Dynamic Duo

No, not Batman and Robin. My parents. The two of them have melded minds, I swear. I suppose after 54 years of marriage, that happens.

Mom came out of her surgery with few problems, while Dad seemed to know that life at home would go on as usual. Not a worry in his body. While the rest of fussed and tried to tie her to the bed to keep her down, Dad went on with his daily activities, knowing not much could keep her in bed except a strong pain pill.

The dynamics of family is a fascinating thing. It changes as the years wear on. You can go for months without much sibling contact, then wham! It's like you've been talking forever. It's been said you can't pick your family, whereas your friends are a different matter. The trick is ... how do you make your family members into your friends? Not all siblings think alike. In fact, sometimes you wonder how two totally different people come from the same parents.

The important thing is knowing when to set aside your differences and come together for the task at hand.

Our dynamic duo needs watching over these days. They try, God bless them, to fit into this new tech-smart world, but ... they are definitely a product of the 50s and 60s. Computers, HDTV, and cell phones are not part of their world. Even an answering machine is a complicated piece of machinery. I wonder, are they better off without them?

My mother surprised me when she came out of the bedroom with a leather wallet. An old one. One she's held on to for over 50 years. Inside was a love letter from Dad to her, odd slips of paper dating back to the 50s, as well as my baby picture and a picture of a much younger and handsomer Dad. And dog tags. Hers, mine, and my dad's. The three of us spent nearly two years in Germany from 1955 to 1957, while Dad finished his time with Uncle Sam during the Korean war. Why, I wondered, did she wait until now to show me this precious piece of history? It touched me.

The past few days at my parents home has made me slow down a bit, and think about what really matters in life. As much as I pride myself with my "technical knowledge," I'm way behind some of the younger folks these days. But that's okay. I'm hoping someday our kids finds Michael and I as dynamic as I do my own parents.

Despite their inability to reset their VCR.

God bless you and your dynamic duo.

Waiting With Mom

Heading to Atlanta ... my mom, bless her heart, just had yet another surgery today. She's fine, at least for now. We're all praying for her speedy recovery. But Michael and I are going down for Dad, too. God knows, Daddy has special care and feeding needs, especially when Mama is down sick. At least if somebody's in the house, she won't feel like she has to get up from her sick bed to fix the man some food. What is it with that generation? Good godamighty.

Anyway, I'm taking my dump drive along. Just in case some out-of-breath agent calls, indicating my query letter is the best ever, and demands my entire manuscript overnight! Don't want to leave the poor person hanging. At least I can get on over to Kinkos, run it off, mail it, and then ... wait some more.

This waiting and wondering is tough. Not for the faint of heart. Every time the phone rings, I jump. Of course, I've sent out queries to my top picks. And I have to keep remembering the rejection stories from all the greats. But it doesn't make it any easier. I will, I assure you, be reporting on this entire process, once its over. I'm keeping track of who rejects me, who wants me, who answers quickly and just how they answer, and who just blows me off entirely. Oh yeah, I'm learning a whole lot of how this system of submissions works. Hopefully, with any luck, the stars, moon, and sun will line up, the chemistry will zing, and the timing will be perfect for one lucky agent. Lucky agent? Should I be so bold to say that?

Well, sure. Lucky agent, lucky editor, lucky me.

But right now ... who that is, is anybody's guess. I'll keep my phone on. This whole process has been in God's hands from the beginning. Until then, it's still a waiting game. And then again, one of my top picks has asked for the entire manuscript, and it's in her office at this very moment. She said she'd get back to me after October 8th sometime.

Might as well go wait with Mom and Dad. At least they'll keep me laughing and my mind off the fact that ... I'm still waiting.

Blessings to all y'all.

Please, God, Blow The Other Way

I need the wind to change direction. For God to blow against my back.

I remember growing up, I walked to school, uphill. It was a short walk, just up the road a piece. But nevertheless, on cold and windy days walking into the wind or rain, I hated it. My legs froze (as a girl, we couldn't wear pants back then) and my naturally curly hair was usually a frizzed up mess by the time the bell rang.

I feel like I've been walking uphill all my life. I'm not a runner, but I can imagine when you run against the wind, it's a whole lot tougher on your body and spirit than when the wind is pushing against your back.

I'm ready to be propelled into sweeter, higher, better things. I've been plowing, tilling, planting, weeding, watching things grow ... for years. I need a harvest time. I need to reap the nourishment of my labors. I spent most of my life in winter. Barren, dreary, cold and the wind in my face. Then I moved to North Carolina and spring came. I began to turn the soil over and plant a new crop. Summer arrived and I worked my butt off, watering, weeding, and keeping the bugs off. It's been a long summer. I'm ready for my favorite time of the year. I need the wind to change direction.

Cooler temperatures, bright sunny skies ... harvest. And the wind at my back.

Blessings to you and yours.

Love/Loathe

Other than my family, writing, and speaking …

I Love …
~the feel, smell, and weight of a new book in my hands
~peach pie, cobbler, and my mama’s pie crust
~expensive, great food
~The Food Channel
~HGTV
~clothes for plus sized women that don’t make us look like a frumpy 70s fundamentalist church lady attending a Full Gospel Businessmen’s banquet
~great summer tomatoes
~Andy Griffith Show, I Love Lucy, and The Dick Van Dyke Show
~jewelry any kind any price
~humble people
~porcelain flowers, china, glassware, and teacups
~antiques, log cabins, the History Channel
~ice cream sandwiches
~genuinely kind people
~Our State Magazine, Southern Living Magazine, Country Living, and my new favorites, Triad Living and North Carolina Design
~open houses on Sundays
~Ohio State Buckeyes and Carolina Panthers
~hiking
~laying on a blanket on a beach under a beach umbrella
~cooking in fantastic kitchens
~gardening in cool weather
~farms
~a good soaking rain
~fantastic sex with one partner your whole life long
~a great pair of boots
~island vacations
~a clean house
~The Marine Corps
~laying on a blanket under a shade tree
~real roses, any color, any kind
~open windows and the sound of birds and the feel of fresh air in the morning
~the sound of the ocean
~sunsets
~bargains
~garage sales, flea markets, antique stores
~the Blue Ridge Parkway - scatter my ashes
~big dogs
~to bend the rules
~to travel (by car)
~pillow-talk
~old John Candy movies
~old Alfred Hitchcock movies
~Reese Witherspoon, Kate Hudson, Sandra Bullock, Julia Roberts, Halle Berry, Holly Hunter, Kate Winslet, Goldie Hawn, Whoopie Goldberg, Susan Sarandon, Jennifer Lopez, and Meryl Streep,
~Tom Hanks, Matthew McConaughey, Taye Diggs, Kurt Russell, Kevin James, Jack Black, Robin Williams, Robert DeNiro, Morgan Freeman, Tommy Lee Jones, Will Smith, and Jude Law
~the great poet performer, Minton Sparks
~good news of any kind
~Tim McGraw and Faith Hill, Marshall Chapman, Wynona Judd, Vince Gill, and Sara Evans
~Bluegrass, Country Music, 80s music, great classic rock, and new age music
~an unexpected heartfelt kiss
~one night stands with my husband
~to dance, but I’m no good at it
~drama over humor, but I love to laugh until I’m sick
~convertibles
~to break the rules
~family reunions
~Gray’s Anatomy
~my best friend, Tina
~red wine
~watching movies at home, avoiding theaters where rude people talk, eat, answer their cell phones, let their kids cry, kick the back of my seat
~margaritas
~thunderstorms
~bright, sunny days
~old bathtubs
~vintage homes
~shelves of old books
~fine dining, restaurants that serve family style, local diners, cool bars that serve great food
~black and white checked floors
~cut-glass windows and doors
~whales
~cherry Cokes
~memories of my children
~picnics
~Southern accents, New York accents
~tolerant people
~people who work jobs nobody else wants
~my son's sense of humor, my daughter's face
~cheap makeup
~Starbucks dark roast coffee, cream
~wide-plank hardwood floors
~my step-son's work ethic
~my grandson, every bit of him
~rice pudding
~Pizza Hut pepperoni pan pizza
~new thick towels hot out of the dryer and expensive sheets sun-dried on the line
~my husband’s legs
~wrap around porches
~old barns
~wild flowers, pastures, horses, mountains in the backdrop
~vanilla anything
~men who love their kids
~vintage jewelry
~large, beautiful trees
~The Color Purple
~Outlander, To Kill a Mockingbird, and Beach Music
~The Biltmore Estate from top to bottom
~West Jefferson, Julian, and Greensboro, North Carolina
~Charleston, South Carolina
~Savannah, Georgia

