know why, but I always had a soft spot for good ole’ Popeye. He was a little ignorant and took a lot of abuse from Brutus. Popeye would take Brutus's crap only so long, then he'd snap. His pipe acted as a blowtorch or a cool can opener, and WaLa, another can of spinach ready for consumption. Popeye would then gulp it down, his muscles would grow, then he'd beat the snot out of his adversary.

Of course, Olive Oyl was no prize, but Popeye always won in the end.

The point is--Popeye didn’t put on airs. He let everybody know, “I yam what I yam.” What you see is what you get … like it or lump it.

I feel kind of like that today. I’ve been taking my lumps from Brutus lately and I’m looking for my blowtorch pipe—I need to beat the snot out of a few problems. Sick of the way things are in some areas of my life. I’ve got to make changes. Michael and I have worked hard, I’m tired of crap … extra stuff in my life I don’t need. I feel the need to streamline my life in all areas. I feel like I can’t throw another punch … it’s time to stop and smell the roses … win my prize … even if it’s Olive Oyl.

I yam what I yam.

Where’s my damn spinach?

What's Hot, What's Not

I've been reading online (so what else is new) several blogs, articles, and otherwise of well-known authors, agents, and publishing houses telling us what the market is looking for these days. The "hot" picks. The ones that go snap, crackle, and pop in the eyes of those doing the buying and bidding.

Young Adult is hot for some, not for others ... Chick-lit is all but dead ... Erotica is on the rise ... Hmmm. It seems to me no one really agrees with all this. There's so many opinions on the matter of what is selling and what just lingers backstage, that authors have to ignore it ... for the most part. By the time you write and sell something for what's hot in the market, it'll be lukewarm if not down the drain.

Of course, if you write erotica now, then you have to be a bit excited to see the sales bubble for your genre getting attention. I think the internet has a great deal to do with the increase in sales of erotic books. People go online and read reviews, see what's available, then buy the book without leaving the comforts of home. Like buying those magazines that come delivered in plain brown wrappers. Or do they do that anymore?

I think TV has something to do with it, as well. Prime time TV is coated with sexually explicit shows, comments, scripts, lines, words, themes, plots ... you nor your kids can get away from it. My suggestion ... if you want to keep little Johnny sheltered, better turn off the TV after 7 pm or keep it on the Disney channel.

I suppose the evangelicals could hop right on here and claim it's this kind of stuff that has American going to hell in a handbasket, and that we shouldn't buy it, watch it, read it, sell it, or keep it under our beds. Don't start with me on this ... I know some of the biggest users of ponography are evangelicals.

I suppose all this talk about what's hot in the book market has got me thinking as to why it's hot. Erotica, if dispensed in small doses ... most people can handle it. It sells, obviously. Advertisers have always known that. I think it's here to stay a while.

I write Southern fiction ... (giggle) I wonder where I can fit it in to my work? Oh ... the movie Deliverence comes to mind ... how do you write trash that's really not? Guess I better get busy reading Erotica.

Maybe the next writer's conference I attend will give a class ... How To Write Sexually Explicit Material in Six Easy Steps. Or How To Write Material Your Mother Would Never Read.

Somehow, I doubt the Bible Belt would stand for it.

Blessings to you and yours.

Sunset

The orange light sifts through the trees in my front yard, it makes the world soft and care free. I love sunset. The shadows are long and smooth, like a fine wine - drawn out, lingering on the roof of my mouth. The air is warm still ... but a slight breeze pushes the chill of night closer. I rock back and forth on my worn wicker that creaks with old age ... like me. I know the sun's rays are reflecting in my eyes.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring.

Blessings to you and yours.

Help Wanted

What if there weren't enough writers for publishers? What if they had to solicit in the Help Wanted pages?

Seeking Talented Authors - any genre that can make us lots of money - creativity a plus, able to write a complete sentence, cut and paste, use spell check, and format properly - must start work at 5 am laboring until midnight, 7 days a week (occasional Sundays off), work with editors named Jennifer and Katie that like you only to your face, and agents that never return your calls. No benefit package. Must possess M.F.A. or have great life experience, and thousands of people who know you and are willing to buy your book. Travel and promote your book on your dime with the slight chance of breaking out -- Starting salary - Nothing until we see your query, synopsis, first three chapters, and maybe ... just maybe, ask you for a partial ... you'll have to wait six months ... then we may decide to make you an offer ... toss it around some more ... edit the hell out of it ... you'll get a third of your advance upon signing, a third at delivery of a perfect manuscript, a third at publication ... could be anywhere from 2k to 10k for your first book - slave wages ... Must work two jobs or keep your old job until you write your fifth or six book. Come join our creative team, you'll love every minute of it!

