You Take The Good With The Bad

I have had the most overwhelming positive responses to my speaking appearances ... everything from standing ovations and long lines of people to buy books to an audience of two or three during an open mic in the coffee area of Barnes & Noble who really didn't come to hear me, but decided to stay, drink their coffee, and listen anyway.

Of course there was a red-neck heckler in the back while one of my colleagues read her piece of prose ... but 99% of the time - the response everywhere I have been has left me with feelings of gratefulness, inspiration, hope, and awe.

It's funny ... because the emotions I strive to instill into each audience whether they hear me speak or read my book are truly what I receive in return. Even during events where I sign books and nothing else, the response at my table is always ... "I love to read about the South," or "My mama would love this," or better yet ... "Just make it out to my wife." Those guys aren't kidding me ... they'll read it before their wives do!

And yet ... I received a sad response from a very dear friend recently (a friend I love and care about) who wrote that she couldn't ask me to speak at her church ... because "the women's ministry head thinks because you are not currently affiliated with a church body, she can't ask you to speak to our ladies. There is also the issue of some of the words in your book, which I understand you are using for reality's sake, but I myself don't feel comfortable selling the book in a church facility for that reason."

Hmmm ....

For clarity sake, please know that the few cuss or slang words used in my book are few and far between ... and certainly are nothing any good Christian man or woman hasn't heard before. It's amazing to me, that some of the best Christian people I know, are some of the most closed-minded. Not necessarily meaning to be, they discriminate when it doesn't fit into their beliefs. And really ... it's okay. I'm not into pushing my product where it's not wanted. But those kinds of responses are the exact reason why I'm not a part of any "body of believers." It's why I choose to worship at home.

But I find it amazing as I stand before a crowd who have come to hear me speak and I look out over a sea of faces and think how many denominations are truly represented here and how many will my message help. The "church" is listening (and buying my book) ... whether "they" want it to or not.

And what they fail to realize, is that my speech of inspiration to men and women of all walks of life ... is a also a speech of hope and light. A tesimony to God's love and mercy the likes of which many in the church have NEVER heard before. I can almost guarantee that. A speech that would uplift the destitute and downtrodden of their congregation. But ... of course, there's the issue of those few "bad words in my book." Words, I don't necessarily say ... but my characters certainly do.

And of course the speech I give at a church group is without any offensive words as opposed to one that may be given at a secular facility that may have a few choice words placed for the sake of meaning. Isn't it amazing how ALL of us act differently when in church than when we're not? Don't we all find ourselves being just a little hypocritical that way? Or is it a matter of respect and using good judgment? By nature, I'm not a conformist ... maybe that's why I don't belong to any church.

Yet, my friend went on to say, "... I know you are annointed by God in your storytelling, and in how you relate to women ... I truly love you, and I support you 100%, so please don't be offended, and understand that I am sincere in my relationship with you, and in my praise of your skills. I really love your book(s), can't wait for Televenge, and all the rest that God is going to give you to write ..."

It's a lesson in taking the good with bad.

I wanted to blog about this, not to embarass my friend nor to speak ill of her church ... she is a wonderful woman with a beautiful spirit ... it's just that I find the whole response an interesting insight into the human spirit. It reminds me of those groups who refuse to take medicine, yet fail to realize it was God who divinely inspired the production and use of medicine.

Ah well ... ONWARD! I still intend to speak to any church group that will have me. Quite possibly they will surprise me after all ... it may be the Catholics or the Presbyterians but who knows how the message will get out. Only God does.

I'll close today's blog with the following endorsement, a speaking testimonial if you will, from one pastor who heard my speech:

From the Reverend Frank D. Stewart Pastor of Bethany Presbyterian Church, Statesville, NC
“Pamela King Cable invites her listeners and readers to consider the incredible faith potential that awaits us outside our comfort zones. Pamela is a wonderful storyteller, and yet much more. In a “Southern Fried” woman’s style, she weaves a spiritual cloth that provides us an avenue for growth. After hearing her speak I realized this woman has the power to mend our spirits, strengthen our weaknesses, and restore our hope. Pamela has a special gift to place us in time machine and transport us back to our past so that we may discover our future. It is my delight and pleasure to recommend to everyone the remarkable talent of this fine speaker and storyteller, Pamela King Cable.”

Blessings to you and yours.

Love In Mass

I'm up very early this morning, and everyone knows ... I'm not a morning person. But I can't sleep. I'm overwhelmed at the response I've been receiving when I speak. This week I've delivered my soul with my words to two large groups, both men and women. Yesterday to at least 100 people (I'm guessing.) But that doesn't matter ... what matters is that this audience welcomed Michael and I with open arms, heard me speak, and then stood in line and bought my book, a show of support and of love. Their warm words and actions afterward will forever be stamped on my memory.

I've been walking around in a daze ever since yesterday. How can I write about this and sound grateful and humble (which I am.) How do you tell the world through this media of Internet that no matter the size of my audience and its response, that I will forever feel that way ... I will never forget where I've come from and the struggle and pain it took to get even this far.

How does one love in mass?

Mass quantities of love ... is it possible? Because that's what I felt yesterday. Amidst the sea of faces before me, I felt that light at the end of the tunnel that God showed me years ago. It opened up and I walked through it. It's been a very long time coming ... but I know this is only the beginning. Thing is, I know my heart and I can say I'm not looking for a pot of gold at the end of any rainbow, nor am I after what it can bring ... but I know my message and what it can do. The healing that it can deliver.

After all, isn't that why God allows us to travel to the bottom of our barrels ... so that when He leads us up and out of those dark, murky, waters ... we can "testify" as to where we've come from and how we got there? Isn't that the real purpose in any speech like mine?

To help others find love in mass.

Love that I never knew existed, until yesterday. It was an amazing sight to behold. I shall never, ever forget it. And I will always be grateful for it.

Blessings to you and yours.

Be Careful What You Wish For

When I started this Journey back a few years ago ... I wished for so many things I think all writers wish for. A certain amount of success, to be published, go on a book tour ... not realizing that what seemed so far away then, so dreamy in its infant wish-like state, would one day be reality. At least to a small degree.

In building my platform, the reality is ... there's much to consider when wishing for dreams like this. Juggling a schedule, finding time for everyone, trying to make everybody happy, and the cost involved in getting to where you're scheduled to be.

I chose, early on, to get out there and promote my work. To network and to believe in my message to my readers and to the many writers I come in contact with. I talk to many groups about publishing and networking ... but I think we need to come up with solutions of how to handle time factors. Or rather ... never enough time factors. The biggest being ... Where do I find time to write, edit, and publish my next book if I'm working my publicity machine?

But, alas ... I am a storyteller. And the true reality of it all is, if you want your stories to be heard, you have to "tell" them. Writing them down and then telling the world about them is all part of it.

Still ... it can be overwhelming at times. Balance ... I wish for balance!

Ah, well ... until I find that level of perfection that some circles of religious zealots claim to have achieved, I suppose I'll make a few mistakes, errors in judgment, bad choices, and be a big goof from time to time.

But in the meantime ... I will be thankful. Because everyday I wake up and I realize I'm NOT a perfect person, I wish for forgiveness, I wish for people to see my humility, and I wish for less struggle and always a full, receptive, and open audience like the ones I've had this week. That was one wish I'm so happy I wished for.

I wish you peace today. And love. Lots of love.

Blessings to you and yours.

It's My Birthday And I'll Laugh If I Want To

I'm selling BOOKS! Whoopee!

Friday, at Bliss Spa and Salon ... I sold 16 books! Saturday (today) I walked away with another 19 books sold! For a first-time author on a book tour ... that's pretty good. Include the 21 I sold on Wednesday at the Women's Professional Forum meeting ... that's 56 books in a week.

Not a bad birthday present. I'll be celebrating yet another year gone by in my life on Sunday ... proving to myself that life doesn't get shorter and I'm grabbing what I can on my way out.

The signings this week were wonderful ... meeting so many people ... mostly, women. But there were that handful of men that bought the book for their "wives or mothers." Once they realize, it's not chick-lit ... they may find they love the stories as much as their wife. I've had many men tell me just that. But the week was full of validation and satisfaction to the degree that I feel good about taking my birthday off and not thinking about writing or publishing or publicity for 24 hours.

Especially after the day I had today! I've said it over and over ... and sometimes I wonder if writers really hear me. Networking is the key to any writer's success. It has become my mantra.

Today, I signed a book to Jacquelyn Mooney, a book to Maya Angelou, and a book to Oprah. I met someone with a strong connections today who felt very sure she could get my book in to the hands of these women. You can only imagine my thrill and delima. How do you sign a book to artist Jacquelyn Mooney, author Maya Angelou ... let alone ... Oprah? After several drafts on scrap paper, I opted for something simple and sincere.

So who knows. Will they actually get the book? I feel pretty confident in my connection. Will they read it? Maybe. Possibly. Will I hear from any of them? ... Well, it's the dream of most writers, isn't it?

But you know what? Just to be able to say that I actually signed a book to these women ... is a great honor. Knowing that I signed it anticipating it would actually get into their hands ... I'm content. The rest ... is up to the good Lord above.

Later today ... another piece of GREAT news ... a five-star review from Midwest Book Reviews! And I quote "... Pamela King Cable is one of those infrequent writers who can bring reality to fictional characters so strong that you'd swear you had encountered them in your own life's history. Southern Fried Women will leave the reader looking forward to more from this accomplished, imaginative, skilled, and entertaining author!"

It's my birthday ... and I'll LAUGH if I want to!

Blessings to you and yours!

What's On YOUR Bookshelf?

I receive emails from “Emerging Writers” and I thought the answers to the following questions were interesting. So I’m following suit. Why not ask yourself the same questions … then go back in a few years and see if your answers have changed … Hmmm.