I Loathe
~to exercise
~the Holidays
~people who claim to live free from sin
~video games
~people who don't eventually return my emails
~the smell of Pine-sol, Murphy's Oil soap, and Comet
~board games
~not all, but most of today’s TV shows
~arrogant people
~narcissists
~to travel by air
~chain restaurants, fast-food
~loud cars and motorcycles
~hearing the music in the car next to me or the beat from the inside of my house
~my next door holier-than-thou neighbors
~people who honk their car horns after 10:00 p.m.
~bodily noises, especially in restaurants or in church
~know-it-alls
~jealous people
~cheap toilet paper
~people who are never happy
~the war in Iraq
~greasy food
~carpet
~narrow minds
~people who are always right
~people who can’t be sorry for anything
~judge shows, Jerry Springer, and crap TV
~people who drive in the turning lane
~people who drive in the passing lane
~people who never use their turn signal
~people who never pay attention to the driver behind them
~people who tailgate
~false prophets
~dentists
~racists and bigots
~mosquitoes
~dirty, filthy houses
~nasty bathrooms
~crumbs on the kitchen counter
~ants in the kitchen
~dirty sheets
~messy closets
~unruly children
~junk cars
~people who don’t make their unruly children behave
~crying babies in nicer restaurants and in movies
~people who are always out to get somebody
~people who get upset if you ask why
~neglected bad skin
~undependable people
~gloomy skies, weeks of snow, typical northern weather
~world disaster documentaries, i.e.-global warming, earthquakes, tidal waves
~politics
~politicians
~bad music (take your pick)
~pornography
~loud mouths
~anybody disrespectful
~cruelty to animals
~expensive makeup, skin care, and shoes
~wasting money
~the mall, anywhere
~Akron and Canton, Ohio
~shopping
~people who don't give a hoot about their house's curb appeal
~the smell of a city
~stuck in traffic
~aging
~bad memories
~assholes I have worked for
~hypocrites!
~folks who get shook over a dirty word
~closed-minded people
~bad news
~to ask for help
~abusers
~the evening news
~rats, roaches, snakes
~people who can’t forgive

Monday ...

Monday I was the keynote speaker at the Ashe County Elder Abuse Team Conference, Ashe Services for Aging Senior Center in West Jefferson, NC.

What a great group of folks who have taken on the responsibility of training us in what to look for regarding elder abuse. It's out there. I never realized just how badly and how unreported the problem of elder abuse has become. Very little state and government funding is alloted for this nationwide problem. And what's worse, the cases are seldom reported. It was an eye opener for us. I guess because Michael and I have always honored our parents. That's just not the case for some folk.

I kept my speech light and humorous. This large crowd of social workers needed to laugh after the horrible realities they're faced with every day.

Remember to hug your mama and grandma today, or send them a card, or call them, or tell grandpa you love him, even if he doesn't remember who you are. Just tell him.

Blessings to you and yours.

Yow!

Tuesday I sat (or rather reclined) all morning in the dentist chair. Fillings, one extraction, and two root canals, later, I slept the rest of the day away. Yow. I look like a squirrel gathering nuts for winter. My cheeks are puffier than usual. But I think the pain meds are worse than the procedure. I'm feeling quite drunk this morning. Drunk and sore. Woozy.

This is what I get for growing up on well water with no fluoride. And truthfully, until now, I've been too damn poor to invest in the price of a small car when it came to fixing my teeth. I just limped along, nursing them, year after year.

Now, before you go and think I've got a mouthful of rotten teeth, think again. The front teeth are fine. In fact, the dentist said I have excellent oral hygiene. It's them damn back teeth that nobody can see. But, with any luck, I'm going to have a mouthful of pretty new crowns and bridges within the year. How about that? I can stop chewing with my front teeth! Yay!

I'll bet, if the truth was told, so many of us baby boomers are in this shape with our teeth. My husband just had a root canal. My sisters have both had extractions and root canals. Were we not brushing enough as kids? Probably not. And again, no fluoride. But the biggest problem, I feel, has been those harrowing experiences at the dentist! As a result, I've got to have sedation for any dentist appointment. Am I a wus? Probably. But they yanked our teeth out instead of filling them back in the 60s. Nightmares. Even as late as the 90s, I've had horrible experences with dentists!

So ... now we pay the price for pretty teeth. And thank God we can buy them these days. I choose not to have dentures, but to fix the teeth I have, keep them white and shiny, and because I don't smoke ... hopefully I can keep them this way for years to come. My thirty-year old daughter, thank God, has perfect teeth. Not a cavity in her head. Maybe bad teeth will be a thing of the past for our grandchildren. Like polio and small pox.

But right now, I'm heading back to the comfort of my bed and an ice pack. And Advil.

Blessings to you and yours.

Growing Old Gracefully

I spoke this week to a large group of students, mostly Seniors, at Wake Forest University. Talk about feeling my age. I spoke about writing, of course. I did my "thing" and it went well. But as I looked out over the sea of baby-faces, I began to think about aging. That someday, all those smooth and unlined faces, straight backs, perky boobs, and bodies filled with boundless energy ... are going to be middle-aged. Like me. It made me sad. But ONLY for a moment.

Growing old gracefully is a gift. I am now, probably for the first time in my life, the person I have always wanted to be. (Not in body, but in mind.) Sometimes I see my mother when I look in the mirror, but there's nothing I can do about that.

I've always been, uh, a bit of an oddball. A drama queen. A pain in the ass to some. Maybe it's the artistic part of me that was always screaming to get out! Come out of the closet, if you will. But now ... as I've aged like (I was going to use the old cliche and say like a fine wine) but it's more like stinky cheese. Anyway, I have to say ... I like me. I like the way my life is turning out.

Point is, I have found out over the years who my friends really are. I wouldn't trade them for anything. Not even a flatter belly or a firmer butt. Although I'm anal as hell, I've learned to forgive myself quicker. And others. I've learned patience. (Oh, yes, 'tis true.) And though I still hate stupid drivers, I get over it quicker. I've become my own friend.

I stopped beating myself up for eating ice cream after 7:00, and I love 80s music. I'm not ashamed of that anymore. And bluegrass. I love bluegrass. I choose who I want to be with, talk to, and have in my life. I don't want to be around people I don't like. I don't have to anymore. If somebody doesn't like me, I don't lament about that anymore, either. I shrug and go on.

There's a freedom that comes with aging. Whose business is it if I choose to read or write until 3 in the morning. Whose business is it if I sleep until 10 am? I also love Mozart and Frankie Valli. So what? I've never owned my own home. I can admit that. Sure, it's a goal. To own my own beautiful home. Entertain. Fix things the way I want. Have what I want for dinner and when I want it. Walk around the house naked with my husband. Who cares? (I hope my kids aren't reading this.) But then again, get over it. Mom still has sex, guys! It still happens after 50, maybe not as much, but it happens! And it's better than ever!

And if I choose to weep over lost dreams in the middle of the day ... I will. And if I walk the beach in long cotton cover-up instead of a bikini, who cares? Even despite the pitying glances from the size twos, so what? They, too, will get old. My husband still loves me.

I know someday I may become forgetful. But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten. Sure, over the years my heart has been broken. Some folks have a tough time believing what I've been through. And some things, may never be told. They're too painful. But broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding and compassion. A heart never broken is pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being imperfect.

I'm glad I'm not perfect. I'm glad, oh, so glad I don't have to work at that "perfect" game my old church used to force down my throat. I am so blessed to have lived long enough to know better.

My hair is turning gray under the beautiful color my hairdresser so skillfully applies. The laugh lines are carved into my face from decades of smiles. But I have a dear friend who never laughed after the age of 13. She never got to see her laugh lines.

As you get older, it is easier to be positive. You care less about what other people think. I don't question myself as much anymore. (Only to my husband, poor thing.) But I've even earned the right to be wrong. I guess, after looking at all those young people, I've decided I like being older. It has set me free. I like who I've become. I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. I will eat ice cream every single day. (If I feel like it.) So there.

