One of my all time favorites! HBO ran the entire movie two nights ago, and since I hadn't watched this flick in such a long time, I decided to enjoy the entire nostalgic two hours. What I had never realized before, is this movie has some fantastic old one-liners ... "bite the big weenie" "eat your heart out" "sloppy seconds" "crusin' for a brusin'" ... on and on ... funny things we said in high school. (Well, they were funnier back then.) Still, I laughed harder this time, just taking it all in and processing it as if I'd never heard it before. "Bite the big one, Rizzo!" It still cracks me up.
Watching the movie this time was different for me. Although the story of Grease takes place in the 60s, it reminded me of the early 70s. And that, my friend, was one of the greatest times of our lives. Well, for us baby-boomers anyway.
Okay, okay ... the clothes of the 70s really, really sucked. I'll give you that. But the TV shows changed overnight. We went from the sweet, Leave It To Beaver and Ozzie and Harriet to the controversial Good Times and All in the Family with Archie Bunker's loose lips and narrow mind. The hippies of the 60s led the way for the 70s and its painful changes. Especially for my mother's generation. Ouch.
For me, the best part of the 70s was the music. Clapton, Zepplin, even the Beatles evolved. Carol King and Fleetwood Mac ... just hearing any of these artists today throws me way back into a time when I drove my dad's red Mustang with the top down and felt like the Southern Belle that I was. Then. But the music plays on my Ipod today. Who knew that a tiny Ipod would someday replace my 45s?
Boy, if I only knew then, what I know now, huh? But the early 70s saw a ton of social change. The Vietnam war was ending, there were "four dead in O-Hi-O", and Nixon-we realized-needed a spanking. Women burned their bras, took over political offices, and demanded equal pay for equal work. (Not sure that's ever going to change.) But still, it's seems to me that in the early 70s we suddenly woke up from a very long nap. The generation that was in elementary school in the 60s and watched the Civil Rights movement on TV, suddenly came of age and began to change (slowly) the way future generations lived and worked together. God knows, there are a ton of changes yet to make, but from where we started ... my point is ... the 70s was the decade of twisting folks' arms. Change was coming, whether we like it or not. I love the fact that I was a part of that movement.
Watching Grease was fun. It's meant to be light-hearted and nostalgic. But it also serves as a reminder that although we've grown and changed in 30-some years, there still a lot more we need to do. Beginning with ourselves.
Then again, you can just watch a younger, thinner John and Olivia dance, make out, and turn Rydell High upside down and not think twice about it after you've switched the channel.
Grease is the word, is the word, is the word, is the word ...
Blessings to you and yours.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Saturday, February 23, 2008
In Search Of The Perfect Literary Agent
It's worse than looking for the Holy Grail. Every agent does it different. Some want ONLY snail-mail queries. Some want ONLY e-mail queries, without attachments. If you send an attachment, be prepared. They'll delete you on the spot. And some ... only want your query submitted through their web site application. Some, don't care. Just send the damn thing.
Do you know how difficult it is to get a query, synopsis, and the first three chapters embedded into the body of an email to look nice? You work your butt off to get your query looking pristine and perfect, then your email program displays it all out of whack. So, you spend even more time fixing it on the email. You wonder what it really looks like when it arrives in the agent's Inbox. Do they realize your hard copy is perfectly formatted and isn't all wompy-jawed?
I like snail-mail, personally. You send your perfectly formatted work through the mail, along with a Self-Addressed Stamped Envelope (SASE). Then they send back their accept/reject letter. (Or most of them do.) With email - you're lucky to hear anything. It's way too easy to hit delete and never have to bother with the writer at the other end, whose praying for some kind of response.
Some agents want only the first three pages of your work. Others demand the first 50 pages. Some want sample chapters. For the majority, it's query only! On pain of death you, if send anything else, you're "outta there!" Strike out!
Some agents want stroked. They want to know why you chose them, what books they've sold that you've read, and how you heard about their agency. Others, don't care how you heard about them, they want a well-written query letter, a SASE, and are clear that they are building their client list. But "don't call us, we'll call you," is pretty standard across the board.
A few agents I've researched look really stuffy. Like, "Hey look at me, I'm really something here in my New York City corner office. You'd be damn lucky to get me, baby, so don't bother writing unless you're the next Dan Brown." Some even state that unless you've been published with a major publisher, don't bother to send a query letter.
Then there are others, who go out of their way to visit you at writing conferences in remote parts of the country, like West By God Virginia and even in Vancouver. They dedicate hours to teaching writers what it takes to publish with a major house. Talking long into the night, the agents who attend writing conferences experience meaningful conversations with some writers, while offering tons of encouragement. The writers, in return, always take home with them a sense that they've made an "agent connection." That maybe they have a chance to make it.
Always looking for that diamond in the rough so they can polish it to a brilliant shine, caring agents (yes, they're out there) work with new writers and first-time authors. That's a man or woman of great character. You may be lucky to be their big fish in their small pond someday. And as long as you're not a pain in the ass, caring agents will hold your hand through the entire process so both of you win big in the end.
And then ... some don't. They don't have to. They've got lots of little fishies in their big lake.
A writer wants a great agent, just like an agent wants a fantastic, best-selling writer. It's definitely a two-way street. If you're a writer, hopefully, you'll find an agent that "fits." But let it said, it's by far, the worst part about writing a book. Finding a caring, qualified agent. You'd like to think that if you do your job, act professional, and meet every deadline, (on top of stellar writing) that you're a diamond.
But in the end, writers are looking for those diamond agents, as well. Sometimes we just have to dig through a mountain of coal to find them.
Blessings to you and yours.
Do you know how difficult it is to get a query, synopsis, and the first three chapters embedded into the body of an email to look nice? You work your butt off to get your query looking pristine and perfect, then your email program displays it all out of whack. So, you spend even more time fixing it on the email. You wonder what it really looks like when it arrives in the agent's Inbox. Do they realize your hard copy is perfectly formatted and isn't all wompy-jawed?
I like snail-mail, personally. You send your perfectly formatted work through the mail, along with a Self-Addressed Stamped Envelope (SASE). Then they send back their accept/reject letter. (Or most of them do.) With email - you're lucky to hear anything. It's way too easy to hit delete and never have to bother with the writer at the other end, whose praying for some kind of response.
Some agents want only the first three pages of your work. Others demand the first 50 pages. Some want sample chapters. For the majority, it's query only! On pain of death you, if send anything else, you're "outta there!" Strike out!
Some agents want stroked. They want to know why you chose them, what books they've sold that you've read, and how you heard about their agency. Others, don't care how you heard about them, they want a well-written query letter, a SASE, and are clear that they are building their client list. But "don't call us, we'll call you," is pretty standard across the board.
A few agents I've researched look really stuffy. Like, "Hey look at me, I'm really something here in my New York City corner office. You'd be damn lucky to get me, baby, so don't bother writing unless you're the next Dan Brown." Some even state that unless you've been published with a major publisher, don't bother to send a query letter.
Then there are others, who go out of their way to visit you at writing conferences in remote parts of the country, like West By God Virginia and even in Vancouver. They dedicate hours to teaching writers what it takes to publish with a major house. Talking long into the night, the agents who attend writing conferences experience meaningful conversations with some writers, while offering tons of encouragement. The writers, in return, always take home with them a sense that they've made an "agent connection." That maybe they have a chance to make it.