One book that changed your life.
To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee

One book that you’ve read more than once.
Gone With The Wind by Margaret Mitchell

One book you’d want on a desert island.
The Bible … (that’s if I’m shipwrecked.) Then again, if it’s a vacation on miles of white sand with tropical drinks and sun block … How Stella Got Her Groove Back … now that's a great beach read.

One book that made you laugh.
Lessons In Stalking … Life With Cats by Dena Harris – Super funny!

One book that made you cry.
It’s a tie - Ellen Foster by Kaye Gibbons --- Secret Life Of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd

One book that you wish had been written.
Beach Music by Pat Conroy and Cold Mountain by Charles Frazier runs a close second ...

One book that you wish had never been written.
Godless – The Church of Liberalism by Ann Coulter, actually anything she writes … an amazingly outspoken conservative voice and I question her motives …

One book you’re currently reading.
The King Of Lies by John Hart … the “new and improved John Grisham!”

One book you’ve been meaning to read.
I’m wanting to lock myself away and finish Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander series … a must read for any true lover of books!

Happy reading!

Blessings to you and yours.

Whirlwind Weekend

Michael and I are writing a column for a new, slick, local magazine called ... Piedmont. It covers a five county area bordering Virginia and North Carolina ... by and around the Blue Ridge ... the piedmont.

Saturday we toured Patrick County and you'll just have to get a copy of the magazine in October to read about it ... but let me tell you ... music and the mountains go hand in hand in this area of God's country. And food ... let's not forget food. Needless to say, the people, the scenery, and the antique shops are but a few of the highlights of that trip. You need to make it one of your destination goals ... to visit the Blue Ridge Parkway and many of the small towns around it at least once in your life. They're a country and a culture unto themselves ... no finer place in the world ... in my humble opinion.

Sunday ... Wine, Baseball and good friends. Dena, Blair, Michael and I spent a leisurely afternoon in the warm breezes of a somewhat cooler summer afternoon at Childress Winery. Go experience it for yourself, if you can. Lunch is excellent and the wine at Childress is the perfect compliment to the meal.

We laughed, ate, drank, enjoyed each other's company and then headed to Greensboro and a baseball game at the new stadium. The Greensboro Grasshoppers are on a winning streak and the place was fairly crowded, but comfortably so. It's a fabulous new stadium. Clean and the food is first-class junk food! After two hotdogs, a beer, a tub of popcorn, a smoothie, cracker jacks, a soft pretzel, and an ice cream cone later ... we were ready to pack it in. I can usually last until the 7th inning, and then it's time for me to go.

Baseball, for me, is a social game. A place to go talk, eat, and get an occasional thrill watching a home run or see some young kid catch a fly ball. Otherwise ... I don't see the excitement. Unless, of course, the team is on some great winning streak. But, I recognize it's an American passion ... and thus, at least once a year ... I support my local team.

Great food, tons of fun, the best of friends ... a winning combination for the memory book.

A whirlwind of a weekend? Yes, indeedy. 'Cept next weekend's my birthday ... I don't believe it's going to be any less of a tornado than this one was.

Blessings to you and yours.

" ... and they're off!"

I loved watching horse races as a kid. I still do. Last night, just before I stood up to speak to a group of Sisters In Crime members about publishing ... I thought of those Derby races ... how the horses are lead to the stalls ... the jockeys wait in heightened anticipation that flows through, I'm sure, to their horse ... the bell rings, the gates swing open, and the mad dash to the finish line begins. It's like a rocket going off.

I presented my journey to publication, or rather PUBLISHING FROM A WRITER'S POINT OF VIEW, last night to an eager group of listeners who were truly searching for answers about publishing and publicity. Michael and I presented "our story." And even though we're certainly not at the end of our own journey ... we've been down the road a far piece, researched, experienced, traveled all over the country finding our own answers ... and now it's time to share what we've learned.

The group was intense, took notes, asked tons of questions ... we loved it! It was, without a doubt, the threshold ... the launching pad ... the starting gates to our very long list of speaking engagements and it thrilled us. The response was tremendous and we felt very good being able to "give back." Especially to this group of writers. Michael and I know it will return to us many times over.

The meeting was open to the public, there were a few visitors, and I sold some books. We stood at the open door of something great last night; we could feel it as we walked through. I don't need to necessarily win the race, I just need to place well ... finish the race.

The past few weeks we've been laboring together, coordinating this long list of places for me to speak about my stories, my life, my work ... and last night it all came together. I laughed to myself as the meeting began. I imagined that horse race ... I could hear a voice in the distance....

".... and they're off!"

Blessings to you and yours.

The Heat Of The Oven ... It Comes To Us All

Oh the lessons in life we learn ... do they ever stop? As I grow older, I feel like a roast that's been in a slow oven ... over time the oven has broken down the meat, the seasoning has soaked in, and the tenderizer has done it's job.

I used to bristle when someone tried to rock my world with comments or rather criticism about my work, or about me in general, but these days ... I just simply smile, say thank you, and go on.

Not that unkind remarks and nasty comments still don't piss me off ... people can be so damn cruel. But that's not what I'm talking about. I'm not talking about things said in anger.

I'm talking about people making "comments in love" "for your own good" "because we care" ... you know ... those kinds of comments.

There are people in our lives who think they know you but really ... don't. One day, someone says something to you about your work or your attitude or even the way you wear your hair and you realize ... hey, they don't know me at all. Hmmm. I thought they did, but I'll be dogged, they've not got a clue what I'm all about ... or what my message is.

And then you think ... Well, damn. I don't know them either.

Maybe my idea of who they are and what they stand for is all wrong too. Life is funny like that, isn't it? It's amazing to me ... I have learned over the years to open my heart to every type of person I've come in contact with. I refuse to have a closed mind or fist or heart for my fellow man. Now that doesn’t make me a saint. Lord, no. But in the process of living my life this way ... I've come in contact with people who were not raised like me ... new age people ... who I thought were open minded to begin with and didn't have to strive to open their hearts to the rest of the world.

Last night I realized, there are closed-minds in every walk of life. I am who I am. Your comments, though sweet and well intended, make no sense to me. It's very sad you think about me and my words the way that you do, but they are my words, my emotions. I cannot follow the pack. I never could.

I know my motives are good ... they're what makes me tick ... the part of me that pushes me along. It's part of the determination that saved my life a few times ... and it's a good thing. A very good thing that needs to be shared, not "toned down." But neither do I shout it from the rooftops in the fire and brimstone of a driven evangelist. Because, truth is, I've been quiet. A long, long time.

But I was not born to remain quiet. Not after one has been through the fire and flood. Eventually, it has to come out.

Though I'm not opposed to change ... God knows I've changed ... like the roast in the oven. It's just that now is the time in my life that hopefully ... I've been taken out of the oven and can share the tender, juicy, pieces of what I've learned with the world.

There are some who have remained in their ovens and become burnt, tough old birds. You can chew on their words a while, think about them for a moment, but in the end you just got to spit them out. No sense in swallowing something you know you can't digest.

Blessings to you and yours.

Stick A Fork In Me ... I'm Done

Every once in a while, we need to REST.

I took a few days off after the successful "Women Authors and Wine" night at the open house for Jewel Day Spa last Friday night. Wow, and what an evening it was! Around 200 guests showed up, listed to Dena, Nicole, and myself read pieces from our books. I was so busy selling and signing SOUTHERN FRIED WOMEN, there was no time to sample any of the food or wine!

But all in all, I was able to share 20% of the proceeds that evening with the Women's Resource Center in Greensboro ... and that's a very good thing.

I've been experiencing a couple days of not feeling up to my old self, however. Feeling rather worn out from going full steam ahead since Spring. Summer is more than half over and I can't even remember when it began! So Mike and I took off to the mountains, our favorite place on earth, and kicked back for the weekend.

"Stick a fork in me, I'm done!" My mom always said it ... now I say it.

Funny how those old sayings we considered so silly as kids, we find ingrained on our tongues as adults. But I thought about that old saying a lot the past couple days. It's the best way to say ... I'm taking some time to rest and I mean it!

Blessings to you and yours.

A Good Day

Don't you love days when the sun shines down on you and the stars have lined up in your favor? I could just break out in a 5th Dimension song ... "When the moon is in the seventh house, and Jupiter aligns with Mars, then peace will guide the planets...”

You get the picture.

I met John Hart last night, author of THE KING OF LIES, at a cool- hip new bookstore in Kernersville, NC called Shakespeare & Co.

John's work is hot. Very hot. He's on the NY TIMES bestseller list, and about ten other bestseller lists. Every good thing (other than Oprah) has happened to him. He's sold the foreign rights to 8 or 9 countries. It's being made into a movie and this is just his first book!

It took him 11 months and 2 weeks to write this book, working at it every day. He quit his job as an attorney and just dug in. Talk about talent and luck working together! Wow. After many rejections, John landed a contract with St. Martins Press for this book and two more. He talked for over an hour about all the great things happening to him as a result of his hard work. I'm anxious to dig into his book myself. (Here's a tidbit ... the book's original title was Ezra's Wake, but of course as Publishers tend to do, they changed it.)

When I first walked into the bookstore, it seemed half the room knew me! They've seen my book, obviously. Two women had my book in their hands. One lady bought four of my books. Isn't that the coolest? I was humbled and amazed at the same time!

So, I sat and listened intently to his presentation. Then the line formed for John to sign books. I held back on purpose. I wanted to be the last book he signed. I wanted to talk to him and not feel I had to rush through getting my book signed because someone was waiting behind me. The room was full. Unbeknownst to me, John Hart had already read the back of my book while he waited to be introduced. By the time I got up to him, he knew who I was. And we talk. Wow. There's nothing like networking ... It was a great conversation.