What do those kids at Wake Forest really have to write about at this point in their lives? Not much when you think about it. I used to wish I were 21 again. Not anymore. It feels too good to be free from all that. Too good. I don't want to spend my life jaded, waiting, to wake up one day and find, that I let all these years go by ... wasted. Love that Carrie Underwood song.

Blessings to you and yours.

Waiting Game

Boy, when it rains it pours. Four churches called in one day to book me for either their women's ministry workshop, or to speak after or during a Sunday Service. In the midst of setting up engagements, I'm working on the outline for Behold the Lamb, the next book on my horizon. (More to come on that later.) Televenge is done! (For now. Until a publisher's editor gets involved.) But my queries are out to my selected agents. Michael and I worked long and hard for three solid weeks getting those queries out. And after my last "freak out" at the Fed-X, I'm triple checking everything!

But my platform continues to build. Some days I wonder what the hell I think I'm doing. The process is so slow. But looking back, I can see real progress. Bit by bit, we've trudged along and put some solid miles behind us. I do have a story to tell. It's moving and it's potent. Shocking, even. Seldom does a heart not get touched. But over time, I've come to realize, my message is strongest to those who sit in church pews. And I'm finding Christians (on the whole) have more of an open mind than we give them credit for.

Of course, there are the John Hagees of the world ... who thump their Bibles and wail loud and long that God means this and that and you better not think otherwise or Hell is your destiny! I mean, wow, he should know. Right? Ugh. Like God has no capability to talk to any of us. I'm so tired of these guys.

But I'm finding that folks everywhere don't want to be screamed at. Or even preached at. God isn't the red-eyed, long-white-haired, ball of fire the televangelists of the world want us to believe that He is. Who is He? What is He? I think the truth is ... we seek Him out for ourselves, and we put away all our precognitions, as much as possible, and let that still, small voice tell us who He is.

That's powerful. He's powerful. He doesn't need the John Hagees of the world to prove it.

Please say a prayer. Televenge is a powerful book. It's going to create controversy, but it's also going to sit well with oh, so many folk. It's a book of faith, of love, encouragement, and of strength. Based loosely on a true story, the journey my characters embark on will shock, delight, and brand this story into the reader's memory. I'm pretty confident, aren't I?

My friend, Attorney Jackie Stanley, said something to me last week that thrilled me. She said, "Since reading Televenge, I look at the religious world differently. I compare and when I see and hear televangelists on TV, I wonder ... " That is the exact response I wish to evoke in my readers.

The journey's been a long one. That's for sure. But it's not over. Not by a long shot.

Speaking, writing, e-mailing, traveling, speaking, writing, it's been non-stop for years now. The summer is gone and I barely recall when it arrived. Lately, I've been searching for time just to get to the Wal-Mart. And on top of everything, I'm nursing a bad tooth. Woe is me.

But any way you look at it, Televenge is now a waiting game. Well, I guess if there's one thing I've learned over the past few decades of my life. It's how to wait. What a hard lesson. But it sure comes in handy now.

Blessings to you and yours,

Perfectionism

I have a confession about how anal I am. And just how it drives me (and my poor husband) insane. So if you can imagine, I'm already freaked about sending out my first query for Televenge. I've spent hours going over this query letter.

Checking every word, making sure the entire submission is pristine and perfect. I personally take it to the Fed-X station. (Normally, I'll snail mail, but this was a requested submission, so I sent it Fed-X.)

Anyway ... I carefully fill out the paperwork, checking and double-checking each and every thing I do. I slid the submission into the envelope. It fits nicely. I write the words "requested submission" on the front and the agent's name. I say a quick prayer, pay the bill, and walk out.

Then an hour later ... I'm sitting at my computer and something doesn't feel right. I look over to my files and begin to review (once again) everything I just did. I re-read the query letter. The last line says, "Thank you for your time. I would be delighted to send you the completed manuscript. A SASE is enclosed." Then it hits me.

I forgot to put in the SASE! (Self-addressed stamped envelope)

EEEKKKK! I freak. Sure, I know. The SASE is only for rejections. But if you say one is enclosed, then, by God, you should enclose it. I rush back to the Fed-X station, beg them to hunt for it, and a really, sweet Fed-X employee finds it for me. Thank God, it wasn't on the plane, yet.

I rip open the package. Pull out the submission. I redo the large envelope, slide in my SASE, and finally, finally ... finish the process.

I get back in the car. And I cry. A project of this magnitude is in itself daunting. But sending it out, perfect, the way the agents want it, and add to that my own 'bout with perfectionism, I'm either going to have a major melt-down every time I send out a query, or I'm going to have to somehow learn to relax and realize these folks aren't anymore perfect than I am.

God help me.

Blessings to you and yours.

Busy And Fuzzy-Headed

Oh! My Gosh! Has it really been a week since my last blog post? After speaking last Thursday in Concord, NC to Ewomen, I felt the final huge push to get the first query letter and pages out to the agent that not only came highly recommended, but my dear friend made the way for me to get not just 30 pages but 100 pages to her ... asap. I think I'm anal to a fault. A gigantic one. I had a hard, hard time just letting it go ... but, as of today, it's gone. Now, we wait and see.

The rules for sending query letters and submissions to agents are long and need constant scrutiny. Each agent's website calls for different items in submitting. The query, or pitch letter, is standard--but some want a synopsis, some want outlines, some want 50 pages, 100 pages, 30 pages, then some ask for nothing but the query letter. It was a long tedious process, weeding through hundreds of agents, finding those who are a good fit. Thank God, Michael did the majority of the work in compiling agent information, while I concentrated on the final 200th read of Televenge.

But now, we have our master list. I'll keep you posted.

Last Friday evening, I heard my friend, Jackie Stanley speak at the launch of her new book, Jackie Stanley's Dictionary of Encouragement. Fabulous work and I commend her on this beautiful book. On the back cover is one quote by Mother Teresa--I am a little pencil in the hand of a writing God who is sending the world a love letter. That quote inspired Jackie so much that she started her own publishing company, Little Pencil Press, and wrote this lovely book of words and their oh-so-encouraging definitions. She is the author and co-author of ten other books geared toward personal empowerment. http://www.encouragementalways.com/ -- Check her out! She is serious about earning the right to call herself the Chief Encouragement Officer, as she has embarked on a a thirty-thousand notes of encouragement marathon! Truly, one awesome woman I can also call, my friend.

This past Tuesday, I was the Keynote Speaker at the Aging With Gusto Conference, North Carolina State University, Granville County Cooperative Education Center at the Oxford Baptist Church. Approximately 200 beautiful men and women, 55 and older, gathered for workshops, a luncheon, and to be entertained. I think I did that for them. The response was warm and welcoming and I loved interacting with these folks. Sold more books and then ....

I nursed a toothache on the way home.

Yes, a darned old toothache. Ugh ... talk about timing. I don't have time for this ... but I guess my old tooth doesn't give a damn. So ... on the day I'm to send out my first query letter (a day to celebrate and get all excited) I'm also heading to the dentist. Now, I'm on antibiotics and pain killers until I go in for a root canal and some other work at the end of the month. Lovely, lovely.

Last night was the open house for the new and improved, Hell on Heelz. http://www.hellonheelz.com/. I'm looking forward to the months ahead with this great networking group of femtastic ladies!

But, like I said, what timing! I have so much work to do and in between it all, I'm loopy with pain meds. I guess that's why blogging has taken a back seat this week, eh?

Once again.

Oh well, I love to blog, but often can't find the time. But it's time for another pill and bed ... and I can't think of one more clever thing to say at this point. My head is fuzzy.

Blessings to you and yours. (That works.)

Let It Go

Blogging is one activity I enjoy, and yet find it's at the bottom of my list most days. I suppose if one intends to journal, then one must keep at it on a regular basis in order to secure a following. Or something like that. But I've forgiven myself the past few weeks from my absence on the web. I'm rather exhausted, and exhilarated at the same time.

I've been talking and blogging about my novel, the writing, editing, and daily work of it for ... I guess a couple years now. If you could see a play-by-play of my effort, you'd say I wrote this book like a mule: keeping my eyes on the ground straight ahead of me. The past three years I have put the novel before just about everything. It's been that important to me. Oh sure, I've taken time off to finish Southern Fried Women and to promote it, but what you didn't see were the hours I spent behind the scenes on Televenge. And then, of course, the past year has been full steam ahead to the finish line.