Oh yeah, oh yeah ... can't you see us standing in line for that job?

But here I sit ... waiting my turn in line.

Next!

Blessings to you and yours.

Born To Be Wild

I grew up in time when Mick Jagger, Steely Dan, and Three Dog Night ruled the airways. Along with Paul McCartney and Wings and the Bee Gees. I was also a huge fan of Linda Ronstadt and anything Mowtown. It replaced the world of Peter, Paul and Mary, Jan and Dean, and Elvis and certainly Sinatra, Martin, and the Rat Pack. At least for most under the age of 30.

The class of 1972 was born to be wild ... we swooned over films like The Graduate, Love Story, and The Godfather. Every skirt was way too short, our burgers way too unhealthly, our values and ideals ... way over the top. We were like the landscape. We thought life would go on forever.

I was there, on the outskirts of town ... when the Kent State shootings took place. I saw the smoke. Little did I know history was being made. I was in high school ... we heard students were protesting the war at the university up the road. A couple of us skipped class and went to take a look. Can you imagine? How could we know that years later, Four Dead In Ohio would be a hit song? But we were young, wild, carefree, and yearning for excitement.

Most of the girls in my class were married before the 80's reared it's ugly head. Most of us had our first child in the 70's ... leaving them with babysitters as we were still in our early 20s learning to disco at the nearest club. Saturday Night Fever caused most of us to stray off the beaten path of motherhood a little for a night out on the dance floor ... forgetting, if only for a moment, about our ready-made families at home.

Of course for me, it was all done in hush-hush. I was a church girl. We didn't dance. It was forbidden. Ha. Little did they know, this wild woman could let her hair down when nobody was looking. No Pentecostal woman in her right mind would be caught dead in a disco. She could shake and shimmy in church, but only to Look What The Lord Has Done, NOT to Disco Inferno.

Amazing ... but then the world thought nothing about screaming and acting a fool at football games ... but when it came to the emotional world of Pentecost - "shoutin' in church" - that was foolish.

Hypocrisy on both sides, if you ask me.

When the Oak Ridge Boys sang Gospel, I was a groupie. If only in my mind. They represented both sides of the coin to me. They had long hair, a cool beat, and sang about God. They were rebels, the beginnings of contemporary Christian music. And I still loved Elvis ... I don't think my square peg ever fit into anyone's round hole of normalcy.

Either way ... both worlds had me born on the wrong side of the tracks. I questioned everything and rebelled against anything or anybody that attempted to put me in my place. Told me how I should act, or look, or be. And though my rebellion didn't always show outwardly, my wildness brewed inside and showed itself, usually at the wrong time ... getting me into trouble.

Women like me, who rubbed against the grain, were considered annoying. I never broke any laws, never carried a sign in protest, never participated in a sit-in, never burned my bra. What I did do was refuse to swallow every religious word shoved down my throat, quit jobs that paid me far less than a man doing the same or lesser job, opened my heart to any human different than me regardless of color, race, or religion. I told my daughter to never depend on a man to take care of her, instead of the opposite thoughts of generations before me. I refused to believe that working 9 to 5 was a way to make a living.

My dad has documentation of a great, great (how many greats-I'm not sure) but the woman was my grandmother from down the line, and a Cherokee. She escaped the trail of tears and settled in West Virginia, marrying one of my great grandfathers. Sometimes I think about her, wondering if that long stream of DNA rebellious blood had somehow found its way to me.

Even through years of feeling trapped and held-back, I was wild enough to carve out my own path. I think about Jesus, and how wild and crazy he seemed to the Jews and the Romans of that day. Wildly charasmatic, handsome, and full of life like those people had never experienced. He was wild, wasn't He? You see, I've never lost my faith, I just wouldn't let it be defined by any man in the pulpit.

I've "kicked against a few pricks," in my day. My subtle wildness is the best kind. And the most dangerous.

Blessings to you and yours.

Bad Boys, Bad Boys

What a sight to see! You know when you finally get fed up with a constant barking dog and those noisy neighbors, and you stomp to the phone to call the police department, but it somehow falls between the cracks of Barney Miller's desk?

Well, not today, baby.

Last week I sent a polite little email off to our local police department complaining about the loud speeding cars that race by my house every day. I swear, one of these days, some poor soul is going to end up hurt or worse. My road is a straight mile and a half of "country" road. Houses are relatively close, although there is a large cow pasture across the street. Still, we're close enough to the "city," we get a fair amount of traffic. My office faces the street ... and several times a day I hear the zooooom of fast cars racing by, knowingly going way over the posted speed limit.