Always looking for that diamond in the rough so they can polish it to a brilliant shine, caring agents (yes, they're out there) work with new writers and first-time authors. That's a man or woman of great character. You may be lucky to be their big fish in their small pond someday. And as long as you're not a pain in the ass, caring agents will hold your hand through the entire process so both of you win big in the end.
And then ... some don't. They don't have to. They've got lots of little fishies in their big lake.
A writer wants a great agent, just like an agent wants a fantastic, best-selling writer. It's definitely a two-way street. If you're a writer, hopefully, you'll find an agent that "fits." But let it said, it's by far, the worst part about writing a book. Finding a caring, qualified agent. You'd like to think that if you do your job, act professional, and meet every deadline, (on top of stellar writing) that you're a diamond.
But in the end, writers are looking for those diamond agents, as well. Sometimes we just have to dig through a mountain of coal to find them.
Blessings to you and yours.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
My Unexpected Blessing
We all go through periods when we feel like giving up. It's happens when you've had a bad day, week, or month ... as the case may be. But this morning, I got a real shot in the arm. A special email, unexpected. From a lovely person I've met somewhere in my travels. God just seems to know when I need to be reminded that this journey I'm on is a special one. It's not just for me, but for others, as well. Sometimes when you least expect it, you get an email like the one I'm sharing with you below:
Hi, Pam,
I certainly had intended to write to you before this - life is full and overflowing with activities. I finished Southern Fried Women and want to share some of my reactions.
First, it was a wonderful ride! I remember that you told me some people were not in favor of your use of photos at the beginning of each story - they were obviously wrong. Sometimes I found myself studying the photos, even after I had begun reading the story - often going back and looking again - imagining how this story might truly have wrapped itself around the people and places in the photographs.
Secondly, your use of simile and metaphor is filled with imagery and life; painting with words what most people can only hold in their imaginations. "Cry" is so full of painful reality and "Coal Dust on my Feet" broke my heart. "Beach Babies" is probably my favorite - Bertie is a tragic character, but one that has so much to teach us.
Thank you for sharing your gift with the public. Sometimes as I read your words, I heard my own voice. We share many of the same beliefs, attitudes, joys, and heartaches in our observations of the world. Reading your book was like sitting down and spending an afternoon with you in conversation. Thank you.
Shalom, Debra
The pleasure was all mine, Debra. Thank you for your kind words.
Blessings to you and yours.
Hi, Pam,
I certainly had intended to write to you before this - life is full and overflowing with activities. I finished Southern Fried Women and want to share some of my reactions.
First, it was a wonderful ride! I remember that you told me some people were not in favor of your use of photos at the beginning of each story - they were obviously wrong. Sometimes I found myself studying the photos, even after I had begun reading the story - often going back and looking again - imagining how this story might truly have wrapped itself around the people and places in the photographs.
Secondly, your use of simile and metaphor is filled with imagery and life; painting with words what most people can only hold in their imaginations. "Cry" is so full of painful reality and "Coal Dust on my Feet" broke my heart. "Beach Babies" is probably my favorite - Bertie is a tragic character, but one that has so much to teach us.
Thank you for sharing your gift with the public. Sometimes as I read your words, I heard my own voice. We share many of the same beliefs, attitudes, joys, and heartaches in our observations of the world. Reading your book was like sitting down and spending an afternoon with you in conversation. Thank you.
Shalom, Debra
The pleasure was all mine, Debra. Thank you for your kind words.
Blessings to you and yours.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Who Decides Cool?
Is there a hard and fast rule book somewhere that determines what's in style this year? What's cool, trendy, in vogue? Who decides what's hot and what's not?
Why, all of a sudden, are popcorn celings yucky? Why are flat ceilings out and vaulted or "tray" celings in? Who said decks are out and patios are in? Who makes this stuff up?
About the only TV I watch is either the Food Channel, the History Channel, or HGTV. I love home design, but I'm amazed at the designers and the home appraisers who say unless you have granite countertops and stainless steel appliances, your kitchen sucks. Huh?
They all need to come live in the rural deep South a while. Some folks down here are lucky to get a new couch for their front porch every few years.
That being said, I'm bothered by who makes design rules. It's my opinion that you can have "nice" without paying a lot for it. Soap and water doesn't cost much, as my mom used to say. In other words, it doesn't take much to keep things clean. And if you know me, I'm a huge fan of yard sales and thrift stores. Paying full price for anything other than food is just about impossible for me to do. Maybe it was the way I was raised. How much things cost does not impress me. It's what you can do with a bargain that gets me excited.
I watched the top 10 Kitchens last night on HGTV. Beautiful, big, and all owned by the mega rich. Nobody I know has a 1,500 square foot kitchen. They all said things like, " ... oh, it's so functional and comfortable, and we spend all our time in here." Hmmm. I wonder. I suppose I'd have a nicer kitchen if I could afford it. But I want my kitchen to be a part of me. A reflection of my cooking, my style, and talent to stretch a buck.
I don't care a whip whether I walk on tile, wood, or vinyl as long as it's clean and pretty. My point is, why are we made to feel inferior if we can't afford stainless steel or marble tile? Who decides cool?
Function over fashion, and price over everything, I say. It's fun to see what the rich are wearing, the colors they're painting their bathrooms these days, and the latest household gadget on the market. God knows, we won't be cool if we don't buy it. But if you like yourself, I've learned, you'll not care what's cool.
I don't think there's any show on HGTV like that.
Blessings to you and yours.
Why, all of a sudden, are popcorn celings yucky? Why are flat ceilings out and vaulted or "tray" celings in? Who said decks are out and patios are in? Who makes this stuff up?
About the only TV I watch is either the Food Channel, the History Channel, or HGTV. I love home design, but I'm amazed at the designers and the home appraisers who say unless you have granite countertops and stainless steel appliances, your kitchen sucks. Huh?
They all need to come live in the rural deep South a while. Some folks down here are lucky to get a new couch for their front porch every few years.
That being said, I'm bothered by who makes design rules. It's my opinion that you can have "nice" without paying a lot for it. Soap and water doesn't cost much, as my mom used to say. In other words, it doesn't take much to keep things clean. And if you know me, I'm a huge fan of yard sales and thrift stores. Paying full price for anything other than food is just about impossible for me to do. Maybe it was the way I was raised. How much things cost does not impress me. It's what you can do with a bargain that gets me excited.
I watched the top 10 Kitchens last night on HGTV. Beautiful, big, and all owned by the mega rich. Nobody I know has a 1,500 square foot kitchen. They all said things like, " ... oh, it's so functional and comfortable, and we spend all our time in here." Hmmm. I wonder. I suppose I'd have a nicer kitchen if I could afford it. But I want my kitchen to be a part of me. A reflection of my cooking, my style, and talent to stretch a buck.
I don't care a whip whether I walk on tile, wood, or vinyl as long as it's clean and pretty. My point is, why are we made to feel inferior if we can't afford stainless steel or marble tile? Who decides cool?
Function over fashion, and price over everything, I say. It's fun to see what the rich are wearing, the colors they're painting their bathrooms these days, and the latest household gadget on the market. God knows, we won't be cool if we don't buy it. But if you like yourself, I've learned, you'll not care what's cool.