Then I arrived home to this blurb in my email:

"Reading Southern Fried Women makes me think of Tolstoy. What you and he have in common is an absolutely genuine feel for the history and region that you come from." --Hannelore Hahn, Executive Director, International Women's Writing Guild, New York City

"Aquarius ... Aquarius...”

Blessings to you and yours.

Life Comes At You Hard

Changing careers in mid life has not been easy. I certainly see why so many just float along the same career path even though they'd rather not. It's easier. But to change the direction of your life is sometimes out of your control. As it has been with me.

My life, had I been able to look through a crystal ball back in the early 80s, is NOTHING as I imagined it would be. Nothing. There are but few shreds of that period of time that prove its existence to me. Other than two children, it's for the most part, all but a memory.

But because of those memories, and the events that transpired afterward, I have evolved into what I am today. A writer with a past to draw from. Life came at me hard, but I persevered. It still comes at me hard. Decisions about this new career path still have to be made and I can only hope that the wisdom that comes with age is helping me to make better ones.

It seems, though I am a writer that speaks and NOT a speaker who writes ... that I'm destined to deliver my voice to the masses ... speaking about my stories, my work, and my life. I have a plethora of appearances scheduled from now until next April. And the requests to speak continue to come in. I will blog more about this in the days to come, but I think I'll just begin by saying ... Church Shouldn't Hurt. It's a spin-off of my speeches that is starting to cause a stir among many who share the same view.

The doors are opening for me to speak about it. I feel as if I'm stepping into an abyss that must be stepped into with caution and love. There's so much hurt, and so many who are wary. My message is a very simple one. But I'm not a preacher. Not at all. Just a simple speaker with her own story. But that story in itself is a powerful one. I've known it for a long time.

When life comes at you hard, you have to recognize it for what it is. A learning experience. You either make the changes and grow from it or you dissolve into the universe ... leaving nothing behind to prove you were here. I often wonder where my strength comes from. Then I laugh and shake myself as I'm gently reminded.

I work a seven-day week, most weeks. From 9 a.m. to midnight ... usually. Life has always come at me hard ... it's not let up, not one bit. But this time ... I see a beacon light in the mist. I know what it means. In the meantime, there are books to sell, people to meet, places to go and speak, and more stories and books to be written.

That hardness in my life has broken me down many times, molding me into the woman I am. For better or worse. It's pushed me around and thrown me up against a wall a few times, bruised my ego, and blackened my eye to the future. Slapped my mouth and told me to shut it before my foot gets stuck in it again. But it's also held me by the nape of my neck and kicked me in the ass a couple times too. I've felt the soreness it's left in it's wake. I also know the muscles of determination that have strengthened and hardened because of it.

It's what makes women into tough old broads. And softhearted grandmas.

I see glimpses of my life's purpose. It keeps me moving forward. Despite the hard road. Today, there's editing to do and obligations to writing groups and other writers that has to be squeezed into time I'd rather be spending on my own work or even in the garden that has suffered from neglect this summer. But in the end I know ... this is my path. All writers follow their own paths their own callings every day. We're all so different.

But there's one thing that all writers have in common due to the nature of the business itself. Life comes at all writers—hard ... because it's a profession we've not only chosen ... it's our calling.

Blessings to you and yours.

Perks of the Trade

One of the benefits of working from home is the ability to take off at 9 a.m. on a Tuesday and be at Kohl's when they open the door. Few or no people to get in your way, no lines at the check out, and it's been cleaned up. (No size 2 dresses in the Woman's section.)

The perks for working at home are the simple kind. And as long as you've set realistic goals toward getting a certain amount of writing done every day ... you feel free to take advantage those few perks.

1. Hair, Doctor, Dentist, Cable repair ... all appointments that can be made during the day.

2. You can start dinner at a 2 or 3 ... sit down to eat at 5.

3. You can shower ... any time. Or go water the flowers on the porch when needed.

4. Makeup and shoes - optional.

5. Clothes - optional.

6. No daily staff meetings, no fighting traffic at lunch, no having to sneak in a phone call to family and friends.

7. When you really don't feel well ... ahh, you can go lay down.

8. You don't HAVE to answer the phone.

9. You don't HAVE to be in a good mood every day.

10. You don't HAVE a boss.

... get my point?

The list is endless ... The downside? There's no steady paycheck.

That's about it. That's the biggest downside ... in my humble opinion.

That and finding a quitting time. Seems I work 'round the clock at home. I can be up till dawn and working on weekends is the norm. But to go back to an office across town and fight the bullshit everyday? I'd rather be tarred and feathered and rolled in grits than to be a part of that maddness again.

No paycheck is worth that to me anymore.

Blessings to you and yours.

The Devil Doesn't Just Wear Prada!

You're joking, right? My reaction this morning reading an email from a close friend. She indicated it shook her up so bad as she sipped her morning cup of java that she, "spit coffee through her nose ... "

Here's the link: http://www.wholesomewear.com/slimmer-c.html

I can't say I blame her ... 'cause I nearly swallowed my tongue. At the risk of sounding weird, I don't think there's anything prettier than a young girl's figure in a decent bikini (not the thong thing) but a nice looking bikini.

Okay, agreed. Not everyone has my taste, and if a woman CHOOSES to wear this - then fine. She has a right to wear whatever makes her feel good about herself. But don't force her to wear it! Don't say she's going to hell if she doesn't! And you and I both know ... there's plenty of fundamentalists out there and that's exactly what they're saying!

But can you imagine lying out in 90-degree heat at the beach in one of these things? How pretty do you think her face will be then? And what great tan lines, huh? I wonder what conservative old fart dreamed up this bondage? While we're at it, let's just take away her right to vote!

Gag me. I wouldn't put one of those 70s-looking gym suites on anybody! And how dare they drag God into their sick ideas of style? "Emphasis on the face instead of the body?" Yeah, right. Can you imagine the stares, the gawking, the laughs these poor girls will endure wearing this? Talk about drawing attention!

Why is it, here we are in 2006 and continue to put up with men and a few women, (mostly from the holier-than-thou religious sects) desperate to squash the human rights of women?

Why do some zealots continue to oppress women because we have breasts and love our sexuality? We're not all hookers or call girls ... LISTEN UP, Bible thumpers! The vast majority of women in America are beautiful and hold dear the freedom to buy pretty clothes and make herself attractive. Every woman needs to feel admiration from those who love her, at least once in her life.

Otherwise, why not just walk around with black and blue sheets on our heads like the women bound by demonic men in the Middle East ... men who claim women are like children or worse ... cattle. Men who believe women were created for breeding purposes and their own pleasures.

Ever read the atrocities of these people? Can you imagine living like that? Not being able to read, speak your mind, go anywhere; look a man in the eye?

Thank you God, you allowed me to be born in the good 'ole U.S.A. AND during a time I don't have to fear the hand of any man. Politically or spiritually!

Still, women continue to battle backward ideas and notions. From the board rooms to the bed rooms. And from groups who'd rather see women look like some Mormons or Mennonites ... styles and ideas and lifestyles ... in my humble opinion ... that are but a thin line away from those in Afghanistan and other third world countries forcing women to obey sadistic laws and bear burdens animals shouldn't bear.

As for me, I like this old barn of mine PAINTED.

THE DEVIL DOESN'T JUST WEAR PRADA, PEOPLE ... HE WEARS "WHOLESOMEWEAR!"

Blessings to you and yours.

Coffee and Bacon

What is it about waking up to the smell of coffee and bacon that makes you feel ... safe, cozy, makes you know you're home. The sense of smell, for me, is one of the most powerful forces to sway a mood or a thought, convey a memory ... or create one.

If an author forces me to smell something he/she is writing about, I love the book even better. As my eyes read the words, I don't have to actually "smell" the beach or the saltwater, but reading the words will often trip the sensory mechanism into high gear and I begin to be in the place described, because of the sense of smell.

The pleasing smells of a special meal, or cooking ... or baking (yum) cookies, breads, pies ... or the way you feel when you enter your favorite Italian restaurant ... the garlic smell and that of tomatos and breads ... mmm ... those great smells greet you as you smile through the door. It's all part of the experience, and the memory it creates.

I can be out someplace, and get just a hint of a smell and be transported back in time in an instant. To a record store I used to love as a teenager, or to the hallways in grade school, the cafeteria, or to a hay loft where I ... won't say ... Time and smell walk hand-in-hand for me.

Or how about the smell of exhaust as you get stuck behind a slow moving beater truck on a back two-lane road with double yellow lines. An old truck you can't pass and whose owner has no concern in the world for the fellow behind him, or better yet our O Zone being stripped away. Do you like the smell of gasoline at the pump, or would you rather someone else do it ... (me too.)

I'm a country girl ... and I can tell the difference between cow, horse, pig, and chicken manure at 100 yards. And I'm proud of that fact. Riding down a country road during planting season, I can usually stick my head out the window; take a big sniff ... "cow," I say all proud like. I raised my youngun's to know the difference too. It makes a country mama proud when her college educated girl comes in the door and says, "whoo-wee ... smelled pig on the way here!"

How about the smell of your mother's perfume? Or Dad's Old Spice? The unique smell of your parent's home as you walk inside? Do the memories flood your head? Or even the smell of a certain town, like a coal town, or a steel town. You associate those smells with parts of your life, your dreams ... or your nightmares.

I think the sense of hearing, and seeing ... are for the most part, senses for the here and now. But the sense of smell ... ah, can stir a memory like none other. The holidays are full of smell memories, aren't they? Or a freshly mowed lawn, or your grandma's flowerbeds.