I think writers need breaks, need to stay mentally healthy and alert, they need time away from their work to go back to it with a fresh perspective. But I also think we can find every excuse in the book not to write, if we choose to. The creative process in a writer is, to me, a chemical balance that must be carefully monitored. One can only take so much time off, be away from one's work for so long before the muse begins to thin out and fade from view.

It's a hard call, then, to spread yourself out between family obligations, play time, exercise, vacation time, working on your house (or getting one, in my case.) The drive to succeed is a powerful force. Combine that with the drive to see your life's work completed, sold, and in print ... everything else takes a back seat. It's just that simple. Why do writers torture themselves with this drive, I wonder. Some say our priorities are all screwed up.

I suppose that might be true. And one might never understand how we can allow ourselves to become so innately obsessed with something so unpredictable as writing a novel. (Unpredictable in terms of success, that is.) Yet, when you're called ... ahhh, that's different.

Where I came from, the fires I've walked through, the life I've lived, has made me who I am. I could never have written this novel, otherwise.

I spoke today to a group of women in Concord, NC. A networking group called, Ewomen. Lovely ladies, and a couple handsome gentlemen, who came to hear me talk on the subject, Is there an author in you? So many are wondering about writing books these days. Self-help, how-to, business-related books that sell off the shelves like Tylenol. I covered the basics of writing, publishing, and promoting in about 20 minutes. Enough time to either whet their whistles or motivate them to move further into the process. A successful bunch, this Concord group was not only receptive, but warm and friendly.

It took me away from my desk for a few hours of needed relief from the final tweaking before sending this big, fat novel off to agents. I swear, this is almost as bad as sending your five-year-old off to school for the first time.

Worse.

But, like the first days of kindergarten, I knew this day would come. You can only tweak it so much, edit it so much, read it only so many times before you finally have to say ... enough. And let it go.

And then I'll put my nose to the ground and begin plowing through the next book.

One day at a time.

Blessings to you and yours.

Another Busy Week

Another week has flown by. I took a few days to visit Mama and Daddy in Atlanta. Both in their 70s, neither one is feeling especially chipper these days. Mike and I took a wheelchair down so Daddy could push Mama around the mall or park or wherever they choose to go. Mama is going to be getting some surgery in the near future, so we thought ... hey ... sometimes you gotta take time to be with the folks.

And they have a new puppy. We walked in the front door and this little ball of white fluff and big black eyes greets us. Daddy named him "Duke." Now I can see a Labrador Retriever or a Boxer named Duke, but this little fella looks more like a "Snowball" than a "Duke." At least to me. But what fun. Their cat, Molly, only tolerates him. But the puppy takes a good romp after her every time she shows her face, scaring the jeepers out of the cat.

We took a side trip to a museum in downtown Atlanta to see the Annie Leibovitz photography exhibit. In a word ... magnificent. Her photographs make you think. They conjure up images of your own history as she lets you see hers ... up close and personal. I love her work. Michael, being the photographer he is, pointed out that most of her work is in black and white. Her pictures tell a story. They're quite amazing. If you ever get the chance to go see her work, do it.

Had dinner with my sister and her family Friday night. What a clan! My nephew, Sam, was in town. A junior in college, he flew in from Louisiana. We had a ball. A nice respite from my nose to the grindstone for weeks. A chance to kick back and drink margaritas and laugh. Dinner was out on their veranda; we watched the sun go down and talked until late. A few antique stores and some Mexican food later, Michael and I headed home. Being only four short hours from my folks makes it a nice visit.

So, as usual, I arrive home and realize there's just so much to do. I won't go on about it. It's no use whining and having a pity party. I mean, only the most important thing I've ever done in my life is going to be mailed out this week. No need to panic. Right?

It's going to be a busy week. I'm scheduled to speak in Charlotte this week, as well as get ready for the NSA conference this weekend. Who knows what the new season will bring. Hopefully, cooler weather. Autumn is my favorite season. It's always been good to me. Let's hope it continues.

Blessings to you and yours.

Parched In The Piedmont

It's hot in the South. We're in the middle of a drought. The relentless heat has cooked our vegetable gardens even before they're picked. Wavy heat rises from every driveway and parking lot. Only weeds grow in the cracks of the parched red dirt.

Last April's unexpected freeze stole our peach crop, this summer's record-breaking heat has made a good tomato hard to find. We live in air conditioning ... there are no salty breezes off the ocean to be felt here in the Piedmont. None. Zip. Nada.

Once in a while we hear about isolated showers in a neighboring county, but our creeks and rivers are either dried up or stagnant. The cows in the pasture across the street barely move. Our grass turned brown a month ago and our flowers wilted and died even before that. You don't dare go outside in your bare feet, the concrete and deck is over 100 degrees. Nobody drives with their car windows down. Humidity is a woman's worst enemy during August here in my neck of the woods. It ruins our hair and zaps our energy levels. Life just runs on even slower speeds in Southern summers. Even our y'aaalls just drag themselves out.

Summer in Greensboro is as brutal as winter in Bangor or Buffalo. Makes me wonder about all the global warming talk. But talk doesn't cool our throats or dry our sweat-soaked backs. I think there's a run on Popsicles at the Food Lion this week. I've learned to appreciate ice in my glass.

The south has come to a standstill, and I think this area just may be the hinges to Hell's back door after all.

Cooler blessings to you and yours ...

Focus

Multi-tasking? Does anyone really do it well?

During the course of any day, most of us have a lengthy list of "things to do." Besides the normal every day cleaning, laundry, shopping, and one errand after another, what is it that you pile on top? Of course, your "job." And within that, there are multiple projects.

Do we obsess with each item on our lists, (yes, some of us have more than one list) giving each task 100% effort? I doubt it, unless you're horribly anal. Or do we speed through the day, hit and miss, procrastinate, and move on to the next item on our "list," getting just enough done to make us feel better about moving on.

Oh, and let's not even talk about those nasty "pop-ups." Problems, surprises, unexpected calls that all of a sudden get added to the list. Things like, the washer breaks, your car won't start, or your thought your family was coming next week but next week is already here.

Stress levels rise, our moods dip, our health suffers. Life ... just ... isn't ... fun ... anymore.

I guess my question is, what is it that you want to do most?

Some folks thrive on having lots to do. In fact, they get more done if faced with deadlines and rush jobs. Their three children have to be at five places at once, and they smile about it. They find humor in having a hair appointment, doctor appointment, and Junior's little league game all in one day. Their energy levels always seem above the norm and they generally succeed at their goals.

But as we grow older, and the children are raised, our bodies and minds begin to focus more, I believe. We tend to hone in on doing only that which makes us ... happy. And if at all possible, we trade our stress levels, for success levels. Our long lists for shorter ones. Our crazy get-it-all-done-in-one-day lives for a day trip to the beach.

Hopefully, most of us can find levels of happiness as we grow older. I think about the older women and men I see working at McDonald's or as greeters at Wal-Mart. It's one thing if they're working those jobs because they want to meet people, get out of the house, and have fun. But if they work there because they have no choice; they need the extra money to pay medical bills, these folks don't have lists. They're just focusing on getting from one day to the next.

So we count our blessings. Lists aren't so bad.

But it's still nice to be blessed enough to focus on what we really want to do. Not what we have to do. Isn't it?

Blessings to you and yours.

A Shot In The Arm

Please forgive me for the gaps in days between blog posts. You always take a chance in losing your readers when you do that. But, hopefully, you'll stick with me ... realizing this is crunch time for me. I'm nearing the end of a very long project, as you know if you've been following along for any length of time.

The work is tedious. Probably because, once again, I'm anal to a fault. There are reasons for that, I suppose. Second guessing yourself, over-analyzing, a confidence factor plays into a very big part of my work. Although I've received many wonderful reviews for previous work ... there's still that small voice that nags at the back of my writer's mind ... "Yeah, yeah ... you're just small potatoes. You'll be damn lucky to get an agent. Why are doing this to yourself? Are you nuts????"

The dreadful I'm not good enough monster lurks behind the door to my future. I'm not sure it'll ever go away. Where do we draw the line between just being humble and waa-waa, cry me a river, I'm just a putz that wants to write.