I don't think there's any show on HGTV like that.
Blessings to you and yours.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
A Sensible Valentines Day
My husband and I agreed to save the ten bucks and not get each other Valentines Day cards this year. Or candy. Lord knows, neither of us need it. Or any trivial gift that will end up in a drawer somewhere until our next garage sale.
Although Valentines Day may keep the economy running, it bites into many budgets. Especially since it falls not even two months after Christmas. Romance, love, and all the mushy things Valentines Day stands for should be incorporated into couples lives all year round. So no, I don't feel guilty about not getting my sweetheart a memento of my affection.
Michael is my Valentine every day of the year. Believe me, he knows it. I don't need Hallmark or American Greetings to help me tell him that, either.
If we have anything to celebrate this Valentines day, it's the pieces of life we are most thankful for. Not the material, but the sensible. Like the fact that I'm ever closer to seeing my manuscript in print! Yes! It's true ... my life is "falling into place." (Thanks for that line, Jackie.)
And we celebrate Michael's new job today, and that our cars are now working, and our children have productive lives, and I've been asked to be keynote speaker for the Kentucky, Ohio, West Virginia Romance Writers Conference in April!
Whew. Sounds like I'm combining Thanksgiving with Cupid. But maybe more of us should. And then again ... next year on Valentines Day ... I just might ask for that diamond necklace I've been wanting forever.
Blessings to you and yours.
Although Valentines Day may keep the economy running, it bites into many budgets. Especially since it falls not even two months after Christmas. Romance, love, and all the mushy things Valentines Day stands for should be incorporated into couples lives all year round. So no, I don't feel guilty about not getting my sweetheart a memento of my affection.
Michael is my Valentine every day of the year. Believe me, he knows it. I don't need Hallmark or American Greetings to help me tell him that, either.
If we have anything to celebrate this Valentines day, it's the pieces of life we are most thankful for. Not the material, but the sensible. Like the fact that I'm ever closer to seeing my manuscript in print! Yes! It's true ... my life is "falling into place." (Thanks for that line, Jackie.)
And we celebrate Michael's new job today, and that our cars are now working, and our children have productive lives, and I've been asked to be keynote speaker for the Kentucky, Ohio, West Virginia Romance Writers Conference in April!
Whew. Sounds like I'm combining Thanksgiving with Cupid. But maybe more of us should. And then again ... next year on Valentines Day ... I just might ask for that diamond necklace I've been wanting forever.
Blessings to you and yours.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
When It Rains ...
So, my husband started a new job yesterday. And yesterday at noon he calls to say when he got in our car to go to lunch, the car's engine light was blinking. Needless to say, he left early his first day on the job, to limp back home and to our mechanic around the corner.
Okay, no problem. We have another car. A second, older car in the garage. One that I drive on occasion. So this morning, I take him to work and we're riding up I 85 when the second car overheats. Once again, we limp back home, he drops me off at the house, and off he goes to the mechanic. This time to sit and wait, because we have no more cars to break.
Never give up. Never back down. Never lose faith.
Sometimes I wonder.
Blessings to you and yours.
Okay, no problem. We have another car. A second, older car in the garage. One that I drive on occasion. So this morning, I take him to work and we're riding up I 85 when the second car overheats. Once again, we limp back home, he drops me off at the house, and off he goes to the mechanic. This time to sit and wait, because we have no more cars to break.
Never give up. Never back down. Never lose faith.
Sometimes I wonder.
Blessings to you and yours.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Ceaseless Encouragement
Rolling with the punches. Give me a break. If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all.
All common cliches for moments when we feel as though we've been punched in the gut. One of my favorite people is Jackie Stanley. http://www.encouragementalways.com/. My Chief Encouragement Officer. You need to read her blog. Every day. An amazing woman, she inspires, motivates, and lifts you up with just a few words. She's gifted. Someday, if they haven't already, her children will call her blessed among women. And the reason I say that is not to patronize this woman, but to give honor where honor is due. Here's why:
I was hit this week with a huge disappointment. Someone I had great high hopes in ... fell short of the mark. Someone who asked me to trust, was not trustworthy. Someone who appeared to be really something special ... wasn't. I should've trusted my gut in the end. You know those feelings you get in the pit of your stomach when you try to get someone on the phone and they never all back? Or they do call back, only days later and act like it's no big deal? Or they show up late for a meeting? Really late. Or they send you emails that they're going to call you at a specified day and time, then don't? Or when they say they'll do something for you, and then you find out they can't? They can't because they really can't. They have plenty of wonderful reasons and excuses and their defense is rock solid. But they're lacking in integrity.
I should've known.
But I wanted to believe. I really wanted to believe. I was convinced I'd made the right decision. After all these years, you'd think I recognize the signs. Pay attention to my gut. I can moan and groan and allow all those negative feelings to wash over me, make me cry, and make everybody around me miserable ... or I can say, I never get a break, and withdraw from the world. And though, in some small way I feel justified in those feelings after all these years of struggling, I have to somehow find my faith. Once again.
Part of that is reading Miss Jackie's blog every day. Yesterday, it put me back on top. Maybe just in my mind, but I'm back doing what needs to be done ... I've got work to do. This is just a set-back. Another moment of paying my dues. Life goes on.
This morning, I'm back to work. And it feels good.
Thanks to my husband's ceaseless encouragement, the kind words and encouragement of my colleagues, and Jackie's ongoing words that lift me up.
To quote my friend from her blog: "I must confess that whenever my life seems like a series of unfortunate events, it is usually because I have lost sight of the profoundly simple fact that 'there is always something you can do to improve the situation.' And whenever I begin doing what needs to be done, my life takes a miraculous turn for the better."
Right back at 'cha, Jack.
Blessings to you and yours.
All common cliches for moments when we feel as though we've been punched in the gut. One of my favorite people is Jackie Stanley. http://www.encouragementalways.com/. My Chief Encouragement Officer. You need to read her blog. Every day. An amazing woman, she inspires, motivates, and lifts you up with just a few words. She's gifted. Someday, if they haven't already, her children will call her blessed among women. And the reason I say that is not to patronize this woman, but to give honor where honor is due. Here's why:
I was hit this week with a huge disappointment. Someone I had great high hopes in ... fell short of the mark. Someone who asked me to trust, was not trustworthy. Someone who appeared to be really something special ... wasn't. I should've trusted my gut in the end. You know those feelings you get in the pit of your stomach when you try to get someone on the phone and they never all back? Or they do call back, only days later and act like it's no big deal? Or they show up late for a meeting? Really late. Or they send you emails that they're going to call you at a specified day and time, then don't? Or when they say they'll do something for you, and then you find out they can't? They can't because they really can't. They have plenty of wonderful reasons and excuses and their defense is rock solid. But they're lacking in integrity.
I should've known.
But I wanted to believe. I really wanted to believe. I was convinced I'd made the right decision. After all these years, you'd think I recognize the signs. Pay attention to my gut. I can moan and groan and allow all those negative feelings to wash over me, make me cry, and make everybody around me miserable ... or I can say, I never get a break, and withdraw from the world. And though, in some small way I feel justified in those feelings after all these years of struggling, I have to somehow find my faith. Once again.