I wonder what scientist's are doing with smell to stimulate alzheimer patients. Seems logical to me.

One of my favorite smells is a tiny baby, just after a bath, all powered up and lotioned with Baby Magic. They way a baby feels and smells as you cuddle it close to your face, and kiss it. Nothing can stir a woman's hormones like that. But then, we all know nothing can be as foul smelling as a full diaper. Oh well ... with babies ... you take the good with the bad, right?

The smell of a wet dog is annoying, but everyone who owns a beloved animal knows its smell. And don't you wonder what you smell like to your pet? And as much as I love the sense of smell, an animal's sense of smell is so much greater than ours ... I've heard that dogs can even smell cancer in their owners. Trained dogs, that is. It's an amazing tribute to this gift God has given us and the creatures He created.

So, without further adieu, my Southern mother-in-law just stuck her head in my office and said, "I needed bacon grease, there's a bunch of bacon for breakfast if ya want it. And fresh coffee."

Need I say more?

Blessings to you and yours.

These Dreams

... I think it's an old 80s song by Heart. One that brings backs memories. Good and bad. Just like my dreams. Did you ever wake up and think, where the hell did that come from?

A dream. A story played inside your head as your body searches for rest and rejuvenation. I'm a vivid dreamer. Awake and asleep. When I sleep and dream, I often wake feeling as if I've worked all night long. The brain is a wondrous thing, isn't it? It keeps vast files on your life and weaves in a few of its own. I have many dreams about my children ... they can be at any age, and usually there's turmoil and I'm trying desperately to protect them.

Or there are the dreams of the house I grew up in. I swear this house was haunted. The dreams that stem from living in that house are never dreams I want to remember the next day. I have many dreams about tornados. And because of my fear of heights, any dreams where I'm falling ... I'll wake myself up. Usually.

Not all of my dreams are bad ... some are quite comical and I wish I could remember them. But usually, I forget all my dreams within the first hour after I wake up. That's a good thing, because I do have nightmares. The kind I scream in and my poor husband nearly has a heart attack.

I'd be a good case for a sleep analogy. Here's the thing ... unless it's a very good movie, I rarely watch horror movies. I don't read Sci Fi much. And I try to avoid news on TV that creeps me out. But I continue to dream wild and fantastic dreams ... every night. I'm sure some expert would have an answer as to why. But when it's half way through the day and I'm still trying to shake off the dream from the night before, do I wonder ... what did it mean?

I've always been like this. A dreamer. Many of my dreams, the few I remembered, have become parts of my stories. A few of my characters have actually introduced themselves to me in my dreams. I know -- crazy. There are those rare dreams, however, that have caused me to make decisions in my life based on the plot played in my head the night before. Other dreams just fade into the smoky abyss of morning and when I wake up, they're gone from memory.

I've seen the way people can react to a bad dream, or a dream that concerns them. Some folks believe they're seeing the future or are living in the midst of a dream. All I know is that this thing we do when we're asleep, this movie that plays in our heads ... is often too real as we sleep. What is it they tell us, that the brain only uses a small percentage of it's ability in your lifetime? So why did God put the whole thing in there, I wonder. Do you think possibly it's His way to communicate with us while we're sleeping?

Who knows? Right now, all I know is I worked too hard in the dreams I had last night ... I can't seem to wake up properly. Like I've been sawing logs ... literally.

These dreams I have need to transport me to someplace quiet tonight ... so I can sleep.

Blessings to you and yours.
www.pamelacable.com
www.southernfriedwomen.com

Pie Pans of the Carolinas

This past Friday, Michael and I went to see the movie, Pirates of the Caribbean. A strong left turn, a deviation--if you will--from my normal enjoyment of stories about moonshine and/or magnolias. But a Southern gal's got to branch out every now and then. True, I've always found solace and comfort in the stories that are set in the South. Gone With The Wind, Steel Magnolias, Fried Green Tomatoes, and Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood ... are but a few. Coal Miner's Daughter, Cat On a Hot Tin Roof, and Cold Mountain are stories I have in book form and in my DVD collection. I could compile a list, but that's not what this blog entry is about.

My point is that although my favorite stories are set in the South, I also love to get out of Dixie and stretch my imagination to places and times I've never been. It's really a healthy thing to do.

Set in the days of primitive ocean voyages, Pirates of the Caribbean ventures into the sea ... taking with it the imaginations of those writers that no doubt descended from sailors who told the ghostly and ghastly tales of their voyages upon their return home. Possibly these tales were also passed down ... generation-to-generation.

The action is so packed with nail biting peril; it's often exhausting as you watch it. The story line takes a back seat to the one-liners of its characters and the special effects and magic of Hollywood.

This week, I was passing by a roadside stand and decided to stop in to buy a tote bag of peaches. The old codger behind the warped and wooden desk appeared as if he'd been picking in the sun way past his prime. He smiled a toothless grin that made me giggle and nod back politely.

"Got us a sale on ... tomatoes and cukes up front ... melons in the box out back. And they's some real purty pie pans the Missus is sellin' on them crates out front. She says they'll bake a cobbler better 'n any old glass pan ya got. She makes them pans hersef."

"Oh, really?" I asked.

"Yep," he said. "I let ya have two of 'em for the price of one."

I smiled and gathered my bag of peaches, after squeezing a few. "Well, okay ... peach cobbler sounds good. I'll take two of those pans. The blue one and red one."

He winked and bagged up my purchases. As I pulled my pie pans out of the bag after I got home, I turned them over. Made in China glared up at me. I thought of the old codger at the produce stand who reminded me of one of the pirates in the movie.

I'm thinking Disney might like my story ... Pie Pans of the Carolinas ...

Naw. I can't imagine a swashbuckling Johnny Depp saving any woman from buying an old man's pie pans at a roadside stand.

Blessings to you and yours.

GEOGRAPHY Lesson

I can't take credit for the writing of today's keen insight. And I've not posted anything like this before, but this piece of prose ... I really liked. Kudos to whoever made it up. A little exagerated, but good, nonetheless.

GEOGRAPHY OF WOMEN

Between 18 and 22, a woman is like Africa, half discovered, half wild, naturally beautiful with fertile soil.

Between 23 and 30, a woman is like Europe, well developed and open to trade, especially for someone with cash.

Between 31 and 35, a woman is like India, very hot, relaxed and convinced of her own beauty.

Between 36 and 40, a woman is like France, gently aging but still warm and a desirable place to visit.

Between 41 and 50, a woman is like Great Britain, with a glorious and all conquering past.

Between 51 and 60, a woman is like Yugoslavia, lost the war and haunted by past mistakes.

Between 61 and 70, a woman is like Russia, very wide with borders now unpatrolled.

After 70, she becomes Tibet. Wildly beautiful, with a mysterious past and the wisdom of the ages....only those with an adventurous spirit and a thirst for spiritual knowledge visit there.

GEOGRAPHY OF MEN

Between 1 and 70, a man is like the USA. Ruled by a dick.

Blessings to you and yours.

Literal or Figurative?

I would hate to live in a world where I was constantly wondering if I were going to hell. A life that I constantly monitored as being perfect.

How miserable. As miserable to me as if you knew you were a serial killer or some sick lowest of the low person. I don't believe either world is healthy or happy.

But the Bible says, "Be ye perfect ..." Do you think God really meant for us to be PERFECT? It also tells women to not cut their hair. There's that old thing about interpretation again.

I think what I hate most is when one person or a group of people force their "interpretations" of the scriptures down the backs of our throats with no concern as to whether they've really thought this thing through. Just, "Yepper, by golly, that's what it says!"

Live, find happiness, and be the best person you can be. Keep it all in prospective and to hell with what everybody else has to say.

Find your own relationship with your creator. Don't get it off the TV or from any man or woman that stands in the pulpit or preaches to you in the comfort of your own livingroom.

If He really wanted us to be perfect, then He wouldn't renew his mercies every morning ... now would He?

I'm tired of perfect people. And I mean that ... LITERALLY.

Blessings to you and yours.

Women Over 40

Yes, I do belong to this exciting group! And proud of it! It's also a group of businesswomen who network here in Greensboro. The group, formally called WOMAN, meets once a month for dinner at a quite nice restaurant here in town.

Last night's speaker was from the American Heart Association ... of course relaying tons of valuable information we all needed to hear ... but as I sat and watched the women at the tables, women from all walks of life, professions, race and ethnic background--I began to see (in my mind anyway) a melting away of differences and opinions. That when the going gets tough and you throw love and respect into the mix of the female vat of hormones ... what comes out of the pot is solidarity. One mighty fortress belonging to women.

I overheard so many conversations, expressing concern for the other. Whether sincere or contrived, it was still said. Words spoken that placed a healing balm on another woman's wounds, on her heart. My heart leaped, because I realized at the moment - that's a unique ability few men possess. To express love like that--through words--woman to woman.

Now, I've seen the back slapping men do. And I've been in churches and have witnessed the hugging between men of faith. I've also seen men cry. But what is it about the nurturing heart of a woman that I've heard, is the closest thing on earth you'll find to the love of God.

Especially from older women. Women who've experienced their share of hard times and disappointments. This group called WOMAN has the unique ability to immediately kiss your wounds and make things feel just a bit better, adding just enough hope for you to walk away from their meetings stepping lighter than when you came in.

I realized, last night, again as I sat there watching all these women share, that we're all the same. We have one beating heart. That although we wish to make great connections and network our abilities, we also scoop up any encouragement we can get, process it, and return it over and over again. Whether at the same meeting or future meetings.

It's quite an amazing thing to watch. These women over 40 know how to party, laugh, have fun, and are way past caring about the stuff in life that just doesn't matter a hill of beans. Most of these women have seen tough times and have come out swinging to the tune of starting new businesses and reinventing themselves ... thriving and most of all--surviving.