So, like any concerned citizen for the safety of people living on this road, I emailed the police.

And today ... a fast moving motorcycle went racing by ... and then the sound of a police siren and flashing lights go flying after him. Then moments later, another speeder got popped.

Music to my ears.

How long it will last and will it stop the tazmanian devils on my street is anybody's guess. I just have to remember to watch my own speed when I'm in a hurry to get to Novel group.

Kudos to the A.P.D. COPS. When you deliver the facts, and nothing but the facts ... justice will be served to the bad boys, bad boys, what 'cha gonna do when they come for you?

Blessings to you and yours.

Elizabeth Berg

Yes, yet another in my collection of "Famous Author's I Have Met ..."

Yesterday was the Spring luncheon of the High Point Literary League. My friend, Dena, (www.denaharris.com) joined me for my annual trek to the High Point Country Club, lots of Southern ladies, a pretty lunch, and a famous author.

Dena had not had the experience of walking into this lavish place until yesterday ... "Almost like walking into a scene from Gone With The Wind?" I asked.

"This is some place," she said. My trendy, cool, hip and relocated Yankee writer friend who has already established her successful career ... still has moments of culture shock living in Dixie. Even though she's married to a Southerner, has a gorgeous home, and writing credentials from here to the nearest Biscuitville ... I think she has fun when thrown into a vat of "Southern culture." And I'm sure these ladies (or the majority of them) have no idea how "Gone With The Wind" they can seem to Northern women.

But the food, as always, was delightful to the eye and the palate, and the program was entertaining ... you want to hear the cool thing?

I was given permission by the Board of Directors to place on every seat ... AN INVITATION TO MY BOOK LAUNCH! That's over 300 seats! In addition, I was able to leave a stack on the Barnes & Noble table.

Dena took a stack of invitations, I took the other half, and we raced around the room ... I can't tell you how thrilling it was to see women pick up the invitation and read it! Hopefully, with my contribution of 50% of the proceeds from the launch going to their Scholarship Fund, it just might draw a few. Maybe a handful of these ladies will turn out for the launch party. It's a win/win for everyone ... and they get to go home with a good book!

Lyn Foscue, President, announced my book launch just before Elizabeth Berg was introduced. I wondered if Elizabeth remembered feeling so small and thrilled with her first book?

This woman has a dozen or more books published to critical acclaim ... she was an Oprah pick, for goodness sake. A few have been optioned for film ... and as she read bits and pieces from her many books, it was easy to see why. Just as our food was easy on the eye and the tongue, her words fell soft on my ears ... quite soothing to my writer soul, actually. I've read two of her books ... What We Keep and Open House. Yesterday I bought her new book, We Are All Welcome Here. Beautifully told stories that melt your heart.

I think Dena got a taste of the 'old South' yesterday, I love the networking opportunity at these meetings ... who knows, maybe someday they'll ask one of their own to speak ... Now wouldn't that be something?

Elizabeth Berg is one to aspire to ... we met briefly, she admired my invitation as the book cover was on the front, we chatted, she signed my books, another brief moment in time with a bestselling author who has "made it." I wonder if that kind of karma rubs off when you're around somebody like Elizabeth Berg?

Blessings to you and yours.

Time Ain’t On My Side

I feel like I’m tripping all over myself, apologizing to everyone for lack of attention to “things” due to being immersed in completing my book.

I watched a clip on 60 Minutes last night. These thirty-somethings were high into their careers, up at 4 am, on their hand-held computers, lap tops--sending emails--answering instant messages--using two cell phones at once--then off to their jobs where they work like dogs until 6 pm, drive home (all while flipping back and forth between two cell phones) and then work until 9 pm at night. I think they fit an hour or two in to eat, sleep, and spend time with their six-month-old baby. (When did they have time to make a baby ... and ... why?)

No thanks.

Are we all crazy? Has technology done this to us? Made us into corporate zombies ... enabling us to be able to work our lives away? I want to spend time on the front porch watching the sun go down, listening to the cows in the pasture, feeling ocean breezes on my face, telling stories about the "good ole' days" around the table. I want to slow ... time ... down.

And yet, I'm trying to slow my own life down a peg. Being a writer who also is into marketing and publicity means little time for anything else and many long hours! Sometimes I’m pecking away until way after midnight. I’m also pulled in two directions. Promotion is important, but my first love, of course, is writing. As much fun as it can be to brainstorm and implement new marketing ideas, what I find most satisfying is the creation and polishing of my stories. Right now I’m torn because all I want to do is perfect and tweak my novel.