Oh God ... help me, please. So this morning Michael began to read to me a few blurbs, from professionals in the business, and from friends (who are also professionals in the business.) Blurbs I've not taken the time to read in a long, long time. It's always good to give yourself a shot in the arm once in a while. Take a look:

“Pamela King Cable speaks from the soul of a woman who has endured. Emotionally and spiritually bludgeoned by circumstances that promised so much but delivered so little. With unbelievable strength, she picked herself up, packed up her children, her dignity and with her unswerving faith—she made a life for herself. What a survivor! She doesn’t glory in her achievements, nor does she ask for pity. I’m amazed at her natural ability to deliver and share her story and speak from her heart with humor and passion. Hearing Pam speak is an opportunity of a lifetime. There’s none like her.”
Martin Rader
Synergy Executive EnhancementProfessor of Fine Arts - North Carolina School of the Arts, Penn State University, Antioch College, and Harvard University. Former students have successful careers in theatre, film and television. Three have won the prestigious Tony Award and one was recently nominated for an Oscar.

“In a market where speakers deliver mirthless monologues or bend over backwards to impress an audience, Pamela King Cable is a refreshing change of pace. Cable is an authentic speaker who feels her words. Her talks are just that—talks. She creates a world for her audience and ushers them into it—a Southern world of poverty, hardships, lies, love, courage, and the strength of Southern Women everywhere. Cable speaks about what she knows and truth rings in her every word. Listening to Pam speak is like sitting on the front porch stoop, sipping lemonade, and swapping stores with a good friend. I strongly recommend taking advantage of every opportunity to hear her speak.”
Dena Harris
Author - Lessons In Stalking...Adjusting to Life With Cats
Contributor to Chicken Soup for the Cat Lover's Soul
Freelance Magazine Writer
Toastmasters