It's not been easy, and many faces reflect that ... but there's still a sparkle in their eyes. They've learned priceless lessons that frankly, would never have them trading places with any 20-year old.

Hmmpf. Life is good ... for women over 40.

Blessings to you and yours.

Service With A Smile

When did this old cliche' originate? Late 50s, possibly? It used to hold truth, nowadays ... it's just an old cliche'.

We have a favorite restaurant in High Point where we eat quite often. They're building chains of this Italian restaurant all over the Triad, all franchised and operated by different owners.

Michael and I stopped at a book signing in Kernersville tonight to support Dixie Land who wrote SECOND CHANCES and Lynette Hall Hampton with DUO OF OPPOSITES, both Sisters in Crime members and great writing friends. Hungry, we left there and decided to have dinner in Greensboro. Hungry, yet not starved ... you know the feeling ... just wanting a simple dinner, not wanting to take a lot of time--grab a quick bite and then head home.

So we stop at this new franchise, this new Italian restaurant, and get a good booth by the window. We order ... we wait and wait and finally ... Mike's sandwich comes out without tomatoes (he loves tomatoes) and my order was wrong. My order goes back to the kitchen and Mike proceeds to eat his tomatoeless sandwich, which he admits tastes pretty good. I just watch--because I have no food. But hey, the water was tasty. :-)

Then he discovers his fries are soggy, but after waiting again for tomatoes, ketchup for fries, and a refill on drinks ... he proceeds to finish his meal without me anyway ...

And I wait some more.

Finally, a half hour later ... the waitress comes over to admit it was her fault and offers to get me "some bread." She says she'll check on our order and huffs off. Just as Mike is putting the last bite of his 12 inch steak sandwich in his mouth, my order comes out. The waitress says, "I'm giving you a $2 coupon toward your next visit." No smile. Nothing.

I don't say a word ... just smile, as my husband--I know--is not going to settle for a $2 coupon. I look at my food, it's burnt on top and impossible to cut into. It's overcooked. I wonder, how can something I've been waiting on for nearly an hour be overcooked? The waitress says, "Wow, that looks overcooked." No sorry, no apology, just a comment.

I put my fork and knife down and hand her my plate. "Just bring us our check and take my meal off the bill," I say.

Finally, the owner comes out ... and to make a very unecessary story short ... gives Mike a free meal. He's very apologetic, and we smile, and say thank you and leave. We'll go back and give them another chance ... maybe.

I thought about ordering a pizza on the way home, but when I called and the person on the other end at Pizza Hut sounded like the female equivalent to Forrest Gump, I decided ... you know what? Maybe I could miss a meal tonight. It won't kill me. So I cancelled my pizza order.

Service with a smile? ... I smiled real wide as I served myself some peach cobbler when I got home ... at least I didn't miss dessert.

Blessings to you and yours.

Thrilled

I've updated my APPEARANCES page on my web site. Check it out! www.pamelacable.com. I'm getting the invitations and the bookings to speak ... selling books is an amazing process, and grueling - all at the same time. When "people" in the industry tell you to build your platform ... they literally mean it ... one brick at a time. I feel as if I'm carrying this bag of cement on my back and as my publicist hands me a brick, I slap the cement on and firm up my foundation yet a little more.

I'm wondering, as I look at the career of other authors, (at least as far as I can see through the pages of the Internet), if they possess some of the same feelings and pressures I'm experiencing. Sometimes, they all sound so calm, cool, and collected when I read their interviews, opinions, and "hear" them eloquently speak to their interviewer. I wonder, do they really talk that way when they're not being "interviewed?"

Does the world of publishing ever overwhelm some of these MFAs? Do authors with several books under their belt feel less pressure than authors like me, with a first book trying to push its way to the front? Do they find time to really work on their next book, or are they consumed with marketing their work?

I've been invited to speak and sign at the Southern Festival of Books in Memphis. I wonder if the other authors that attend, feel as elated over their invitation as I do ... or are they getting used to being invited to book events of this magnitude?

In my truly humble opinion, I don't think I'll ever get used to it. I'm thrilled and I think I'll stay that way. At least for a long, long time.

Blessings to you and yours.

Fireworks!

All day we looked forward to enjoying our first fireworks in years! Mike's cousin, Beth, even stayed over one more night to enjoy an evening of celebration, fun sitting around in lawn chairs, and a brilliant display of snap, crackle, and POP!

We had endured heat and humidity all morning as Mike and Beth worked in the garden, I ran to the store later with Beth for beer, watermelon, peaches (a great combo or what?) And I discovered our first big, fat June bugs flying into the side of the house by noon.

Looking forward to the fireworks all week ... we had made plans with Mike's sister, Bette Lou, and her best friend, Judy, to all meet up here at the house. We'd gather our chairs, blankets, bug spray and head to Cook Out for milkshakes. Next, we would stake our claim (patch of grass) at the CVS on the corner ... that way it'd be easier to get out with our cars afterward.

Mike packed up his camera, tripod, and decided he'd take some great shots of these "blockbuster boomers."

Dinner came and went, Mike's mom's chili dogs were awesome as usual, and then we waited.
For dark.

Long about 9:15, the sky grew darker but not from the setting sun ... from thunderclouds. God decided to hold a show of his own. The wind came, and we thought we'd head on over anyway. "Maybe, this'll jus' blow over, what cha' think?"

And then came the rain.

By the time we had our milkshakes in our hands, the rain was spitting across town. We parked in the CVS parking lot and I sucked down my peanut butter fudge shake under the shelter of my Honda.

But finally, the fireworks started ... despite the weather.

Seeing them from a slight distance, in a lit up parking lot, standing under the perscription pickup awning ... wasn't the same thrill as seeing them in the dark, on a blanket, while they go off over your head.

But hey, the milkshakes were yummy.

Blessings to you and yours.

Gone But Never Forgotten

I think I can say that about many things in my life. But the past four days have been yet another collection for my memory books.

From all corners of the country, members of the Samples Family gathered at Mick and Donna Samples farm in Strange Creek ... lovingly called, McDonna farm. Second cousins to me, this beautiful couple know how to throw a party. In the middle of earth and sky, gospel and blue grass music floats through the trees and into every soul who steps out of their vehicle and onto this property that has been hewn out of forest and mountain.

As you know, I was mesmerized last year after having attended my first reunion. But this year, Michael and I traveled back and brought our son, Aaron. It was good to have my young'un there with us. A country boy, I knew he'd fall in love with the place. And he certainly did. Of course Daddy was there, sitting among the elders, swapping stories, remembering the old days, and sharing pictures from albums full of Samples relatives now passed on. Four wheelers roamed through the countryside and creeks and toured the places you can't get to by car or truck.

Sandy (who Daddy calls "Smiley") and her husband James Samples, greet family and friends with hugs and the sign-in book. Sandy records family members who show up every year, and that's a good thing. For a family reunion this size to go on every year, as this one has existed since the 1940's, records must be kept. It concerns me that the younger children I see roaming about, understand that this is not just a picnic they attend to make their grandparents happy. This is about family. Knowing who you are and where you came from.

So next year, the plan is to take more pictures, and have large family tree charts hanging where you can see how you fall into the tree. Possibly a quick history lesson about the Samples Family that goes back to the Revolutionary War. It may give you a sense of place and pride and knowing that the fellow you just met isn't a stranger anymore. He's your grandma's sister's second son. You see, it's all "relative." And if you have the least bit interest in your family, or even your state and the history of this country ... you have a clearer picture of where you fit in.

Well, this year I went back ... to Widen. If you've read the last story in my book, SOUTHERN FRIED WOMEN, you'll read about Widen and the violent coal strike in 1952 and '53. Though my story in the book is truly a love story woven amidst the violence, it rings of truth and peril for some who were there. I talked to many this weekend who vividly remember being there. Hearing the gunshots, witnessing the devastation that resulted.

One family member implied there are still folks seeking a healing, as that coal strike continues to separate some families in the area. Maybe my story will help. That and a little prayer may be the balm needed on those old wounds.

Widen is not the town I recall leaving as a child. Most of the buildings are gone now. Just a handful of families exist in the holler that was once a thriving coal camp. Daddy pointed out where the tipple used to be, the railroad, the Grille, and the bank. Just the cement steps of the YMCA are left. The rest is tall grass and weeds. There is no smell of coal and the gob piles are gone. I made Michael stop the truck and I got out and stood at the top of Widen hill. My eyes filled with tears as I imagined the strikers and their sons cutting off the only road in and out of the town.

When I stepped out in front of my grandma's old house, the houses around it are gone now. The wooden gate is gone, the road in front is paved, and the street is quiet. I closed my eyes and I stepped back in time. The pavement turned to dirt, the smell of burning coal penetrated my nostrils, and the sounds of old trucks and children playing in the streets made my heart leap. I heard the gate spring shut and slam its post. I imagined the time when the Casto's lived next door and we played in the coal dust roads catching fireflies until after dark. I remember when I could stand in front of Grandma's house and look all the way down the road to my Aunt Emogene's house.

But many roads in Widen are virtually gone now. Grown over with plant life native to the area. The sights and sounds of a town that once boomed and supported over 3,000 people is not only gone ... it's as if it never existed. I cried. How do we allow these towns to die? Who's going to tell our children what happened here?

Widen is a town gone ... but not forgotten.

Back at the reunion, I relayed my thoughts to some of the family. All of them have stories quite similar to mine, I found out. And though they may not have lived in Widen, they had their own hometown stories. Some still live in the towns they grew up in, others have moved north to Ohio, or south to Virginia. Or to other parts of the country and started over.