Part of that is reading Miss Jackie's blog every day. Yesterday, it put me back on top. Maybe just in my mind, but I'm back doing what needs to be done ... I've got work to do. This is just a set-back. Another moment of paying my dues. Life goes on.
This morning, I'm back to work. And it feels good.
Thanks to my husband's ceaseless encouragement, the kind words and encouragement of my colleagues, and Jackie's ongoing words that lift me up.
To quote my friend from her blog: "I must confess that whenever my life seems like a series of unfortunate events, it is usually because I have lost sight of the profoundly simple fact that 'there is always something you can do to improve the situation.' And whenever I begin doing what needs to be done, my life takes a miraculous turn for the better."
Right back at 'cha, Jack.
Blessings to you and yours.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Queen's Council
This past Saturday I was the Keynote Speaker for the Red Hat Queen's Council Luncheon at the Yadkin Valley Senior Center in Jonesville, NC! These ladies are so much fun! Wild and wooly! Five counties of Red Hatters! Enjoy the pictures.
Monday, February 04, 2008
Hopeless Romantic
My husband took me to a restored farmhouse for our anniversary. In the middle of nowhere. Nestled in the mountains, not a sound, not a car, nothing but the beauty of the countryside and quiet. Heaven. For four whole days. Pure heaven. No TV, except we did watch a few movies in the evening with popcorn, and all kinds of junk food for fun. I cooked. We read, talked, hiked, I worked on my book ... some. Talked some more. Heaven.
But then, we're both hopeless romantics. Cards, candy, flowers ... Hallmark Valentine's Day stuff, anybody can do that. I want to live a romantic lifestyle. And it doesn't have to be expensive. In fact, it's not.
A clean house, beautiful linens, my favorite books, simple things that bring me joy. To me, romance is an important part of my life. A well designed home inspires me. All my favorite things that I've collected over the years, they soothe me. Ah, some day.
Vintage pictures, jewlery, linens, furniture, worn and wonderful. All vestiges of a more genteel time. A day when a woman would apply lipstick with style and grace or when a cocktail hour required a gown or black tie.
I love antiques. They connect you to people and places with a tawdry past. It's why I'm a collector, a lover of history. I imagine those who wiped the same serving dish, wore my antique necklace, gazed at the same painting. Who were they, where did this picture hang? Did they wear my necklace to a party? Did they use this dish just on Sunday?
My parents were the ultimate role models in my romance with antiques. They know each and every piece of furniture in their home as if it were an old friend. They can tell you where they purchased it, how much they paid for it, how they restored it, and in that order.
Living a romantic lifestyle for me is creating something special out of an old picture frame, finding that rare piece of pottery at a garage sale for fifty cents, seeing a masterpiece in one of my husband's photographs.
I like to celebrate. Get-togethers with family, parties with friends, an evening with wine and a few couples. Laughing is romantic. Feeding those you love is intimate to me. I'm a detail kind of girl, something I've been since childhood. I don't have to have it all, in fact, I don't. But I appreciate the little things, and I pay attention to what makes the people I love happy.
To be a romantic, one takes pride in their surroudings, they notice the unusual, a functional find, the beauty of a glass door knob, the line of a table, the feel of a quilt, the way light reflects through a piece of pink depression glass. I prefer the unique. I typically steer clear of department stores. I like the out-of-the-way stores in the little towns nobody cares about. They feel comfortable to me. You can sometimes get the history of a piece of furniture, or a basket, or even a doll, by striking up a conversation with the store owner.
I love fresh pink roses and keep them long after they're dried out. I collect and see things that comfort me, no matter the color, dent or scratch. I don't worry about where I'll put it. The romantic in me knows I will find the perfect spot in my someday house.
This year, for Valentine's Day, take your sweetie someplace unique. Like a winery. Or a restaurant you've never been to. Buy her a vintage ring from an antique store. Frame a picture of his father or grandfather and set it on his desk with a homemade card attached. Do something different. Set the table with an antique tablecloth or a lacy curtan panel, a candle, and have pizza and beer. Just do something different. Out of the ordinary.
Hallmark, Russell Stover's, and FTD Florists make enough money. Be romantic. Think of something different to make your Valentine Day sparkle.
Blessings to you and yours.
But then, we're both hopeless romantics. Cards, candy, flowers ... Hallmark Valentine's Day stuff, anybody can do that. I want to live a romantic lifestyle. And it doesn't have to be expensive. In fact, it's not.
A clean house, beautiful linens, my favorite books, simple things that bring me joy. To me, romance is an important part of my life. A well designed home inspires me. All my favorite things that I've collected over the years, they soothe me. Ah, some day.
Vintage pictures, jewlery, linens, furniture, worn and wonderful. All vestiges of a more genteel time. A day when a woman would apply lipstick with style and grace or when a cocktail hour required a gown or black tie.
I love antiques. They connect you to people and places with a tawdry past. It's why I'm a collector, a lover of history. I imagine those who wiped the same serving dish, wore my antique necklace, gazed at the same painting. Who were they, where did this picture hang? Did they wear my necklace to a party? Did they use this dish just on Sunday?
My parents were the ultimate role models in my romance with antiques. They know each and every piece of furniture in their home as if it were an old friend. They can tell you where they purchased it, how much they paid for it, how they restored it, and in that order.
Living a romantic lifestyle for me is creating something special out of an old picture frame, finding that rare piece of pottery at a garage sale for fifty cents, seeing a masterpiece in one of my husband's photographs.
I like to celebrate. Get-togethers with family, parties with friends, an evening with wine and a few couples. Laughing is romantic. Feeding those you love is intimate to me. I'm a detail kind of girl, something I've been since childhood. I don't have to have it all, in fact, I don't. But I appreciate the little things, and I pay attention to what makes the people I love happy.
To be a romantic, one takes pride in their surroudings, they notice the unusual, a functional find, the beauty of a glass door knob, the line of a table, the feel of a quilt, the way light reflects through a piece of pink depression glass. I prefer the unique. I typically steer clear of department stores. I like the out-of-the-way stores in the little towns nobody cares about. They feel comfortable to me. You can sometimes get the history of a piece of furniture, or a basket, or even a doll, by striking up a conversation with the store owner.
I love fresh pink roses and keep them long after they're dried out. I collect and see things that comfort me, no matter the color, dent or scratch. I don't worry about where I'll put it. The romantic in me knows I will find the perfect spot in my someday house.
This year, for Valentine's Day, take your sweetie someplace unique. Like a winery. Or a restaurant you've never been to. Buy her a vintage ring from an antique store. Frame a picture of his father or grandfather and set it on his desk with a homemade card attached. Do something different. Set the table with an antique tablecloth or a lacy curtan panel, a candle, and have pizza and beer. Just do something different. Out of the ordinary.
Hallmark, Russell Stover's, and FTD Florists make enough money. Be romantic. Think of something different to make your Valentine Day sparkle.
Blessings to you and yours.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
I'm Giving Away My Age
A dear acquaintance sent this to me awhile ago. I happened to come across it again today and decided to share it on my blog for anyone who hasn't read it. Besides, I'm having trouble coming up with today's post. My mind is on overload. I'll do better tomorrow. In the meantime, this is a sweet read. Enjoy!
Do You Remember when?
All the girls had ugly gym uniforms? It took five minutes for the TV warm up?