“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.”
The Reverend Frank D. Stewart
Pastor of Bethany Presbyterian ChurchStatesville, NC

~~~

USABOOKNEWS.COM – announces Pamela King Cable, an Award-Winning Finalist in the Best Books 2006 Book Awards –
“A rich collection of stories that explores humanity! Well-written and inspiring!”

MIDWEST BOOK REVIEW – gives SOUTHERN FRIED WOMEN 5 STARS …
“… 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!”

WRITER’S DIGEST
“Southern Fried Women features a selection of short stories with an extremely strong Southern voice. Author, Pamela King Cable, has a definitive style that is both appealing and a pleasure to read. She created characters that are compelling and skillfully drawn, making the reader want to learn more about them. Cable's voice rings through, without being intrusive or overwhelming. Her characters speak naturally and seem true to their age, setting, time period and personality. The physical volume is very attractively packaged. The front cover photograph is very fun and certain to lure readers into picking up the book. The interior photographs were a lovely added touch as were the short story titles. That said Cable's Southern voice and appealing writing style is sure to appeal to readers. ”

FOREWORD MAGAZINE
“Cable does a good job of portraying Southern women as strong, determined, and family oriented. Whether a Beach Baby or a Mobile Home Queen, the Southern woman is a survivor.”

GREENSBORO PUBLIC LIBRARY
“ … this particular book is too good to overlook! The stories are easy to read--compulsively readable, in fact--and they're set in the South, often in North Carolina. And, although the characters in this book face challenges, most of the stories have happy endings, leaving you with a good feeling. Enjoy this collection--and watch for more books by a new author on the Southern literary scene!”

I got to remember all this when I'm ready to throw my computer in the dumpster.

'Nuff said.

Blessings to you and yours.

Good vs.Great

I took a look at my library this morning. My books come in all sizes. Hardbacks, trades, paperbacks, audio, and yes, a couple e-books. They vary in length, characters, style, and genre. And I think what amazes me most is how some authors can pump out a book every six months. They're like machines. Actually, I don't own many books by those authors. I don't find them filled to overflowing with conflict and resolution that brings me to fits of laughter or buckets of tears. They just don't have that "wow" factor. You know? They may be funny, and good enough to be called a "good read." But how many of those books do you really think about years later? How many of those characters come to mind at the strangest times? Characters that make you want to go back and read the story again. How many books of fluff 'n stuff do you actually recommend when asked?

Not many, I'll bet.

I think the public needs to realize that for most authors ... a great book takes at least a year to write. Usually longer. Because while authors are finishing up their current masterpiece, they're usually under contract and have to spend time on the next one. At least outlining, drawing up larger-than-life characters, working the puzzle that is often ... mind-boggling.

Storytelling is one of the great past times down through the ages. Before the age of TV and radio, families told stories. One of my favorite stories, made into a movie, is Out of Africa. In it there is a scene where Robert Redford asks Meryl Streep to tell a story and she says something like, "At home, my neices always give me the first line." To which he answers something like, "There was a Chinese man named ..." Then good ole' Meryl takes off and for the next few hours makes up this brilliant story that mesmerizes her guests.

Anyway, I certainly don't do the script justice here. But you get the picture ... it's a beautifully told story within a story. Out of Africa is a based-on-fact story of Karen Blixen who wrote her own autobiography. She, as one can easily see from this movie, was a great storyteller, writer, and lady. Fortunately, some stories are made into movies, otherwise the world would not know about them. But that kind of storytelling, when written well, becomes bestseller status. A piece of our history. Beloved and regarded as priceless pieces of literature by some. Books like The Grapes of Wrath, To Kill A Mockingbird, Little Women ... the list is endless.

I wonder, often, how many stories are never written down. There are professional storytellers out there, but they don't like to write. I've met some. But either way, storytelling is an art, and like any fine wine ... to write them down - takes time.

I realize there are such things as "beach reads" and light books that are meant to whisk you away for a sweet story of romance or mystery. They're fine books, in fact, thank God for them. But every once in a while you just want a story you can sink your teeth into. One that will take you out of your skin and deposit you in another place and time. That unless the phone rings or the dog barks, you forget where you are. Now that, my friend, is great reading.

So what's my point? My point is that stories are plentiful. Good stories can be short or long, but enjoyable, and satisfying. Badly written stories can drone on forever, and you feel you've wasted your time. But a great story, no matter the length, short or long, should become a part of you once read. Pick up a new book as soon and you can ... and start reading ... then pass it on.

Blessings to you and yours.

House Hunters

Yesterday was my birthday. My best gift was a day off from my book and a full day of house hunting. Michael and I have decided to not to wait to build, but buy an existing house while it's a "buyer's market." It may end up being our "dream" house, and it may not. It may be a transitional house ... one more step closer to what we really want. But whatever it is, it has to have at least 5 acres of land ... minimum. (But not next to trashy, rusty trailers with every car they've owned up on blocks in their front yard. Or high tension wires on the property. Or next to a subdivision.) Just countryside. Beautiful, peaceful, rolling hills, farmland. We may find that perfect piece of heaven for us out there ... and we may just have to tweak it a little to make it "perfect."

At any rate, we spent the day looking with a top notch little realtor. This sweetheart of a young woman, sells 35 houses a year. A real go-getter. From morning to late afternoon we drove around two counties and looked at unique properties. What one house lacked, another had. There was one house that looked tired. The pictures online were deceiving because once you walked in, the floors were laminate and the walls needed paint. It just had a worn out look. And they had four or five dogs barking in the breezeway, so you couldn't even go in there. Get a clue people, take your dogs with you when you leave your house! It makes it so much nicer for the buyer!

Another house was chocked full of collectibles and furniture, so much so you couldn't "see" the house. I just wanted to scream at these people, "Are you crazy? Box this s**t up so you can sell your house!" There was one house we really wanted to see and the seller's realtor was such an ass, to the point of hanging up on my realtor, so we decided to skip it. Who knew realtors could be so nasty? And the last house, we drove a half hour to have the owner refuse to open the gate for us, even though both realtors had set the appointment. Geez, I guess they decided not to sell after all.

Out of everything we saw, there was one possibility. Just one. But it wasn't my "country house." It was a beautiful, maintenance-free brick ranch surrounded by a gorgeous piece of land. And it was "lacking" a few things that could be fixed, but ... I'm not willing to stop looking yet. In a few days, we'll look at the rest that's available that meets the 5-acre minimum criteria.

I hear some folks look at hundreds of houses before they find the one they want. I didn't realize it could be this difficult. My attention for the next few months needs to be on my book, not building a house, thus ... an existing house seemed to be the way to go. But right now, this morning, I'm wondering if I'll find that country house that says ... "you're home, Pam."

I thought I found it a few weeks ago, but it was not to be ... it sold quickly.

So, the house hunting continues. There's no hurry, in fact, I'm willing to wait for the right one. Maybe I should contact HGTV ... think?

Blessings to you and yours.

Girl Friday Book Club

I walked up the driveway and peeked inside the back fence. Several women in bathing suits and wet hair smiled and waved me inside ... "Hello!" A beautiful pool surrounded by voluptuous women, they welcomed me. Dripping with hospitality, this warm and inviting Girl Friday Book Club of Greensboro goes back ten years together. A mixture of ages, they have one common bond ... a love of books.

Every month their meetings are held in a different home. This month, it was Edna's turn. Turns out, Edna read Southern Fried Women and fell in love with the story, Coal Dust On My Feet. A fellow coal miner's daughter, she hails from a coal town in Kentucky. "I never could express what it was like to live in that environment," she said. "But you said it beautifully." I was grateful for her comments. In fact, the women just blew me away. Their collected wit and insight into the stories was astounding. They got it. They really did. Everybody understood the messages. And they confirmed a few things for me ...

*They loved the pictures.
*The Forward at the beginning of each story was NOT distracting and unnecessary to these women. In fact, they requested I do this with every book.
*The essay at the back summed it up for them. They loved it and was glad I put it at the back and not the front, allowing them to draw their own conclusions first as to what, exactly, is a Southern Fried Woman.
*The stories brought them to fits of laughter and they cried real tears. What better reward for an author, I say.

Readers comments mean the most to me. Many related similarities in their own lives and expressed the excitement for my next book. The stories of Southern Fried Women resonated with them and in their hearts, and a few were born and raised in the North. I love when that happens. I've always known that SFW is for all women.

After a glass of Sangria and a few hours of fun, I felt as if I'd known these lovely ladies all my life. I wish the Girl Friday Book Club many more hours of literary enjoyment and I hope they invite me back someday.

Professional readers all, these women touched my heart!

Blessings to you and yours.

Visions of Sugar Plums

I can't sleep.

If you've followed my blog, you know that I bid on a critique from a literary agent at a silent auction back in June and won it. To me, it was one more opportunity to pitch my work and obtain valuable feedback. A month ago, I had sent her for critique, my query letter, and the first 50 pages of Televenge. I anticipated, "... sounds good ... here's what you need to do to make it better ... interesting work ... thanks for sending it in." But that's not what I got.

The agent called me. Last night. Late. On a Friday. Excited. I wish you could've heard her voice. Professional and knowledgeable in the industry, she couldn't hide her tone of excitement. She had a few great suggestions for the query letter, then proceeded to tell me, "you nailed it!" She said that several times. "I wish I had more to critique for you, but you really nailed it. I liked it. I really did." We talked for an hour and as much as I can remember, these were some of her comments ...

"Easy read ..."
"Clean copy, one of the cleanest I've seen ..."
"Great story, and this hasn't been done! Fresh."
"Drew me in, I'm anxious to keep reading ..."
"Can you send me the manuscript?"

We were on the phone for an hour. We talked about many things, both of us asking lots of questions. Who knows where this will lead? All I know is that this agent was connected and she loved my query and first 50 pages and she wants to read the rest. All from just a critique.

I think I slept three hours last night, and those were questionable. I awoke this morning with one thought running through my head. This is the beginning ... just the beginning. I'm holding my breath. After a few more tweaks, this will all be in God's hands. In the meantime, today, I'm smiling. Because to one literary agent out there, God bless her ... "I nailed it!"

Blessings to you and yours.

Professional Reader