But every year, these people, this group of kin called the Samples Family, gathers yet one more time to remember. This year, Scott Lewis, son of Ocie Samples Lewis passed away during the festivities. It caused the reunion to understandably close early. Scott's homegoing was devastating to his precious wife, Velvie, and immediate family. Our hearts went out to them.

Scott and his wife stood in line in front of Michael and I earlier in the day as we gathered to fill our plates. His sweet wife mentioned that she remembered coming to my house at Christmas when I was a little girl. Then Scott put his arms around his wife and smiled and said, "this is my better half." He was with his family, his friends, and went from one reunion on earth to the next reunion in glory. I'm sure his mama all the Samples that had gone on before -- greeted him ... Michael, Aaron and I extend our deepest sympathy to the Lewis family.

Scott Lewis may be gone, but he will never be forgotten.

This reunion has given me a sense of belonging like nothing else I've ever experienced. These people of the mountains of West Virginia, men and women who worked the land, the coal mines, and the lumber mills ... have a place in my heart and will remain forever family. I'll be back again next year, to that patch of earth and sky and music in Strange Creek ... a place where time stands still and the members of the Samples Family come together once more to remember ...

Blessings to you and yours.

Headin' To The Hills

This weekend is our big family reunion ... in West by-God Virginia. Literally, the place where we all meet, is so far removed from civilization, you wonder if you should leave a trail of breadcrumbs. Saturday night is the bon-fire, lots of blue grass, storytelling, and a bit of moonshine tipping. Sunday afternoon is dinner on the grounds. At my cousin Mick's place. My daddy loves it. He's one of the elders now. His mother, my grandmother, was one of the original Samples. And this ... being the Samples Reunion ... gets us in the "door."

The reunion started many years ago, with James Curtis and Savina Samples. They were the parents of Grant, Anis, Cora, Osa, Gussie, Lanty, Walter, Russell, and Corbitt. Gussie was my grandma. They're all gone now ... Lanty, the youngest, passed away at an old age just last June. Their offspring consists of over 200 members ... including my children and me.

This year, my son Aaron is going to this reunion for the first time. Which I'm glad ... he can keep an eye on Daddy this year, make sure he ain't tippin' a bit too much shine. It's a once a year ritual, among relatives, earth, sky ... and music. So far up in the mountains, you've never been that close to God, I'm sure. The land is leveled off where we meet on these camping grounds. So many of the folk come from all across the country, with their tents and campers and literally hook up to Mick's electric for a week. Mick's a good ole' boy ... and obviously loved for carrying on this old tradition.

Getting to Strange Creek is no laughing matter, but the beauty that surrounds you in the trees, the mountain laurel and vegetation makes you want to curl up in the midst of it and pretend you're in heaven. Being equal with the clouds, you wind your way off the interstate and into the hill country ... land of my ancestors. Following the river you eventually come to the end of paved roads. When you arrive where the dirt road ends, you're "home."

Sitting on my cousin's front porch, if you look way across the dirt road from her house, you'll see a rather rocky and winding trail, just barely wide enough for your vehicle ... it goes practically straight up the side of the hill. That's the beginning of the trail leading to the Sample Family reunion. Lots of the old folk like to gather on her front porch a few days before the official "fun" begins. We're heading up early, taking a side trip to Widen, and then meeting Aaron before we head off to find my dad ... hopefully sitting on the front porch ... chewing the fat with his kin.

When I called my cousin, Denise, the other day to discuss what I should bring ... (by the way, you've never in your life eat food like this ... chicken and dumplings to die for ... peach cobbler and peanut butter pie that will absolutely melt in your mouth ...) anyway, Denise was saying "there's a pesky black bear that's been seen around lately and the deer is thick this year ..." I had to laugh to myself. That's just normal for those people, bear and deer ... the wildlife they enounter is commonplace. Just like all the traffic and noise of suburbia and the city is to the rest of us.

For me, it's all about the storytelling and soaking up the blue grass. This life, these people, run so rich in my veins that I get tingly all over when I think about it. Though some of their views differ from my dad's and my own, they're family ... and we put all that aside for this gathering of Samples. A reunion to remember all those that lived and died before us.

I wonder if the original members of this group look down and smile a bit. I'm sure they thought it'd die off when they did and we'd end up like the rest of the world's population, blown to the four corners of the world, never knowing who we were related to.

But thankfully, somebody had the notion to keep the fire burning ... and this year ... it'll be burning back at Mick's place again, as all the Samples gather one more time.

Blessings to you and yours this independence holiday.

The Call Of The Wild

I'm feeling wild today ... ready to dig into my work with a vengeance. It's been crazy since the launch ... getting out press packets and sending books to all four corners of the country ... but I'm itching to get back to my real job. Writing ... creating ... editing ... writing some more.

The experience of putting your head down and plowing through a story is hard to describe. I remember watching the boys play football. Tackling their opponents and keeping their heads down ... concentrating on the play, their next move, their adrenalin pumping ... I feel that way as I dig through this manuscript.

Wildly, I contemplate my strategy. I suit up with my imaginary gear. I shove my protective mouth guard in to keep me from answering the phone, lace up my shoulder pads in case I hit a wall and can't think of a better way to write the sentence, and jam my helmet on to ward off blows from banging my head against the wall when I can't think of a word. It's a tough game, but I'm deep into the fourth quarter and the clock is running. I'm fourth and goal, with no time-outs.

Looks like I'm going to be wild and crazy for a while ... look out!

Tomorrow I'll be sore all over ...

Blessings to you and yours.

Clarification

I got to thinking this morning, that we can't put everybody in one box. Just as there are some evil people out there disguising themselves as "Christians" ... there are many good-hearted, honest, and truth-seeking evangelicals among them. We can't lump all evangelicals into one heap ... nor can you do the same thing with the rest of the world's population. That includes new age thinkers and races and religions of all kinds.

God is God ... I see Him in move in the minds and lives of all races and religions ... Let's let Him figure out who His true followers are. Sometimes we try to do His job, and we end up with bigotries and prejudices of all kinds floating upward like vapors, stinking in His nostrils.

Just wanted to clarify my thinking ... that there is good, bad, and ugly in all classes of people, groups, and denominations. And this is also good in all of the same.

It is not my position or yours to judge ...

On a much lighter note ... I've just finished my Speaker's Press Kit with my publicist, and it's awesome! 20 packets will be in the mail Monday morning ... I'm praying for some wonderful opportunities to share my work with the region at large.

The book is selling well. I get orders every day ... I'm thrilled with the responses!

Blessings to you and yours.

Evangelical America Can Be A Dangerous Place To Live

Sometimes the business side of writing and publishing just sucks the creative side right out of me. I've spent too long, since finishing SOUTHERN FRIED WOMEN, working on press kits, giving interviews, and reorganizing my office. I'm itching to get back to the work I love. Though I find time to blog, read, and write short snippets of story from time to time ... my first love is in writing and editing my novels.

Although I certainly have cleaned out a bunch of clutter. (i.e. no more reading tons of Internet sites, blogs, and cut down on email time.) There comes a time when you've just got to trust yourself, and move in the direction your spirit leads you.

But, I have been meeting some interesting people lately. I made a new friend yesterday. She contacted me upon reading my work somewhere. Our backgrounds are quite similar, as her fundamentalist religious background mirrors my own. We sat and drank coffee and ate breakfast together ... chatting the morning away. These times are refreshing to me ... sharing notes on all those church services we sat in ... laughing about the stuff we lived through. Although quite painful at the time, laughing about it now is part of that healing process. Unless one experiences manipulation to this magnitude, you can't understand how a body can be swept up in it.

I often get asked, "How could that happen to someone like you?" It's a question I've often asked myself. But when you come out of it ... it's like being cured from cancer. You wonder how it started and how you got through it. It's the best way to explain it, I suppose.

My poor husband, who's never experienced that type of mind control, sits and shakes his head. He can't understand the types of conversations I have with people who have been rescued, or broke out of church cults. The man has had his own personal relationship with his creator all his life, and has never depended on any ministry for answers. Lucky duck.

But, here's where we need to clarify. Do I believe in attending church? Yes, absolutely. If you can find one that won't take away all your freedoms. I think people need to be taught, guided, and if the Shepherd is any good, he won't lead his flock into legalism. He will encourage them to seek God for themselves. Do I believe in one denomination over another? No. I know they all have their own way of practicing their faith, but in the end ... I believe that God is neither Catholic nor Baptist. That's all fluff to me.

Personally, when one has been so bruised and battered by pastors, teachers, prophets, apostles, reverends, etc. who are raging wolves in sheep's clothing, then I would suggest you do what I do ... worship in the safety of your home. Guard your heart ... but mostly ... guard your new open mind. There will be lots of leftover residue to wade through and shake off. Your mind is vulnerable and you need to find your own way first, before getting swept up in yet another church or mega ministry. Evangelical America can be a dangerous place to live. Don't kid yourself. Guard your soul, folks.

I have seen the dark side of evangelism. I know the evil that lurks in the minds of those that cannot be reasoned with. But I have also experienced the smiles on the faces that have come out of it. The laughter that takes over as a result of living through it. The laughter at ourselves, our plight, our journey. Once you have been through that kind of experience, I've realized (just lately) that it becomes a part of you. You can never get rid of that past. So you learn to laugh about it ... and you find comfort in those with similar paths.

I was reminded of the scripture, yesterday ... "Touch not my anointed ..." It made me wonder why there are so many wolves out there touching their anointed sheep and ruining their lives. For so long, we were led to believe that scripture was just about "anointed pastors." Can't God anoint all of us? The scripture also tells us "God is also not a respecter of persons."