And yet, more short stories are calling my name! But I also hear the call of this blog every morning, and know I need to keep the promotion wheels moving. What a dilemma! Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to sleep.

Time ain't on anybody's side, when you think about it. I think we're all in a fight for time. Whether we fight to squeeze as much in a day as we can, or force it to slow down by kicking back on our porches and refusing to budge!

Blessings to you and yours.

If I Could Save Time In A Bottle

I believe that's from an old song ... I often rant on this blog about not having enough time to get it all done. For some reason, I subconsciously think that by writing about the time I don't have, a few extra hours will mysteriously appear in my day. Silly me.

Michael and I have come up with a list of priorities ... but just looking at the four pages is daunting because, in fact ... it all needs done. We've been working steadily this week securing a book distributor, setting up our trip to New York in April and D.C. in May ... the BookExpo (Southern Fried Women will be on the New Title Display at the BEA), preparing for the Southeastern Independent Booksellers Alliance (SIBA) trade show, among other promotion and publicity things we have set out to do, (touring, speaking, and meeting the public.) Thank God for our publicist. This will be the beginning of ramping up to a good-sized job for her.

I told my layout artist just this week, "You know, I do believe writing it was the easy part." She laughed and agreed with me.

And it really doesn't matter who your publisher is, or whether you’re self-published ... authors must carry most of the burden of publicity on their own shoulders. (I've ranted about that, too.)

When you add up all you do in twenty-four hours that doesn't pertain to writing ... eating, sleeping, showering, driving, etc. etc. how much is left for family, friends, and work?

The slices of pie keep getting smaller.

So if I really could save time in a bottle ... I guess I'd write just for the fun of it, because I'd be rich and would never have to think about paying bills again.

Silly me.

Blessings to you and yours.

A Drop In A Bucket

I think sometimes, we writers feel like that. We're just a drop in a bucket ... an insignficant drop ... like all the rest of the drops made up to fill the bucket of books written for public consumption.

You can overwhelm yourself by looking at all the other drops out there. Where do we all fit in? And are all drops created equal?

I've been consuming blogs the past few days, blogs by authors as well as agents. Some blogs go right over my head. Just like ... whew! Over the top of my understanding. I can pick out sentences and certain paragraphs of interest ... hoping to learn some small nugget of truth that will set my writing world on fire, and then ... I think ... wow, they're way smarter than me. I don't know stuff like that ... they must've taught this stuff on the college level somewhere. For years.

And of course, there's the agents blogs that I ranted about yesterday ... and I'll not go into those again. Just that there are some interesting agents out there with high opinions of what they know ... let's leave it at that.

I begin to feel small, minute, and insignificant in the world of writing and publishing. I realize there are so many in the business that have been at it for decades, and are still waiting for their mountain-top experience. And then there's all the published and well-known bestselling authors that continue to fight to stay on top. (I think that's the most stressful place to be in.)

I go to the book expos and the writing conferences, and everyone is wanting a little piece of the fame and the recognition for their years of work.

.... all of us ... drops in a bucket.

But then, I realize ... I just finished a book, it's going to be published, and if I never do anything else with my writing career ... I'll have something out there that I wrote with my name on it that I'm proud of.

Let's hope this drop makes one hell of splash.

That's what we do it for in the end anyway ... because we have something to say, we want to write what matters to us, to be read. Not because we think we know so much more about writing and want to "prove it."

Besides ... they may have a blog with a thousand hits a day, or teach at writing conferences across the country ... but they're still (when you get down to it) ... just a drop in the bucket.

We all are.

Blessings to you and yours.

My Sister Also Remembers ...

Hi Pam,
Enjoyed your blog. Brings back memories. When I close my eyes and think about Waterloo Road-- I think of lilac bushes, cement, and trees come to my mind. Cement? Yes! All that cement Dad poured throughout the years ... the big block patios in the back where I practiced cheerleading because I could see myself in the basement windows. Remember the sidewalk to the back that we used to run up and down?

The above is just a little snippet from my sister after reading my blog. It's fun to compare memories. I'm sure we would all find something different to add to the memory banks. All things to draw from when writing great stories.

A writer's life is made up of different parts. Parts of their past, present, and their hopes and dreams.

Remembering your past ... talking about it with your family ... you'll be amazed at the stories you'll spawn just recalling the good and the bad.

Remember the blessings.

Humorous?

I'm not sure just how funny I am ... but last night, I'm lying in bed thinking about my life growing up ... and I start laughing and laughing at all the hilarious stuff we did as kids. Growing up in a blue collar, middle-class world - we were sheltered. Poor but sheltered. Hicks from the suburbs.