Nearly everyone's Mom was at home when the kids got home from school? Nobody owned a purebred dog?
When a quarter was a decent allowance?
You'd reach into a muddy gutter for a penny?
Your Mom wore nylons that came in two pieces?
All your male teachers wore neckties and female teachers had their hair done every day and wore high heels?
You got your windshield cleaned, oil checked, and gas pumped, without asking, all for free, every time? And you didn't pay for air? And, you got trading stamps to boot?
Laundry detergent had free glasses, dishes or towels hidden inside the box?
It was considered a great privilege to be taken out to dinner at a real restaurant with your parents?
They threatened to keep kids back a grade if they failed. . and they did?
When a 57 Chevy was everyone's dream car...to cruise, peel out, lay rubber or watch submarine races, and people went steady?
No one ever asked where the car keys were because they were always in the car, in the ignition, and the doors were never locked?
Lying on your back in the grass with your friends and saying things like, "That cloud looks like a .." and playing baseball with no adults to help kids with the rules of the game?
Stuff from the store came without safety caps and hermetic seals because no one had yet tried to poison a perfect stranger?
And with all our progress, don't you just wish, just once, you could slip back in time and savor the slower pace, and share it with the children of today?
When being sent to the Principal's office was nothing compared to the fate that awaited the student at home? Basically we were in fear for our lives, but it wasn't because of drive-by shootings, drugs, gangs, etc. Our parents and grandparents were a much bigger threat! But we survived because their love was greater than the threat.
Nancy Drew, the Hardy Boys, Laurel and Hardy, Howdy Dowdy and the Peanut Gallery, the Lone Ranger, The Shadow Knows, Nellie Bell, Roy and Dale, Trigger and Buttermilk.
Summers filled with bike rides, baseball games, Hula Hoops, bowling and visits to the pool, and eating Kool-Aid powder with sugar. Didn't that feel good, just to go back and say, "Yeah, I remember that"?
Double dog dare
And remember when the perfect age was somewhere between old enough to know better and too young to care?
Candy cigarettes, Wax Coke-shaped bottles with colored sugar water inside
Soda pop machines that dispensed glass bottles
Coffee shops with tableside jukeboxes
Blackjack, Clove, and Teaberry chewing gum
Home milk delivery in glass bottles with cardboard stoppers
Newsreels before the movie
P.F. Fliers
Telephone numbers with a word prefix...(Raymond 4-601).
Party lines, Peashooters, Howdy Dowdy, 45 RPM records, Green Stamps
Hi-Fi's, Metal ice cubes trays with levers
Mimeograph paper, Beanie and Cecil, Roller-skate keys
Cork pop guns, Drive ins, Studebakers, Washtub wringers, The Fuller Brush Man
Reel-To-Reel tape recorders, Tinkertoys, Erector Sets, The Fort Apache Play Set, Lincoln Logs
15 cent McDonald hamburgers, 5 cent packs of baseball cards - with that awful pink slab of bubble gum
Penny candy, 35 cent a gallon gasoline, Jiffy Pop popcorn
Decisions were made by going "eeny-meeny-miney-moe"?
Mistakes were corrected by simply exclaiming, "Do Over!"?
"Race issue" meant arguing about who ran the fastest?
Catching the fireflies could happily occupy an entire evening?
It wasn't odd to have two or three "Best Friends"? The worst thing you could catch from the opposite sex was "cooties"?
Having a weapon in school meant being caught with a slingshot? A foot of snow was a dream come true? Saturday morning cartoons weren't 30-minute commercials for action figures?
"Oly-oly-oxen-free" made perfect sense?
Spinning around, getting dizzy, and falling down was cause for giggles? The worst embarrassment was being picked last for a team? War was a card game? Baseball cards in the spokes transformed any bike into a motorcycle?
Taking drugs meant orange-flavored chewable aspirin? Water balloons were the ultimate weapon?
I think I just gave my age away ...
Blessings to you and yours.
Do You Remember when?
All the girls had ugly gym uniforms? It took five minutes for the TV warm up?
Nearly everyone's Mom was at home when the kids got home from school? Nobody owned a purebred dog?
When a quarter was a decent allowance?
You'd reach into a muddy gutter for a penny?
Your Mom wore nylons that came in two pieces?
All your male teachers wore neckties and female teachers had their hair done every day and wore high heels?
You got your windshield cleaned, oil checked, and gas pumped, without asking, all for free, every time? And you didn't pay for air? And, you got trading stamps to boot?
Laundry detergent had free glasses, dishes or towels hidden inside the box?
It was considered a great privilege to be taken out to dinner at a real restaurant with your parents?
They threatened to keep kids back a grade if they failed. . and they did?
When a 57 Chevy was everyone's dream car...to cruise, peel out, lay rubber or watch submarine races, and people went steady?
No one ever asked where the car keys were because they were always in the car, in the ignition, and the doors were never locked?
Lying on your back in the grass with your friends and saying things like, "That cloud looks like a .." and playing baseball with no adults to help kids with the rules of the game?
Stuff from the store came without safety caps and hermetic seals because no one had yet tried to poison a perfect stranger?
And with all our progress, don't you just wish, just once, you could slip back in time and savor the slower pace, and share it with the children of today?
When being sent to the Principal's office was nothing compared to the fate that awaited the student at home? Basically we were in fear for our lives, but it wasn't because of drive-by shootings, drugs, gangs, etc. Our parents and grandparents were a much bigger threat! But we survived because their love was greater than the threat.
Nancy Drew, the Hardy Boys, Laurel and Hardy, Howdy Dowdy and the Peanut Gallery, the Lone Ranger, The Shadow Knows, Nellie Bell, Roy and Dale, Trigger and Buttermilk.
Summers filled with bike rides, baseball games, Hula Hoops, bowling and visits to the pool, and eating Kool-Aid powder with sugar. Didn't that feel good, just to go back and say, "Yeah, I remember that"?
Double dog dare
And remember when the perfect age was somewhere between old enough to know better and too young to care?
Candy cigarettes, Wax Coke-shaped bottles with colored sugar water inside
Soda pop machines that dispensed glass bottles
Coffee shops with tableside jukeboxes
Blackjack, Clove, and Teaberry chewing gum
Home milk delivery in glass bottles with cardboard stoppers
Newsreels before the movie
P.F. Fliers
Telephone numbers with a word prefix...(Raymond 4-601).
Party lines, Peashooters, Howdy Dowdy, 45 RPM records, Green Stamps
Hi-Fi's, Metal ice cubes trays with levers
Mimeograph paper, Beanie and Cecil, Roller-skate keys
Cork pop guns, Drive ins, Studebakers, Washtub wringers, The Fuller Brush Man
Reel-To-Reel tape recorders, Tinkertoys, Erector Sets, The Fort Apache Play Set, Lincoln Logs
15 cent McDonald hamburgers, 5 cent packs of baseball cards - with that awful pink slab of bubble gum
Penny candy, 35 cent a gallon gasoline, Jiffy Pop popcorn
Decisions were made by going "eeny-meeny-miney-moe"?
Mistakes were corrected by simply exclaiming, "Do Over!"?
"Race issue" meant arguing about who ran the fastest?
Catching the fireflies could happily occupy an entire evening?