Four weeks left. I'm smoldering in Southern Dog Day heat and working like a woman gone mad. But the feeling of euphoria floods in from time-to-time, I'm almost there. Almost to the end. Mixed with a certain amount of panic, I carefully plan my days. There's still a good amount left to do and I've enlisted my best friend, Tina, as my final reader. She is, by far, one of the most read women I know. I would consider her a "professional reader."

We writers are supposed to be voracious in our reading. And though we do read more than the average American, we have to spend a great deal of time in research and in ... writing. And then there's editing, and marketing. The days and weeks all of this consumes can be mind boggling. I've mentioned before that I keep a book or stack of books by the toilet. Hey, reading time is reading time and I find it where I can. Usually, I fall asleep every night with my current book of choice. So, the point is that as much as I love books, I cannot devote the time to reading like a "professional reader" can. And believe me, they're out there.

Tina has literally read thousands of books. Her life is books. She is, no doubt, a writer and publisher's best friend. Her choice in fiction ranges from Sci Fi to Mystery to Mainstream and Literary. Her library is immense. And along with her voracious reading skill comes the knowledge of what moves a story forward, what to take out and what to leave in. What to condense and what doesn't ring true. Overwriting and underwriting. In a nutshell, she knows what will sell and what won't.

Tina used to force herself to finish a book, but not anymore. If within the first few pages a book doesn't grab her and hold her, it's tossed. My friend also makes time to read. It's a part of her life as much as anything she does. She's had a few surgeries in the past year, so reading is a great way to take up recovery time. She also heads a book club for a large group in Ohio. But Tina was my friend long before my career as a writer took off. Our history together goes way back.

Right now, she's going through a lot of anguish. My book evokes many raw and real emotions for her. Televenge, as many of you know, is based on true events. Tina was part of those events and this book is as important to her as it is to me. Getting it right, creating the moment, perfecting the fiction, heightening the suspense that both of us desire to see in our readers, it's crucial to not only the success of the book, but it must ring true in our hearts, as well.

To those of us who do not know about religious cults, are not intimate with ministry, I believe it'll be a great story, one for memory books. It'll stir plenty of controversy and cause a few meltdowns. But this story will hit close to home for many. It's definitely familiar to some. To the thousands throughout the country who have lived within the walls of a cult, it will rip emotions through them like paper through a shredder. Tina is experiencing that right now as she is helps me perfect the fine details in this book. A natural response.

Her final thoughts are the missing link and though she's wiped out emotionally, it's the piece that will complete this massive jigsaw puzzle. The piece that fell off the table when I opened the box. The piece that hid under the rug and I had to empty the room to find. I'm grateful for it.

Of course, in the end, I have to weigh it all out once again. Ponder and make those crucial determinations of what to cut and what to sharpen. A book like this, I've been told, is usually written by the "more seasoned" or "veteran" author. Well, that's just about sums it up. I jumped into an ocean and thought it was a backyard pool. We'll see how well I tread water in just a few weeks. I just know I'm also grateful for my "professional reader." Every writer needs one.

Say a prayer.

Blessings to you and yours.

2007 Benjamin Franklin Awards

From the judges' evaluations:

Southern Fried Women

"I love this one! Fun and engaging. I want to take this book to the beach. A great new author!"

"The author is excellent at characterization ... Great cover! ... "

Well, hey, better late than never. I love comments like these, especially from judges for the Benjamin Franklin Awards!

I'll take it!

Blessings to you and yours.

Changing With The Process

It's been too long since blogging. I feel like I've fallen off the face of the earth. Other than some down time with family, I've put my life on hold. From just about everything but my work. It's non-stop to the finish line, I barely come up for air. I hope everyone understands. But I can't worry about that. I have to press on. Get through this month. There's so much to do on the book yet.

I keep saying it's an amazing process. I wish I could explain it in detail, but that would take too much time. And probably, this "process" will change with the next book. I feel I've created my own time crunch because I'm trying to make Televenge as perfect as I know how. Trying to evaluate and reread ... create a story that will knock as many as possible to their knees.

I've even backed out of one particular speaking engagement that I was looking forward to. But we couldn't agree on the how the bullet points of my speech should be written, as well as the fact that in my speech on publishing they didn't want me to mention any publishing companies but theirs. Okay, well, I thought about it. Then decided I couldn't do that as there are many publishing companies out there for women to consider. I just couldn't bring myself to jump through their hoops. After speaking at over 150 venues in the past year and half, one less speaking gig won't hurt. Sometimes, you just got to be who you are, not what they want you to be.

I've hired an assistant recently who is working on getting me booked for winter and next spring. Lots of new workshops for women. It's exciting and motivating, and as soon as I come up for air, I'll be back on the road. But this time ... a new book will be in "process."

My life as a writer is changing. I can feel it. I don't mean to lock myself in solitude and concentrate solely on this book, but for me ... a victim of A.D.D., I have to. It's the only way I know to get it done. I wish I the power to add a few more hours to my week ...

Blessings to you and yours.

Time With Jillian

Where did the week go? I try not to go more than a few days between posts, but this week has flown by .... zoooommm! Actually, I'm sitting in Ohio at the moment, blogging from my daughter's computer in her very chic Columbus apartment. When she was little, I called her sissy-woo. Don't ask me why or how it got started, but she was sissy-woo. In many ways, she still is.

Jillian has spent the better part of the last 10 years in Buckeye country, attending college, getting her Masters, and landing a job with the University. She's a busy young woman and we're always lucky when we get to spend some time with her.

Today, we walked down a street in Powell. A vendor flea market, if you will. Shops of mostly antiques and collectibles. Right up my alley. Merchants pitched their tents down the main drag of town and sold wicker, china, quilts, etc. etc. ... dirt cheap.

I'm going home with a few more pieces to my porcelain flower collection. Jill says, "Geez, mom, that's such old grandma stuff." "Well, I'm a grandma!" And I love porcelain flowers. So when I see them, unchipped, I buy if it's a good price. In fact, Mike's pretty good at finding them. He'll spot one before I do, usually.

Together, we love antiques and old stuff. (Including each other.) We're even thinking we want to get into the housing market sooner than later, meaning, we're probably going to buy an existing house in the near future. Instead of building. Building has many pros and cons ... who knows, I may change my mind next week.

Thing is, we found an old house we love. An old 1800s farmhouse. Restored and just lovely. But, we'll keep looking, and hopefully, within the next several months, this house will still be available or we'll find something just the right place somewhere.

The history of any state can be seen in it's antique stores. For us, it's as good as a museum. Quilts, linens, old tin signs, toys, tools, china, paintings, books, furniture ... finding old things in decent shape to furnish your home ... to me, it's art and it's fun! It lends character to any home.

And this is a working trip ... doing a bit of research for the next book, as well as the final read on Televenge. August will be a clean up month. A time to get all the duckies in a row. A month to breathe and get ready for ... gosh, only God knows what's next.

The sequel to Televenge is slowly taking shape. I'm liking it. But in the meantime, I'll enjoy these few days with a daughter I seldom get to see. Some down time. A little time with sissy-woo.

Blessings to you and yours.

Daddy Talent

Oh, the joys of grandmotherhood! This is me kissing our sweet new punkin', Andrew Christopher, affectionately known to his Grandpy and Gramma Cable, as "Drewbie."

He is also the highlight of mommy and daddy's life, as well. In case you're wondering, everyone is wonderful. Drew has latched on to breastfeeding like a good little piglet should. Mommy Nicole is a baby-feeding machine. She's old hat at this now. She's taking these first few weeks of motherhood in stride, not letting anything bother her too much, and sleeping when her baby sleeps. I can't imagine a more natural mama. She adores him, and I watched Drew's eyes follow her. Oh yes, babies know their mommies.

Chris and Nicole have been coming to dinner on weekends for years. Just the two of them. Now it seems so strange that there's another little piece of them in their midst. I haven't seen Drew for a couple weeks, as all schedules have been busy. So here he is, one month later, and wow! What a difference. He's all filled out, puffy little cheeks, his umbilical cord is gone, and his hair is gone, too. He looks more like Chris than he did when he was first born and he seems so big already. He's thriving and we're happy to get a front row seat.

As they were leaving, Christopher said he had to get home to get a few things done before work tomorrow. I'm thinking he meant things for his job. What a shocker. "No," he said. "I've got some laundry to finish, some dusting, and the sweeping to do."

Michael can be proud of his son ... he knows the fine art of husbandry. I think young men like Chris are few and far between. He works three jobs and takes care of as much at home as he can, so his wife has time to recuperate and attend to their new little son. "I want her to enjoy him. I don't want somebody in daycare to raise him." He picks him up, holds him, kisses him, and changes poopy diapers. He's a shining example to other young fathers in my estimation. A beacon of light to struggling mommies everywhere who have to do it all.

I'm betting this "daddy talent" is passed on to Drew. I wonder how many men have really known the joy of tapping into their feminine side?
Hmmm.

Blessings to you and yours.

The Creative Process

I love the creative process. It sounds simple, but really, it's not as easy as it looks. I have spent as much as three days working on one paragraph. Just like any artist, I tweak it until it sings to me.

My good friend and colleague, writer Dena Harris, once blogged that she loved putting the puzzle pieces of her research together for her articles, resumes, and the brochures she fine-tunes for her clients. http://www.denaharris.com/ ... check her out, she's fabulous.

But for me, the thrill is in finding the right word, group of words, creating the perfect sentence. Here's an example: I just spent the past twenty minutes dliberating over the following ...

By Tuesday morning the rain had not let up. A soupy mixture of mist, fog, and drizzling rain covered the sun, making the morning seem like the previous evening had never ended.

I didn't like the 'making the morning seem like the previous evening had never ended' part. It didn't sit well with me. And so, I turned it into ...

It became impossible to tell morning from evening. Nope, not good.

How 'bout this, It became impossible to tell the new morning from the previous evening. Uh, can you say, yuck?

So I tried this. It became impossible to tell where the previous evening stopped and morning began. Hmm. Some better, but not quite what I'm looking for.

I sat, drank my coffee, looked at the clock. Eleven o'clock and I hadn't had a bite to eat, a shower, or checked my email yet. But I couldn't move until I found the right words for this sentence. I plowed forward.

It became impossible to tell where the night stopped and morning began. I like it. But I'm not there yet.

It became impossible to tell where night stopped and day began. Perfect. I love it.

End result: By Tuesday morning the rain had not let up. A soupy mixture of mist, fog, and drizzling rain covered the sun. It became impossible to tell where night stopped and day began. Time stood still for Mavis.