I should've kept those memories fresh. I could've used them later. During the years (before, during and after) 'the divorce from hell' - I forgot how to laugh. I remember thinking, after several spring times, that it'd been years since really listening to the birds sing. I had traveled a road with lots of potholes and had forgotten that life needs to be laughed at once in a while.

So I'm laying there, thinking about how much fun it was to put things in layaway! My gosh, we couldn't afford to buy crap, but we knew how to use layaway! Just looking at the ticket from time to time, got us excited. It was like saving dimes in a dime book. You knew ... eventually ... the day would come and you would be able to make that last payment at Montgomery Wards, or JCPennys, or K-Mart ... and you could take your forty dollars worth of purchases home. Man-o-man, those were the days. It was Christmas time in the suburbs!

Buying school clothes at my house was first a trip to Goodwill, then maybe K-mart. Occasionally, JCPenny got our business if they had a good sale. But my poor sisters usually got my hand-me-downs. Mom could go to Goodwill and buy a carload of clothes for twenty bucks. She was pretty proud of that.

I just laughed as I thought about living with no toaster, using the oven instead. No such thing as a microwave in my house. Not until years later, when we bought an old model of the Amana Radar Range, remember those? It had to be the biggest, honkin' piece of metal microwave ever invented. Took up the entire countertop next to the stove. Eventually, Daddy installed it over the oven. As far as I know, that thing is probably still in use.

And of course, Mama bought us shoes at the grocery store. She'd make us lie down in the Produce Section, "Here, try these on!" Cheap pieces of plastic, tied together with string. You couldn't try both on at the same time and get up and walk around. Lord, no ... you tripped all over yourself! It was about that time you'd see somebody you knew from school walk past with their Mama and stare. You knew that girl would never buy shoes from the grocery store. Hell no. They wore shiny penny loafers with new pennies in the slot. Bought from Nobles Shoe Store ... right next to Isley Brothers Ice Cream Store where they would be rewarded after buying their new shoes.

Going to the grocery store was a trip. Daddy drove, because my mama didn't have her license. He'd sit in the car and wait. And wait. For hours. And we did too. It was either that, or follow Mama around in the A&P and get yelled at. "Don't ask me for nothin'!" Sometimes, we'd just pray she'd buy a cool cereal. Like Lucky Charms, or Cocoa Puffs. But it was always ... oatmeal and maybe Cheerios. Damn.

Mmm-mmm - But when I think about ice cream, I think about Isley Brothers where I had might have had the privilege of eating there once or twice. Too expensive! Mama would wail. But we were lucky, because Daddy loved ice cream from Stricklands. This famous "soft custard" stands out by the Akron Airport. We'd get our baths and wear our pajamas to Stricklands. Course, Mama would make us all get SMALL cones. But it was the best around. Still is, as far as I know. We'd hang out the car window, drooling. Daddy would walk back with six cones in a cardboard container ... it was heaven. And the first one done had to sit and watch everybody else eat. That was miserable. So you tried to lick your cone slow. But hot August nights, it was a challenge not to let that chocolate cone drip on your clean pajamas ... you could get a whippin' for that.

Remember when McDonald's opened? My mom was in heaven. She could feed the whole fam damily for six bucks. Every Sunday after Sunday School. Just like clockwork. We'd head to McDonalds on Market Street in our blue LTD station wagon. Cheeseburger, fries, and a coke we shared with another sibling. We were rich, we thought.

Ahhh, the list goes on. Drive-in movies ... Playgrounds at the drive-in movies were the best. Walking trips up to the 'store' for candy and bottle of pop. (Pop you bought from hauling a wagon full of empty bottles back for return money.) Playing on the school playground during the summer when nobody was around. Man, it was cool ... you never had wait for your turn on the monkey bars. Fried bologna sandwiches. Butter and sugar sandwiches on white bread. (What did moms of the 60s know about nutrition? NOT MUCH.) PopTARTS! Omigosh ... we ate them raw. (Not toasted.) Just opening the bag and smelling them today, brings back memories.

Cool whip ... when that came out, we thought we died and went to heaven. Mama would bitch and moan because somebody's finger had always made a gouge in the cool whip container. Usually mine. Of course, all our meals were either fried, or made with soup. Casseroles were the things during the late 60s and early 70s.

We had a grape vine in our back yard. And cherry and mulberry trees. Those were the only sweets we got sometimes. And we'd climb those trees and that grape vine and eat until we were sick. Our clothes and shoes would be stained ... and we'd be covered with bug bites, but we didn't care. It was better than sitting in the house. We didn't have computers, or TV games, or videos. No such thing. If you stayed indoors, you better be sick or prepared to work, because my mama would put your lazy ass butt to cleaning floors, scrubbing bathrooms, or ironing piles of clothes. No kidding. (Man, I hated the smell of Comet, Clorox, and Murphy's liquid oil soap. I still do.)