It wasn't odd to have two or three "Best Friends"? The worst thing you could catch from the opposite sex was "cooties"?
Having a weapon in school meant being caught with a slingshot? A foot of snow was a dream come true? Saturday morning cartoons weren't 30-minute commercials for action figures?
"Oly-oly-oxen-free" made perfect sense?
Spinning around, getting dizzy, and falling down was cause for giggles? The worst embarrassment was being picked last for a team? War was a card game? Baseball cards in the spokes transformed any bike into a motorcycle?
Taking drugs meant orange-flavored chewable aspirin? Water balloons were the ultimate weapon?
I think I just gave my age away ...
Blessings to you and yours.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Interesting Idiots
I'm putting the final touches on my manuscript since splitting it in two. (It's not a book until it's published.) It will be on its way to my agent this weekend and then Mike and I are heading to a cabin for some R&R. Rest and relaxation. A belated anniversary spot.
I feel as though my body's been welded to this chair. Every morning, however, there are a few web sites and blogs I tune in to. Dena Harris has the best blog. Funny, well written, and full of surprises. Especially today's blog ... http://blogsbydenaharris.squarespace.com/ ... she's honest about herself, which makes her not only funny... but interesting.
Interesting people. They're what make the world go around. Interesting comes in all sorts of shapes and sizes. People, like Dena, are interesting because of their wit, their humor, their love for animals, their stamina to weather the storms. She's an animal lover, and get's physically ill when she sees a stray dog or cat. I thought about my friend this morning.
Some folks, though interesting ... aren't worth the time to write about them. Like our neighbors across the street. Today I realized there's a new kind of interesting breed of people. Interesting idiots. What makes these people tick, I wonder?
This morning, there's a little dead puppy at the end of my driveway. The neighbors across the street had this precious dog, a Rottweiler mix, that played in their front yard. It lived on their porch. No leash, no supervision. More than once we chased the dog back into their yard as we went to our mailbox. A friendly little fella, but we knew in the back of our minds, it was doomed.
And this morning ... it happened. Michael ran out to the end of our driveway. The dog was still breathing. Immediately, I called the police, while Michael watched the owners back out of their driveway in a beat-up pickup, take a look at their puppy laying in our driveway and then took off. But a few minutes later, guilt must've got the best of them. They backed up and got out of their pickup. Michael let them have it. Then the police came. But in the meantime, the poor puppy died. The animal protection officer also let the yahoos know a thing or two about taking care of pets.
The house across the street is a rental that changes occupants about every six months. And about every six months, a new dog moves in, as well. A dog that is usually dead before the renters move out.
I don't understand people. Interesting people? Interesting idiots. My heart goes out to animals like this. I wish I could steal these dogs and give them to a good home. We just knew this puppy's days were numbered as he would wander toward the street every day.
I think from now on, any more loose dogs I see, I'm taking action. Of some kind.
Blessings to you and your animals this day.
I feel as though my body's been welded to this chair. Every morning, however, there are a few web sites and blogs I tune in to. Dena Harris has the best blog. Funny, well written, and full of surprises. Especially today's blog ... http://blogsbydenaharris.squarespace.com/ ... she's honest about herself, which makes her not only funny... but interesting.
Interesting people. They're what make the world go around. Interesting comes in all sorts of shapes and sizes. People, like Dena, are interesting because of their wit, their humor, their love for animals, their stamina to weather the storms. She's an animal lover, and get's physically ill when she sees a stray dog or cat. I thought about my friend this morning.
Some folks, though interesting ... aren't worth the time to write about them. Like our neighbors across the street. Today I realized there's a new kind of interesting breed of people. Interesting idiots. What makes these people tick, I wonder?
This morning, there's a little dead puppy at the end of my driveway. The neighbors across the street had this precious dog, a Rottweiler mix, that played in their front yard. It lived on their porch. No leash, no supervision. More than once we chased the dog back into their yard as we went to our mailbox. A friendly little fella, but we knew in the back of our minds, it was doomed.
And this morning ... it happened. Michael ran out to the end of our driveway. The dog was still breathing. Immediately, I called the police, while Michael watched the owners back out of their driveway in a beat-up pickup, take a look at their puppy laying in our driveway and then took off. But a few minutes later, guilt must've got the best of them. They backed up and got out of their pickup. Michael let them have it. Then the police came. But in the meantime, the poor puppy died. The animal protection officer also let the yahoos know a thing or two about taking care of pets.
The house across the street is a rental that changes occupants about every six months. And about every six months, a new dog moves in, as well. A dog that is usually dead before the renters move out.
I don't understand people. Interesting people? Interesting idiots. My heart goes out to animals like this. I wish I could steal these dogs and give them to a good home. We just knew this puppy's days were numbered as he would wander toward the street every day.
I think from now on, any more loose dogs I see, I'm taking action. Of some kind.
Blessings to you and your animals this day.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
I'm Celebrating!
I come from people of faith. A long line of believers. No agnostics in my lineage, that’s a fact. It’s not something we can help. It’s part of our DNA.
Well, folks, it’s been a long, hard, uphill road. At times I’ve felt like a loser, a complete idiot for trying this hard for so little reward. At other times, I’ve felt on top of the world. But my faith refused to allow me to give up. My belief that the good Lord wanted this book written, and written by me, was often all-consuming. Anyway, my faith gave me the strength and courage to write for unbelievably long hours, even days at a time. With very few interruptions. Suffering (and I mean suffering) through grueling edits. Kind and cruel. Deciding what to use and what to ignore. Slaving over words, paragraphs, scenes. There are more drafts of this book than I can remember at this point. It was, and is ... a labor of love. It had to be in order to finish it. As a result, my butt has spread a little more from sitting in the same chair for years, and … my back and the nerves in my leg give me fits if I don’t get up and move some during the day.
I almost gave up. I really almost said, "to hell with this." Fortunately, I have a husband who rescued me before it ever got to that point. But every writer goes through those dark hours. Every writer is tested and tried by fire. Writers, artists of all kinds, struggle harder than most, I think. They see virtually no money for their efforts. For many years some of us. The drive is divinely inspired. It has to be. You either write, or you die. It’s that strong in those that persevere.
Some are luckier than others. They have agents/editors/publishers/Hollywood banging their doors down long before their book is finished. Sometimes it’s for books you wonder … why? How did this get published? Whoa.
And then, there are those, who have written ripping great stories. (I’ve read some of those manuscripts.) Writers with no hope to publish other than submitting over and over. They have no connections, can’t afford to go to conferences. They possess few funds to do anything but buy reams of paper on sale at Wal-Mart, printer cartridges, and stamps. Do you ever wonder how many classics have gone unseen, unread, unpublished?
But then, one day … the clouds part, the sun comes out, and somebody decides to take a chance on an unknown. It happens. Rarely. But it happens.
For me, I must’ve made God smile a little as I completed my novel, because low and behold, today as I sit here, I can say, thank you, Jesus. I HAVE AN AGENT! Talk about serendipity!
After submitting query after query, I have to laugh. My agent turned out to be a woman I found last summer by bidding at a silent auction at the WV Writer’s Conference. The highest bidder received a free critique of their query letter and the first 50 pages of their novel. At the time, I thought, okay … I’m game. Why not? She’s not in New York City, but who cares? It’s a free critique of my query letter, at least. That interested me. So for $35.00, (best money I ever spent) I won the opportunity to submit my work to Christine Whitthohn. And I'll be damned, she loved it. I have since met her, talked at length, and am convinced; this little bulldog of a literary agent is going to sell TELEVENGE, the trilogy.