Now I can shower, eat, and go on with my day.

I love the creative process.

Blessings to you and yours.

After All The Stops And Starts

They say that writing a book is like dropping a rose petal in the Grand Canyon and waiting for the echo. I suppose that's true. I'm sitting here staring over the edge of my hoped-for success. No echos. Not yet.

The frustration builds daily. It seems I've put my life on hold. Although there are certain family obligations that must be met, I've pulled away from writers' meetings, open-mic nights, and "fun stuff" I usually run to throughout the week. I don't answer every little email. Eventually, you have to get those little duckies all in a row and make choices. Strange how I've rescheduled most of writing life to ... write.

I choose to finish this book.

And yet, daily I have a mountain to climb. My problem is still the book's length. I'm struggling with it. I've already cut the book by a third, but I've had to add in pieces to strengthen areas and more specifically, show all dimensions of my antagonist. I've changed the ending, taken out lots of fluff, stripped over 100 pages, and (sigh) I'm still looking at a fat book.

The hard part is the struggle within me. Do I ignore the thousands of articles and advice from agents/editors/teachers/mentors who boldy declare, "Slim it, trim it, and grin and bear it, otherwise no publisher's going take a chance on a fat book." "Kill your babies." "150,000 words is the magic number!" "Take out what doesn't move the story forward!"

Problem is, in my honest-to-God opinion ... what I've left in is critical to moving the story forward. Now what do I do?

I realize those bottom-line dollars are sacred to the big dogs in New York. Fat books cost more money to produce, and who's going to take a chance on a (basically) unknown middle-aged woman from Greensboro, North Carolina? I've blogged about it, defended it, stated my defense, pouted, screamed, and threw hissy fits over it. But like my daddy says, "A pig's a pig. Ain't no use callin' it a rooster." There are decisions to be made. More choices to consider. Do I have to self publish to get this into the hands of readers again? Or will somebody bite on this?

I guess this is the part where faith steps in.

I feel like Tom Hanks. In Forrest Gump he ran from one coast to the other. Finally, he stopped and went home. In You've Got Mail he went after something he never had before, true love. At the end of Castaway he stood in the middle of a crossroads, hoping never to see water again, and made a decision to follow the wings that had really saved him. He realized it wasn't the picture of Kelly in the watch, although it had given him comfort. It was the FedEx package with the wings that had propelled his determination to fight for his life.

My past, all wrapped up in a FedEx box, gives me the determination to sit here every day and finish. After all the stops and starts, I'm within days of finishing. It's tight, and yet I have to play Sophie's Choice. How do I do that? I've got to make a raft, find a ship, fly home, save what's left of me and publish this book.

If anybody has an inner tube out there they can throw me ...

Blessings to you and yours.

A Gifted Musician

His name is Clint Lewis. He's related to me. Somehow. His grandpa was my grandmother's nephew ... or something like that. Anyway ... we share DNA. And that pleases me. Because Clint has a gift. A talent. He has found a way to make wood and string sing. A gifted musician, you'll soon be able to hear his music on my web site.

I ran into him at the reunion and said, "I've been trying to reach you!" I discovered Clint has been playing since he was basically out of diapers. They used to stand him on a stool just so he could play the upright bass. The stories passed around about him are becoming legendary. Amazing.

His family brags. They tell stories of Clint, how his timing is impeccable, how he feels the music as it flows through is fingers ... they beam. Clint is their boy. I asked ... has Nashville ever come calling? His mama gave me a resounding, "no." And hopes it never does. Clint, it seems, is married and happy, and loves his family and his life. I believe them. I see it in is face and hear it as he plays. He's at peace. You can feel it. And that's a rare thing today in men that age.

Clint makes appearances around the state, at churches, fairs, and get-togethers such as the Sample Family Reunion. He lives in a town, that by some standards, is still just an old coal town. Not much happens in the the hills and hollers around Dille. But the land lays rich in history and story. The spirits of those passed on linger in the wild woods and along the creeks that tie together these mountains called Appalachia. They hold the soul of this young man. They want to keep him near them. He is the result of their hard work, their heavy labor, and the reason they worked so hard for the land they left to him. To tell their story, through his music.

Tall, blonde-headed, and soft-spoken, his eyes smiled whenever he took off his sunglasses. A cool looking musician, he had no hoity-toity airs about him, and told nobody his name unless they asked. He is loved greatly by those who know him. He stood all day, changing instruments occasionally, and sang the songs of his childhood and his ancestors. Songs he's recorded on CDs. Down the Road and Windy and Warm. I wonder about him ... his life ... where this will eventually take him.

I can't help but feel God's call on him.

I watched his family play until late in the evening. Then, I watched him pack up his guitar, bid a few good-byes, and disappear into the darkness. It made me a little sad. I wonder if Clint knows how his music touches lives.

He's touched mine. I hope to see him again next year. Maybe meet his wife and talk more to the family about him. I wonder if this is how Vince Gill got started?

There are two who've passed on, looking over that bow of heaven. Proud and pointing out their grandson ... I'm sure Clint thinks of them often. He's dedicated one of his CD projects to them. Orval and Granny Pete are still listening, Clint. You can be sure of that.

Blessings to y'all.

MickDonna Farm

MickDonna Farm. Sound familiar? Mick and Donna are my second cousins. Mick's daddy was my grandmother's little brother. Make sense? He's a decorated Vietnam War veteran, a wheeler and dealer at flea markets, and a kind soft-spoken man. His wife, Donna, has worked 30+ years at Dow Chemical in Charleston. Sugar and spice and everything nice, that's what I think of when I think of Donna. The two of them have created a piece of heaven and from their hearts they welcome in the entire family each year for the annual reunion.

The past few days have been almost heaven. West Virginia. Not the song ... the real thing. Our yearly family reunion for the Samples Family.

In case you're interested ... my grandmother's maiden name was Samples. All of her dozen or so brothers and sisters (now deceased) had lots of kids. Those family members (hundreds of them, along with friends and neighbors) gather once a year to recall old times, eat lots of good home-cooked food, and play bluegrass music until midnight.

I’ve blogged about the reunion in past years, but this year was extra special for Michael and me. We were blessed that Mick and Donna, who own the property the reunion is held on, asked us to stay with them in their trailer. Their home away from home. They live in a beautiful home in Charleston but during the summer and for reunion days, they stay in their 16 by 80 foot trailer nestled on their 90-acre farm. A farm high on top of a mountain. You can get real close to God up there.

Staying with family made the visit much more special as we didn’t have to think about going back to a hotel at night. Instead, we went four-wheeling, sat around the campfire until late, and enjoyed our cousins as they played banjo, fiddle, upright bass, mandolin, and guitar. We don't have to bring in any old band, most everybody who shows up, plays something. One sits down to rest, another picker takes their place. It's something to watch.

A fox invaded our camp the first night and took off with my shoe. (It sure didn’t help that I stepped in a pile of bear crap. Oh yes, true. Bear poop. There are lots of black bear the area.)

Our family tree was displayed this year. Written neatly on poster board, it was nailed to what else? A family tree. Along with pictures of family members now deceased.

I’m covered with chigger bites, but I don’t care. They’ll go away, eventually. Michael and I took the four-wheeler over the countryside, through several creeks, around the mountain, and across land that many of you only see in the movies or in your dreams. Despite the economic problems WV has faced, some of its people still live way below the poverty line, the state has made great strides in tourism. The Appalachian Mountains are breathtaking and majestic. They still hold magic for me and great stories that burn in my brain waiting to be written.

Daddy was a bit under the weather this year, but he was there in rare form. By Sunday he was hopping on back of a four-wheeler and heading off into the mountains with his cousins in search of the old homestead where grandma was raised. The place, now crumbled, is buried under generations of leaves and underbrush. Dad is one of the elders now. I suppose someday, I will be, too. Along with Mick and Denise and Charlie and Steve and all the rest.

There’s an old graveyard high up on the mountain where a confederate soldier is buried. Some of the graves date back to the 1700s. I stood and looked down at PVT. Clarke's grave. I wondered about this man and what he had gone through. Covered with lush mountain vegetation, if you didn’t know this old graveyard was there … you’d never find it. Believe me.

The “town” of Strange Creek is not a town for tourists. Only folks who have family or a reason to be there travel to Strange Creek. The one-lane roads and bridges that curve and dip into the area can be dangerous. You go slow. The wooden bridges, the windowless Masonic Lodge, and old houses dating back to the depression give the entire town its ominous and foreboding appearance. But the folks are truly sweet and friendly. Yet, Strange Creek is not a destination by any means.

And I could go on forever about the music. Tomorrow I’ll blog special about that. About my little cousin Clint Lewis and his family. About Rad and his famous banjo. If Nashville ever wanted to hear what bluegrass really sounds like, they need to head to the Samples Family Reunion every Fourth of July.

A slice of earth and sky, MickDonna farm holds a part of my heart. I only hope someday the rest realize how special this family is and will come to enjoy it as much Michael and I do each year.

Blessings to you and yours.

Getting Motivated

I love fresh air! I love a day with lower humidity and the air blowing into the house. I keep my office window open and the morning breezes are like aroma therapy. On the front porch, birds sing nestled inside my hanging ferns. In the distance, a cow is calling her calf. I can't work, I want to go for a walk!

It's been hard getting back into the swing of writing since taking a week off. I thought it might make me want to dig in with a vengeance and renew my vigor to finish my book ... but instead, all I do is stare at the computer screen.

Ugh.

How does a writer get motivated to return to work? It's not writer's block. No, not at all. There's lots of stuff running through my head, it's my fingers that don't want to work. I keep thinking that this coming weekend is our big family reunion in West Virginia, that I'm going to be out of the office for three more days ... aw heck, maybe I shouldn't bother "digging in" until we return.

See? If left to our own devices, we writers can talk ourselves right out of working. There's something to be said for being in "the zone." Those fifteen hour days are yes, grueling, but they're also exhilarating. You get so much done and you feel productive and proud of your daily accomplishments.

But even after my well-deserved break last week, it's become apparent, I don't want to return to the grindstone. I'm bucking my appointment with finishing that query letter! My work ethic is waxing cold today. It bothers me.

We can always find a reason not to work, I suppose. And sometimes our motivation for finishing grows dim over time. But suddenly, we look out the window and imagine that house in the country we want to build, that front porch, those same sounds of summer and we get a glimpse of the future.

... and we return to work. I've got to get busy!

Blessings to you and yours.