Rolling down the hill, especially before bed, was always fun. Then we'd lie in bed and itch for hours. Did you ever use cardboard to slide down a hill? We did. It was sledding without snow. And if we ever had the good fortune to get a huge box to play with ... the things we didn't do to and in that box would amaze you. Making tents over clotheslines ... hiding from boys ... begging to go swimming at Jindra's Landing. Now there's one for the memory books.

Jindra's Landing was a stinky lake made into a swimming hole. Complete with lifeguards (all of the Jindra kids) and a Concession Stand. It's where I got hooked on Reese's Peanut Butter cups. But every summer, all the way into high school, it was the hang out for kids from school during the summer. You wore your best bathing suit. And that's a story for another day. My religious mother would not let me wear bathing suits below my belly button. Oh no. But then, me being the rebellious teenager, I pulled them down anyway. Then there was the day she caught me. Ha! My ass was grass for a few weeks. (The rest of the summer was devoted to heavy labor and being up to my elbows in Comet and Clorox.)

And of course, those days you were on your period ... how did you explain that to the boys who wondered why you weren't going in the pool (or lake - as it was)? But you were a pretty cool chick if you could dive off the high dive like the boys. Oh man, I remember sitting on beach towels listening to the Beach Boys, the Monkees, and Paul Revere and the Raiders, and catching occasional news reports of the latest casualties from in Vietnam. (I guess that's not humorous ... just a memory.)

I could go on and on, I suppose ... the list is endless. I'm still laughing at some of the stuff we did. I need to think of fried bologna sandwiches next time I get a rejection letter or feel my bones creaking.

I may not be a funny writer, necessarily, but I can sure think of some funny crap we pulled as ignorant hick kids growing up in Portage County, Ohio and weekend trips to West Virginia, or Marietta. Those were the days, my friend.

I believe writers need some humor to draw from ... there's enough pain in ones life to write about.

Blessings to you and yours.

Next Question

Do I seriously need to attend a writing conference? I despise name-dropping, how critical is it to meet important people in the business? How connected do I need to be?

A. Yes.

B. Semi-critical.

C. Depends on how fast you want to be noticed.

How's that for answers? Okay, okay ... it's not as cut and dried as all that. But the first question is a no-brainer. Every writer out there will benefit to one degree or another by attending at least one writing conference a year. And I don't mean three states away. Every state has a Book Festival, or even writing classes available at the local community college. There's really no excuse to not attend a weekend retreat or writing conference. Even if you have no Internet availability, your local writing guild or group should be able to give you information on local conferences in your state.

And if you want to know the benefits of a writing conference, there are numerous blogs on this site, as well as other writing sites, that list them. Networking, honing your craft, networking, open mic opportunities to read your work out loud, networking, meeting agents/editors, networking, finding your niche, networking ... you get the picture. Even if all you want to do is write letters to your grandchildren on a regular basis, taking a class on memoir writing is invaluable to you. So go to a writing conference ... they're everywhere!

Do you need to meet and know people in the business? Well, it doesn't hurt. Just don't be a pest. Meeting an agent at a conference, following up with a 'thank you' email later, and submitting your work to this agent, doesn't guarantee representation. But you become more rounded in your ability to network. The way I figure it, is these people in "the know" are just like you and me. They have dreams, goals, and faults. They put their pants on one leg at a time ... (sorry for the cliché') but damn it, they're just somebody's son, daughter, husband, wife ... they need you too. What they don't need are leaches. But if you're sincere, and you like to meet people, meeting and getting to know a few agents, editors, successful authors, teachers, and booksellers ... it doesn't hurt. Some of them even enjoy the mentoring process. Just be smart about it. Query them, but don't expect them to jump at your work just because you "know" them.

Being connected always helps. It may even get you past a slush pile or two. It can get you a great blurb for your book, or an invitation to joining them for drinks or dinner - where inevitably discussion about your work comes up. Will it get you published any faster? I doubt it. Will it get you noticed? Maybe. Then why do it? Because of the outside chance you DO get published, noticed, and hooked up with the right people. Give yourself every chance you can. There's nothing wrong with that. The competition is tough enough. You need every break you can get. Just be sweet about it. Don't hurt anybody, and be kind and courteous. Don't be a jerk, there's enough of those.

I think really, when it all boils down, the best thing you can do for yourself to get published, noticed, and receive representation, adoration, and validation is one thing.