Trilogy? Oh yes, three books. With Christine’s encouragement, and hours and hours of pouring over the plot, I have been able to split the book into two. And the third book is well on its way. For so long I couldn’t see my way clear to take such a huge manuscript and make it two books. But one day last week, the sky just opened up. It became as clear as the diamond on my left hand. I felt like a surgeon. After careful surgery, cutting, tweaking, adding, taking out, moving a few scenes around, and two more read-throughs, it not only works … it’s good. It’s really, really good.
And so, as of this week, I have signed with an agent. A good one. One I believe in. One that knows the industry, has sold books to major publishers and negotiated contracts, has pounded some New York City pavement, and ... she believes in me.
The next few months are going to be interesting.
In the meantime, I still have lots of work to do. My Publicity Agenda is staring me in the face, waiting to get started again. My web site will be changing its look in the very near future. Again, there’s a ton of work to do. But it’s exciting, to say the least.
I’ve also been asked to be the judge for the West Virginia Writer’s Book-length Contest. (7,000-word limit.) I'll see submissions by April, with the contest to end in May. I’ll be awarding first, second, third, and honorable mentions at this June event. And Dena http://www.denaharris.com/, my dear writing colleague, and I will be speaking about writing again. In May we’ll once again rock and roll with our presentation, but this time to Seniors who want to write their life stories. I love that about writers. No age limits.
So, say a prayer, won’t you? Believe with me. Exercise a little faith. Even a mustard-seed amount of faith can move the publishing mountains of the world, wouldn’t you say? I know my family is believing. Yes, for a miracle.
But in the meantime, I’m celebrating. I HAVE AN AGENT!
Blessings to you and yours.
Well, folks, it’s been a long, hard, uphill road. At times I’ve felt like a loser, a complete idiot for trying this hard for so little reward. At other times, I’ve felt on top of the world. But my faith refused to allow me to give up. My belief that the good Lord wanted this book written, and written by me, was often all-consuming. Anyway, my faith gave me the strength and courage to write for unbelievably long hours, even days at a time. With very few interruptions. Suffering (and I mean suffering) through grueling edits. Kind and cruel. Deciding what to use and what to ignore. Slaving over words, paragraphs, scenes. There are more drafts of this book than I can remember at this point. It was, and is ... a labor of love. It had to be in order to finish it. As a result, my butt has spread a little more from sitting in the same chair for years, and … my back and the nerves in my leg give me fits if I don’t get up and move some during the day.
I almost gave up. I really almost said, "to hell with this." Fortunately, I have a husband who rescued me before it ever got to that point. But every writer goes through those dark hours. Every writer is tested and tried by fire. Writers, artists of all kinds, struggle harder than most, I think. They see virtually no money for their efforts. For many years some of us. The drive is divinely inspired. It has to be. You either write, or you die. It’s that strong in those that persevere.
Some are luckier than others. They have agents/editors/publishers/Hollywood banging their doors down long before their book is finished. Sometimes it’s for books you wonder … why? How did this get published? Whoa.
And then, there are those, who have written ripping great stories. (I’ve read some of those manuscripts.) Writers with no hope to publish other than submitting over and over. They have no connections, can’t afford to go to conferences. They possess few funds to do anything but buy reams of paper on sale at Wal-Mart, printer cartridges, and stamps. Do you ever wonder how many classics have gone unseen, unread, unpublished?
But then, one day … the clouds part, the sun comes out, and somebody decides to take a chance on an unknown. It happens. Rarely. But it happens.
For me, I must’ve made God smile a little as I completed my novel, because low and behold, today as I sit here, I can say, thank you, Jesus. I HAVE AN AGENT! Talk about serendipity!
After submitting query after query, I have to laugh. My agent turned out to be a woman I found last summer by bidding at a silent auction at the WV Writer’s Conference. The highest bidder received a free critique of their query letter and the first 50 pages of their novel. At the time, I thought, okay … I’m game. Why not? She’s not in New York City, but who cares? It’s a free critique of my query letter, at least. That interested me. So for $35.00, (best money I ever spent) I won the opportunity to submit my work to Christine Whitthohn. And I'll be damned, she loved it. I have since met her, talked at length, and am convinced; this little bulldog of a literary agent is going to sell TELEVENGE, the trilogy.
Trilogy? Oh yes, three books. With Christine’s encouragement, and hours and hours of pouring over the plot, I have been able to split the book into two. And the third book is well on its way. For so long I couldn’t see my way clear to take such a huge manuscript and make it two books. But one day last week, the sky just opened up. It became as clear as the diamond on my left hand. I felt like a surgeon. After careful surgery, cutting, tweaking, adding, taking out, moving a few scenes around, and two more read-throughs, it not only works … it’s good. It’s really, really good.
And so, as of this week, I have signed with an agent. A good one. One I believe in. One that knows the industry, has sold books to major publishers and negotiated contracts, has pounded some New York City pavement, and ... she believes in me.
The next few months are going to be interesting.
In the meantime, I still have lots of work to do. My Publicity Agenda is staring me in the face, waiting to get started again. My web site will be changing its look in the very near future. Again, there’s a ton of work to do. But it’s exciting, to say the least.
I’ve also been asked to be the judge for the West Virginia Writer’s Book-length Contest. (7,000-word limit.) I'll see submissions by April, with the contest to end in May. I’ll be awarding first, second, third, and honorable mentions at this June event. And Dena http://www.denaharris.com/, my dear writing colleague, and I will be speaking about writing again. In May we’ll once again rock and roll with our presentation, but this time to Seniors who want to write their life stories. I love that about writers. No age limits.
So, say a prayer, won’t you? Believe with me. Exercise a little faith. Even a mustard-seed amount of faith can move the publishing mountains of the world, wouldn’t you say? I know my family is believing. Yes, for a miracle.
But in the meantime, I’m celebrating. I HAVE AN AGENT!
Blessings to you and yours.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Anniversary Day!
Today is our Fifth Wedding Anniversary!
January 18, 2003, what a day to remember. But for me, the words to the song below are as precious now as they were then. They still move me. We wrote our own vows, the wedding was simple. Our children stood beside us on that cold day in the middle of winter. A special day, the day we became a family.
In front of guests in a small, country church ... we cemented the rest of our lives together. I love him more today than ever. He is everything good, strong, and wise. The love of my life.
We walked down the aisle to this song by Don Henley. I don't know who wrote the lyrics, but they say it all. It was Michael's gift to me. I'll never forget it. Happy anniversary, darling.
For My Wedding
January 18, 2003, what a day to remember. But for me, the words to the song below are as precious now as they were then. They still move me. We wrote our own vows, the wedding was simple. Our children stood beside us on that cold day in the middle of winter. A special day, the day we became a family.
In front of guests in a small, country church ... we cemented the rest of our lives together. I love him more today than ever. He is everything good, strong, and wise. The love of my life.
We walked down the aisle to this song by Don Henley. I don't know who wrote the lyrics, but they say it all. It was Michael's gift to me. I'll never forget it. Happy anniversary, darling.