You see it's all in how it's interpreted. And who's right? You can't boldly proclaim your authority over interpreting scripture when God has the ability to reveal Himself to any one of us.

That's why I worship at home, never push my beliefs on anyone, respect those of others even if I don't agree, and in the process ... I have found peace. Easy way out? Maybe. Do I want my ears tickled? You bet I do. I've sat through enough hell, fire, and brimstone to last me a lifetime. Evangelicals can shout and scream at each other all they want in the confines of their glass walled churches ... I'll enjoy my peaceful worship ... at home.

Blessings to you and yours.

What Matters?

Come and go with me to my Father's house, to my Father's house, to my Father's house
Come and go with me to my Father's house ...

I'm not sure who wrote this old song ... I find it documented as an old Negro spiritual as well as arranged and sung by different artists ... so I'm not exactly sure to whom to give this credit to ... but I remember singing it. Over and over again.

Oh yes, we Pentecostals sang it loud and long ... the words were a bit different to what I find online. Come and go with me to my Father's house where there is peace ... sweet peace.

Father's Day was this past Sunday. I wonder how many of us think about the Father of all Father's. If you're a believer, if you have the smallest ounce of faith, and if you believe in that "Higher Power" you know ... there's a Father of us all. A creator. A divine one who mastered the universe and according to the Bible, "hung the world upon nothing."

I love it. Hung the world upon nothing. Awesome. Ever think about it?

I think about God a lot. I believe in Him. I'm not trying to be politically correct, nor am I trying to sway you to the left ... or to the right ... that's all fluff anyway ... if you're a believer.

Look up into the night sky ... tell me how it got that way.

When we get down to the end of the road, when our world comes to an end ... it's nice to believe in a place where your soul goes to your Father's house. Will the civilization we encounter be similar to the one we're in? Do you ever wonder what heaven is really like? Well, don't fret, because this life is all too short, folks. One day you wake up and your kids are grown, you're middle aged, and life has whizzed by you so fast you think you're dreaming.

Do you fear death? Should you? I suppose it depends on what you believe. If I were an agnostic, or an atheist ... and all I believed is that we just die and nothing happens ... I think I would fear that most of all. Of course, I also believe in hell ... whatever God has chosen that to be.

But most of all ... my spirit tells me there's a place beyond the horizons ... a place where the soul never dies ... a dwelling place of eternal peace and yet, a society where God reigns.

Makes you wonder, doesn't it?

In the meantime ... we're here. Humans, struggling to get along. Finding our way amidst the everyday trials of life. Wondering what is our purpose ... what is it we're supposed to do with our lives, and why do we lament so about every ... little ... thing that doesn't go our way. What matters? How selfish can we be and still make heaven?

But then if you don't believe ... I suppose you can live however you want ... there are no consequences, are there?

I will still sing it for you though ... come and go with me to my Father's house ... become a seeker, at least.

Blessings to you and yours.

...Gone To Ohio For A Big Wedding

I have to laugh. It was sign on the door of a wallpaper store here in town a couple years ago. It didn't just say ... CLOSED. It said ... CLOSED, GONE TO RALEIGH FOR A BIG WEDDING. Not just a wedding ... a BIG wedding.

Well, that's how I felt when we left last Friday ... I was CLOSED. Gone to Ohio for a big wedding. Took the weekend off! Michael and I spent a hot day in Ohio, temperature in the low 90s, but definitely ... the wedding of the century.

Sarah, my daughter's childhood friend, college roomie, and lifelong best fried, was married Saturday, June 17th to Doug ... her sweetheart for the past eight years. (A real hottie.) The wedding, held at Congress Lake Country Club took place outside by the lake, but the reception was inside (thank goodness.) Despite the heat, Sarah was by far, one of the most beautiful brides I've ever laid eyes on. Her dress was gorgeous. A floating sea of satin folds, strapless, pink sash, diamond waist broach ... unbelieveable. She gave all Southern belles a run for their money, I can tell you that much.

But then, my Jilly was a pretty sweet ticket. Jill was a bridesmaid, as well as all Sarah's other close friends, Beth and Heather. They're all truly the Monica, Phoebe, and Rachel of Columbus, Ohio ... FRIENDS.

Prime rib, china and stemware, open bar, a live band, cake to the ceiling, and a few hundred guests dressed to the nines. A memorable evening, a new young married couple, and dreams my Jillian can put under her pillow ...

Blessings to the happy couple.

Hurricanes

... they lost ... (not the weather kind) the North Carolina hockey team kind.

My step-son, Christopher, LOVES the NC Hurricanes. Although he stood for the entire game in his Arizona livingroom and bit his nails ... the canes still lost.

They're in the play-offs. If they could just squeak out one more win, then they win the Stanley Cup and Christopher will be in hog-heaven.

That makes me happy. That makes his daddy happy. Chris may live in Arizona, but his heart (as far as his sports teams go) is back home in NC. He's a huge Tar Heel, Panther, and Hurricane fan. Although he's been acquiring a taste for the Arizona Suns, Chris has been following NC teams for a long, long time. The man lives and dies for sports. And his sweet wife, Nicole.

But somehow, I think even Nicole takes a back seat with the Canes are in the play-offs.

That's okay, Nicole ... it's a nice bargaining chip.

So ... Christopher is sitting on the edge of his seat waiting for the next game in the series ... and hopefully with the next win, NC wins the Stanley Cup!

Go CANES! ... we can't wait for the next puck off!

Blessings to you and yours. And Happy Birthday, Michael! Please give me another 54 years!

We're Celebrating

Oh my ... I've just re-read my blog from yesterday. I think it must've been those hot-flash hormones talking. You know, the time of the month when all middle-aged women turn into Cruella Deville. EEEK!

On a lighter note ... it's raining today. Once in a while, I love a good soaking. It replinishes the garden, my flowers, makes the yard pretty. A day to stay curled up inside with a good book, and maybe cook something special for dinner. Have a glass of wine. Rest.

But not today! The errand list is long and tomorrow is Michael's birthday. So tonight ... we're celebrating!

Presents, balloons, party favors, the traditional birthday tiara, and birthday barbeque! We'll order out, bring in a bakery cake, and celebrate. It's how we handle getting older around here. We don't let the years roll by quietly. No way. The man gets better looking as the years roll by ... typical male progression. Women ... well, we just deteriorate over time. What can I say. Write blogs like the one I did yesterday. EEEK, again.

But maybe, when you think about it, after you turn 50 ... you should celebrate every day. Every day you wake up is a good day. Celebrate life by doing what you want ... loving every minute you're with those who make you happy ... giving of yourself in some way that fulfills that philenthropic part of you. Whatever reason you can find to celebrate ... just do it.

Happy Birthday, Mikey!

Blessings to you and yours! (I guess that would be me!)

Bite Me

I was asked about dieting last night. About the money Americans have wasted on it, and I went overboard on my comments. Boy, does this subject strike a sour note of discord with me!

I refuse to spend another dime on diet crap. I realized a long time ago that one can lose weight without buying the latest QVC ab machine. God save us from yet another skinny diet expert’s book on how to lose weight. And please, no more low-carb, low-fat, low-cal cookbooks that confuse the hell out of us! (God, I love Paula Deen!)

There's only one way to really lose weight. Eat less, exercise more. Duh. Every fat person in America already knows that.

Barring any physical disorder (i.e. thyroid, which nobody can seem to regulate mine anymore) you can shrink without spending thousands of dollars.

I have blown enough $ over the years to probably pay cash for a couple nice cars. And then some. But never again. I've inhaled, digested, and slapped on my share of diet drinks, potions, lotions, and pills. (And I don't just mean over-the-counter. I remember the 70s when every diet doctor in town doled out black beauty’s like they were candy.)

I've worked out at Curves, Gold’s gym, with Oprah's trainer (memorized the book), spent lunch hours with that famous kickboxing guy on TV (wasn’t that famous, huh?) and graced the smelly, sweaty locker rooms --after busting my butt-- at numerous other local health clubs, including Bally's and the memorable Vic Tanny.

I have sweat to the oldies with Richard Simmons until my knees buckled under me, jumped in place in aerobic classes all while hoping not to pee my pants, laughed through yoga, nearly slipped a disk during Pilates, pulled muscles I didn’t know I had during weight training, lived through a near-death experience on a stair-stepper, and wasted tons of time rocking back and forth like a lunatic on Body-By-Jake. I’ve walked to the moon and back, and nearly killed myself on a treadmill--total burn out. Hurt my knees mountain climbing and have kept more food journals and exercise progress charts than you can shake a stick at.

I've followed Atkins to the letter, along with S. Beach, Hollywood, Dr. Phil., Optifast, Suzanne Summers, Susan Powter, Deal-A-Meal, Denise Austin ... you name it … their food regimens have been on my table. Studied E-diets suggestions, Tony Robbins lectures, and Fergie’s famous royal weight loss testimony, as well as hundreds of other “success” stores … took notes, lost a little, and put it all back on … and then some.

Watched all season of The Biggest Loser. Fat chance of that happening for me. You need to be healthy to begin with!

I've gone to Weight Watchers, Physicians Weight Loss, Nutri-system, and Overeaters Anonymous, just to name a few. I’ve lost it all right along with Oprah, except I didn’t have her money to hire the cook, trainers, and TV cameras so the world could watch me stay motivated.

Hell, I've been hypnotized. Didn't work. Been prayed for … had hands laid on to lose weight. True story. All while the faith healer weighed more than me. I remember seeing a spot of gravy (probably from his Sunday fried chicken dinner) on his tie.

Tried to smoke to lose weight. Hated it. Never resorted to mind-altering drugs or alcohol … although it crossed my mind a time or two. As an adult, I've been a size 6 and a size 26. I've been laughed at, made fun of, and also whistled at. All in the same year.