Write a damn good book.

The rest will take care of itself ...

Blessings to you and yours.

Freaking Out

What do you do after your book is done, at the printer in fact, and you see something on the manuscript you want to change? Nothing glaring, or even blatant. Not a typo or spelling error, or anything like that. My God, after twelve pairs of eyes pouring over these stories, you'd think we would have found everything.

But then you see something minor ... a missed comma, or a word that would make more sense to change to something else. How many times do you go over something before you can say it's finished? I begin to imagine some hot shot editor or agent reading my work and thinking ... What an idiot, she used rural and country in the same sentence! Geesh.

I start to sweat and wonder ... who will notice this? But I remember why I did it. I remember thinking that small towns in the middle of nowhere - to me, are rural. But in my story, I was referring to a rural spot in the country - meaning farmland, countryside, few houses - not a rural spot in a country town.

But, I'm just sure somebody - somewhere will look at this and say, "Yeah, and I'll be she says she writes novels of fiction!"

I wonder if Nora Roberts labors over her work like this? I wonder if Dan Brown spends hours and hours proofreading his work? Somehow, I doubt it. They've already "made it." They have a staff for stuff like this.

It's the little writers like me that sweat the small stuff.

Oh well, there are a few things I'm confident about. The stories are solid in their structure, they hold the reader, and they're full of conflict, twists, turns, and good old-fashioned storytelling. The characters are wonderful, you'll love them and even hate a few. They are great stories, I admit.

So, if they want to point fingers at this word, or that missed comma, they need to put it down and go read the perfect novel ... I'm sure it's out there.

Blessings to you and yours.

Going Forward ...

Blogging has been a weekly struggle as of late ... but I'm hoping now that my book is on its way and out of my hands, finally ... I can move on down the road and get things done.

But I'm tired, I want to crawl back into bed, and sometimes this blogging site moves as slow as dial-up! I just want to lie on a beach somewhere ... hmmm. Whining aside, I'm going to tackle my next question asked to me by writers. They ask it timidly, as if they don't want to hear the answer.

How perfect does my writing really have to be to land a book deal? In just one area or all of them? What kind of help can I really expect from an agent or editor?

The answer is easy for me, and should be a no-brainer to every writer out there. It has to be damn perfect. As perfect as you can get it. You better know your grammar, punctuation, and keep that dictionary close by. But besides that, you need to have a good basic knowledge in the craft of writing. Sure, you can hire an editor, and join a critique group ... but I hear so many people say, "I think I'll write a book." Not that easy, folks. Art is a craft like anything else. As much as one studies painting, or sculpture, or photography ... a writer must study the craft of composing words to create articles, memoirs, novels, short stories ... you get it ... it's a craft. The human mind has been so conditioned to writing for school, or business writing, or letters to Aunt Josephine, that we automatically think we can write a book.

Cracks me up.

It's why people hire ghostwriters. They don't want to take the time, usually, to worry about the structure of their story.

But without knowing the craft, you can submit to agents and editors until you're purple in the face, and you'll get nowhere. Don't expect much help from them either. They haven't the time. It's a different world we live in. You may get constructive criticism if you're lucky, in the form of a carefully crafted letter, or in a class at a writing conference, but all in all - editors and agents are in the business to make money. Not to teach. Bottom line.

So take classes, GO to writing conferences, join a writing group/critique group, network with other writers ... and the best thing to teach you the craft of writing is.... READ.

That's my advice on being perfect in your writing. But as we know, nobody truly is ... perfect. Sometimes, it's a matter of opinion, I think. Ah, but in the end ... it's the public that decides - your readers.

In the meantime ... we keep on trying. Never give up. Not for a second.

Blessings to you and yours.

The Next Step In The Process

It's done. SOUTHERN FRIED WOMEN is done. Well, about 98.5% done. As far as I'm concerned, it's done. All the changes in the final draft went out in Fed-X last night. I made my deadline just shy of an hour. Now it's one more quick overview to make sure the changes were made, (maybe adding one or two more) and then WA-LA, the book will be off to the printer, and I just may have a finished book in my hand by somewhere around April 15th. The last three weeks have been unbelieveable day and night editing, back and forth with my layout artist, and five hours a night of sleep.

But, whew. I must say, it's a beautiful book. It's 256 pages of stories to be proud of. I'm very happy with the way it's turning out ... impressed with my layout artist- beyond description, and the printer seems to know exactly what we're looking for. A kick-ass looking professional piece of fiction (including galley copies.) Mmm-Mmm.