I've yo-yo'd from one extreme to the other for over 30 years. It's not fun. It messes with your head. My self-esteem has ballooned and then popped. More than once.

Both of my middle-aged sisters are a hundred sizes smaller. Never been what I call over weight. Not for a day. Have a tiny daughter, size 8 friends, and a wardrobe of clothes I swore I’d never wear again. But yet … here I am … wearing fat clothes again. Shorts? Not on your life. Bathing suit? Not for a million bucks. Frustrating, you ask? You don’t know that half of it. If I never see another pair of black pants in my lifetime, it’ll be too soon.

I’ve heard it all … “be happy with your body, no matter your weight.” Are you laughing? Me too. All those heavy women on TV claiming to love their overweight bodies … get real. Who do they think they’re fooling?

Do I want to be stick thin? Hell no. I honest-to-God don’t give a damn about being 125 pounds anymore. Even 135. It’s even more than “being healthy” to me.

It’s about feeling good in a pair of pants, or a nice suit. It’s about not hating having your picture taken. Not being self-conscious of your nakedness. It’s about growing old gracefully… and looking decent. Not bloated and obese. It’s about not being tired all the time. Not aching in my hips and knees.

I’ve heard my family say … “she put it all that weight back on … AGAIN! What’s wrong with her … why can’t she stop eating?”

What they don’t know is I’ve done that too. Stopped eating. Several times. Ever go on a fast? Ever feel so desperate to be loved that you deny yourself food?

Never again.

I REFUSE to spend another dime or any more of my time on something that doesn't work. Last time I lost weight, it was in 2000. I lost over 50 pounds. It was hell. It was not fun. I hated every minute of it. Did everything short of having my stomach stapled. (Except I did have liposuction and a tummy tuck in 2001 after losing 50 pounds.)

You still think fat people are lazy, don’t want to look nice in clothes, can’t control themselves? Fat people are some of the most productive people in the world. They have some of the strongest will power you could ever imagine. Their dreams and goals, I’m willing to bet, are far superior to anything you could make up.

Am I angry? Hell, yeah, I’m pissed off. More at myself than anything. I’ve seen how women especially, suffer unspeakably with pounds of unwanted fat.

At my age, I've done it all. Seen it all. I don't care to kill myself again loosing weight. I’m tired of being miserable while I lose, and while I try to keep it off. I want to enjoy my life. I want to taste wine and chocolate and cheese and breads. I can’t live on daily helpings of rice cakes anymore! I want to eat out and not think about calories. And I’m not talking about gorging … just simply eating … like normal people.

Trouble is, not caring will kill me too. I think about it this every day of my life. I’m letting you in on the “dark side of me.” This pain of aging, this trying to understand how some women eat twice as much as I do and weigh nothing … trying to understand why 1,200 calories a day adds weight on me … how come it takes six months of rigorous exercise for me to lose a few inches … all these questions have consumed me.

Wonder why some of us “fatties” are cranky? Think it’s all mind over matter?

Yeah? Bite me.

Let me throw the first stone (or boulder) at the hecklers, the people who say, “just do it,” the experts that squeeze out our last dime on the next breakthrough in diet crap. To quote Forrest Gump, "Sometimes, there aren’t enough rocks."

Feel free to quote me too.

Blessings on you and your fleshy behind.

A Day In The Sun With Cats And Southern Women

Dena Harris, fellow writer and friend extraordinaire, and I shared booth space yesterday at Wayneck Medical Center for the annual GODDESS MARKET. The place was covered with new age gurus, faeries, belly dancers, and of course vendors of all sorts. Jewelry, skin care, flowers, Indian cuisine, even a reader and advisor was on hand to dole out her tarot cards.

Weren't too many shoutin' Baptists at this festival of new thinkers.

(Giggle) Now, if you're like some I grew up around, you'll probably think I'm in need of salvation all over again. Why, land sake, sittin' all day around those "tree-huggers" ... I'm surely in need of sanctification by the truckload.

To me, these were friendly and fun people. We sure didn't lack for entertainment all day.

Despite the heat and few book sales, Dena and I laughed the afternoon away. You can never tell about festivals. I'm pretty positive; this was neither Dena’s target audience nor mine. We basically broke even with the few we sold and sharing the cost and decorations of the booth. It's live and learn when it comes to book publicity.

But it's also about exposure. Many took our cards and bookmarks with our web site on them, and the Editor from Guilford Woman Magazine stopped by and asked me to contact her about an interview. There you go. Looking at the glass half-full ... one never knows where exposure will lead.

By the end of the day, I had melted off my makeup and matted my hair with healthy doses of cold water poured over my head. Hot and humid, the car's air conditioning was a welcome relief. North Carolina can be quite unbearable in the summer, even under the shade of a tent. Michael took over a hundred pictures and Blair (Dena's husband) was the smart one, he ran errands to air-conditioned stores while we melted.

I think the best venue for me will be targeted audiences who come specifically to hear me speak or to buy my book. My publicist is working on those. For now, I'll think back on this day as a great day with friends and a chance to tell more people about my book.

Dena's humor book on living with cats www.denaharris.com/lessons and my book on Southern women make for great conversation with our customers ... even if they don't buy the books.

Blessings to you and yours. (And a few hallelujah shout-outs to all the new-agers out there.)

When Will It End?

Sometimes I get an idea from a blog my friend Dena has posted. This morning she wrote about the war in Iraq. www.blogsbydenaharris.squarespace.com

Of course, being a mother of a Marine, I responded. I have to agree with her, we all feel somewhat distanced from that war most of the time. My son, now having finished his service in the Marine Corp, works for a major airlines and is doing quite well, thank you very much. Uncle Sam helped him through college and molded him in areas that I, as a single mom, could not. He's an upstanding citizen and a good person. And when I think of all the other mothers whose sons are now serving their country in a war-torn region of the world, my heart just sinks. I could've been in their ranks had the war started a few years earlier.

Sure, having money for college is nice, but I think most mother's would prefer the safety of their sons and daughters, to the benefits their children are awarded should they live through four years in the military.

Still, I was moved by Dena's blog this morning. It's difficult to think about what these guys are going through. Okay, yes, I know the boys in WWII went through unspeakable horrors, as well men and women during the Korean War and Vietnam. Talk to any veteran that's seen action. If they're willing to relive it, they'll tell you what the young men and women in Iraq are going through. They've been there. They know.

But the rest of us? We sit in our protected homes and lives and tend to push all thoughts of Iraq out of our heads. Nobody wants to think of it. It reminds me of how we reacted to the war in Vietnam ... we ignored it until it up and slapped us in the face. Until Americans are faced with terrorism on our own soil, we have this innate ability to turn away from terror overseas.

Problem is, what do we do about it? Not much. Some write letters, protest, march on Washington ... but can we really stop it? How does the ordinary citizen bring peace to the world in a day or a month? Feeling a bit helpless? I suppose the best thing we can do is ... pray. Pray for peace, pray for our sons and daughters, and pray that the men and women we elect in Washington have our best interest at heart.

Do they really? It's anybody's guess.

A depressing subject, which -again- is why we avoid thinking about it. We turn the channel, or skip over the evening news from Baghdad, or throw away the section of the newspaper that reports another soldier killed. A soldier whose family lives in our town. A soldier who will be laid to rest in his family's church cemetery. It's Vietnam to me ... all over again.

I support the troops ... I pray for them ... I also want to bring them home, even if we have to put different men and women in office to do that.

Blessings to you and yours. And safety.

Random Thoughts

Attended the Annual Member Appreciation Party for the Winston-Salem Writers group last evening. Wow! What a turnout. The place was packed. Just a simple event really ... covered dish and twelve great door prizes. All it was meant to be was a gathering of writers and their significant others to share food, fun, and writing accomplishments from the past year.

This group has enthusiasm, for their own passions and for other writers. I'm astonished by their camaraderie. And, as fate would have it, three of the members bought my book last night. Well, of course ... I just happen to have a box in my car. I've sold another 30 books or so since the launch last week.

The comments I've been receiving on the book have been wonderful. Like ..

"I'm only up to page 62 but I'm already enjoying your book so much that I had to tell you. In fact -- and you can bet that I very rarely say this -- your writing is excellent. I hope to share a small portion of Vernell Paskins' story as an example of a distinctive voice when I speak at Of Dark & Stormy Nights this coming weekend ... “ from Editor, Chris Roerden

And of course, there's been lots of verbal applause filtering in. That makes me smile. You work hard for a long, long time ... you hope people like your stories ... it's a great feeling when they do.

I'm having a tough time getting my tired body to swing back into a normal working routine this week. I shouldn't be so hard on myself, I suppose, but I'm looking at a growing list of projects. Priority being working with my publicist. I feel like I could spend a week working with Deb. But this Sunday is the Goddess Market and Dena and I are sharing a booth to promote our books ... so we're meeting tonight to plan that event, and tonight I'm speaking at Borders so I should concentrate today on the books on writing I plan to present.

Balance. We all struggle with it, don't we? I think I've written more about balancing priorities in this blog more than I probably should have. It's a rant, however, that I feel we all share. People talk about putting their "priorities in order." But my question remains ... HOW DO YOU KNOW FOR SURE THEY'RE IN THE RIGHT ORDER? Ugh.

So as I contemplate this age-old question ... I'm going to pour myself another cup of coffee and enjoy the warm Carolina morning before I tackle the rest of my day. Random thoughts of laundry, lunch, and playing with the dogs are calling me away from my office. Do I resist or do I stay and force myself to go through the pile on my desk?

I'm laughing. Laughing because I'm thankful. Thankful that I have a choice.

Blessings to you and yours.

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.