It's been a long ride, from 1985 when I wrote the first story in this collection. The next step in the process? There's so many, I hesitate to think. I'm backed up on so much ... I need to meet with so many people ... my book launch is planned for June 1st, and there's a ton of work that needs done for that.

But, for today, I think I'll go to the next step in the process ... take a shower before noon, put on makeup so my husband doesn't forget what I look like, make my bed, find my desk again, organize my piles, eat out (a novelty) and then maybe ... take a nap. Yeah, that's my next step.

Blessings to you and yours.

In A Perfect World

In a perfect world, I'd have time for coffee every week with friends ...

In a perfect world, Dena and I would meet each week and go over the lists of accomplishments for the week, rather than our "to do" lists ...

In a perfect world, I would have already met with Deborah, and would have our strategy mapped out entirely ... it would cover speaking and selling books in every major city and small town in the South ...

In a perfect world, I would have my talks to book groups and women’s' groups down to a science ...

In a perfect world, I'd be able to make every writing conference, event, and author appearance in my region ...

In a perfect world, I'd get up at 5, work out, get to a networking meeting, have breakfast with my husband, write for five to six hours, and spend a leisurely evening relaxing with my family ...


In a perfect world, I wouldn't be so damn anal and have to rewrite sixteen times ...

In a perfect world, everyone I love would live within an hour of me ...

In a perfect world, I'd live in the mountains with a condo on Fripp Island ...

In a perfect world, the Panthers would win the Super Bowl (I threw that in there for my step-son, Christopher ...)

In a perfect world, Mike and I would be grandparents by now ...

In a perfect world, I'd never have to put anything off, especially thank you cards ...

In a perfect world, my family would be closer ...

In a perfect world, I'd never have to use spell check, a Thesaurus, and my clever mind would not labor over every sentence--it would automatically know the correct sequence of words ...

In a perfect world, I'd write a column, send fabulous articles to a few magazines every month, and have time to spit out a novel every ten months, of which all would hit the bestseller lists ...

In a perfect world ... I am a size 6.

In a perfect world ... I'd never need Botox.

In a perfect world ... I could drink all the margueritas I wanted.

BUT THIS ISN'T A PERFECT WORLD ... and my soul cries for more time ... what I wouldn't give to add an hour or two to every day. But if I had the option for perfection, I'd have to look past all of the above and say because I've had hardships in my life, challenges every step of the way, and because I've struggled ... my imperfections are where the richness of my stories originate ... so in a way ... I guess I don't want a perfect world.

But, a size 6 would be nice.

Blessings to you and yours.

Do You Think I Died?

I'm still up to my armpits and eyeballs in work but I'm afraid if I don't write in my blog, I'll lose my readers! I tune in everyday to my friend Dena's blog, and everyday, she's like a ray of sunshine, writing a clever little blogspot ... one thing about Dena, she's never at a loss for words, and she's always there for her readers ... I aspire to her daily blogging!
www.blogsbydenaharris.squarespace.com.

I have so much to blog about, but no time. Last Thursday night, I spoke on an Author's Panel for my Sisters In Crime Group, I'm going to Chair the Sisters In Crime table at the Southeastern Independent Booksellers Alliance (SIBA) convention in Orlando this year, and I spoke at a writing conference in Lincolnton for the International Women's Writing Guild this past Saturday. I've so much to report. It's been crazy busy.

And I'm still working on the final edits of my book.

The deadline is nearly here ... (the Sunday deadline was pushed back) so I apologize for the sparse blogging. I do love to connect with my readers. But hold on, because I'll be back ... with bells on!

Ah, the life of a writer ... I wonder if Capote had these problems. Somehow, I doubt it.

Blessings to you and yours.

My Back's Against The Wall

If you write and publish, you'll understand when I say ... my back's against the wall, my deadline is Sunday, no more time to spend on anything other than having the book ready to be turned in on Sunday to my layout artist.

No more nothing until after this Sunday.

Sunday, Sunday.

Yet, I'm scheduled to speak tonight at my local chapter of Sisters In Crime, and on Saturday in Lincolnton at the International Women's Writing Guild Conference for the Carolinas.

And I'm chomping at the bit to answer all the questions in my previous blog about the writing process and publishing. I've got some great answers.

And I've got to get with my publicist, my speech coaches, plan my launch, etc. etc. etc.

And the list of things to do is as long as my arm and then some.

Whew.

But everything has to wait ... it's all on hold for now. This is the life of a writer, folks.

Now to stop blogging ... get to work. The pay off is a finished first book ... and a hopefully - a great one.

Fingers and toes crossed. And say a little prayer.

Talk to you next week ... if I'm not in the hospital from exhaustion.

Blessings to you and yours.