For My Wedding
For my wedding, I will dress in black
And never again will I look back
Ah, my dark angels we must part
For I've made a sanctuary of my heart
To want what I have
To take what I'm given with grace
For this I pray
On my wedding day
For my wedding, I don't want violins
Or sentimental songs about thick and thin
I want a moment of silence and moment of prayer
For the love we'll need to make it in the world out there
To want what I have
To take what I'm given with grace
For this I pray
On my wedding day
To take what I'm given with grace
For this I pray
On my wedding day
On my wedding day
I dream, and my dreams are all glory and light
That's what I've wanted for my life
And if it hasn't always been that way
Well, I can dream and I can pray
On my wedding day
So what makes us any different from all the others
Who have tried and failed before us
Maybe nothing, maybe nothing at all
But I pray were the lucky ones; I pray we never fall
To want what I have
To take what I'm given with grace
For these things I pray
On my wedding day
To take what I'm given with grace
For these things I pray
On my wedding day
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Catch-up Blog
Ahh, I wish I could take the time to put lots of pretty pictures on my blog. But as it stands, I'm lucky to find fifteen minutes in the morning to type any kind of blog these days.
Is it really the middle of the month? It freaks me out that time goes this fast. Yesterday it was New Years Day. It seems, anyway.
I volunteer a small piece of my time with a new group, the Author Marketing and Promotion Group in Greensboro. Yesterday, we had our first meeting of the new year. This group is for published authors searching for new ways to market, promote, and distribute their work. It consists of goal setting, challenges, sharing opportunities, and all sorts of cool and innovative means to get the word out about our books. Right now, this group is in its infancy. And really, this meeting was just a kick-off to get the ball rolling. A meeting to get the "bugs out" before adding new members. I'm excited about this group and I expect great things from it as the year progresses.
Branding, a new web site, new connections all over the Internet, and more speaking engagements ... it's all part of writing and promoting my work.
There's exciting news about my book, that I can't go into detail about today. I'll share soon! Right now, I'm working like a mad woman ... we'll just leave it at that for now. Actually, there are a couple great and exciting pieces of news on the horizon. So stay tuned.
That's my catch-up blog!
A quote by Franz Kafka ... "If the book we’re reading doesn’t wake us up with a blow on the head, what are we reading it for? ... we need the books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us."
Something to think about.
Blessings to you and yours.
Is it really the middle of the month? It freaks me out that time goes this fast. Yesterday it was New Years Day. It seems, anyway.
I volunteer a small piece of my time with a new group, the Author Marketing and Promotion Group in Greensboro. Yesterday, we had our first meeting of the new year. This group is for published authors searching for new ways to market, promote, and distribute their work. It consists of goal setting, challenges, sharing opportunities, and all sorts of cool and innovative means to get the word out about our books. Right now, this group is in its infancy. And really, this meeting was just a kick-off to get the ball rolling. A meeting to get the "bugs out" before adding new members. I'm excited about this group and I expect great things from it as the year progresses.
Branding, a new web site, new connections all over the Internet, and more speaking engagements ... it's all part of writing and promoting my work.
There's exciting news about my book, that I can't go into detail about today. I'll share soon! Right now, I'm working like a mad woman ... we'll just leave it at that for now. Actually, there are a couple great and exciting pieces of news on the horizon. So stay tuned.
That's my catch-up blog!
A quote by Franz Kafka ... "If the book we’re reading doesn’t wake us up with a blow on the head, what are we reading it for? ... we need the books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us."
Something to think about.
Blessings to you and yours.
Monday, January 07, 2008
One Quote Is Enough
Good grief. I do tend to be a bit windy at times. Here's a short blog for today. An anonymous quote I just heard.
“Be who you are and say what you feel because those that matter don’t mind. And those that mind, don’t matter.”
Don't you just love it when one sentence wraps it up?
Today, this one little quote said it all.
Blessings to you and yours.
“Be who you are and say what you feel because those that matter don’t mind. And those that mind, don’t matter.”
Don't you just love it when one sentence wraps it up?
Today, this one little quote said it all.
Blessings to you and yours.
Friday, January 04, 2008
What Is A Writer?
Not just anybody can write. Yet most literate people in America have written something at some point in their lives. Are they writers? I believe that certain elements must come together to call yourself a writer. Like lining up the moon, the planets, and the stars. Elements more precious than just putting words on paper. Or just because you call yourself one. Giving yourself a certificate to write … does not really make you a writer. Sorry. Otherwise, anybody who owns a pencil could call himself a writer. That, my friend, dilutes the beauty of being a writer for the rest of us.
I could call myself a singer. I have sung a few solos in public. But it doesn’t make me a singer. I could say, “Screw what everybody thinks. I’m a singer.” But I’d fall short. Though I love to sing, I’m not a singer.
My dad loves to write. He’s penned many beautiful letters. Even a few stories. But he doesn’t profess to be a writer. What he is, is a storyteller. He knows little about the craft of writing. Doesn't know. Doesn't care to know. His purpose in writing is for his own benefit and for his children's pleasure. He loves to entertain us with his humor and recollections of his childhood, and occasionally he’ll write them down and send them to us. He dabbles in poetry. He writes out his Bible lessons and his thoughts on various aspects of theology. Often, Daddy types out his childhood memories on a manual Royal typewriter. And once in a while, he records himself on tape.
He’s a brilliant man. A master craftsman in woodworking … and in storytelling. He could be a writer, if he wanted to. But he doesn’t. His other passions in life far outweigh his desire to write and publish.
So what is a writer? Writers possess raw talent, unique voice, commitment, passion, and a dedication and determination to see their work in print. The desire to have their words read by the masses is an all-consuming obsession, a force, and a fire that isn’t easily quenched.
Writers have a message. Many have had dreams to write for a very long time. I would be the first to encourage any emerging writer to press on toward the mark … the mark of an author. But remember that the reward of seeing your work in print … has to be enough. You’re not going to get rich. (Although some do, the odds are stacked against you.) Not everybody is going to flock to Borders and Joseph Beth to buy your book. Not even if you think your story is Pulitzer material.
Okay, so that's the reality of it. Ah, but wait. Is it wrong to dream about selling a million copies of your book? To harbor such secrets, such lofty goals of success in your heart? Is it possible that silly dreams like these might propel a writer to achieve local, regional, even national success? International? (Some would say, God forbid. How dare you, you conceited writer, you.)
IF writing is your passion, (there’s that word again) if you dream it, eat it, sleep it, if it bubbles out of each breath you take, then by all means, be it. Get yourself published … one way or another. New York is not the only way to get published these days. (Yet a New York agent and publisher is a big dream for many writers. If it's your dream, then hold on to it.) At any rate, educate yourself in the publishing industry. In my opinion, if you don’t have the desire to see your work in print, then writing is just a hobby. A pastime. And there’s nothing wrong with that. In a sense, the world needs those kinds of writers. And if that’s all you aspire to, do it with gusto. But yes, write to publish!
Why not?
If you study the art of writing AND if you’ve got a storytelling gene, the world needs to read your work.
Now, that being said, not everyone can write a book, and not everybody should. There’s more to writing a book than the writing of it. If you don’t have the desire to market your book, then just write as a hobby and don't go to the expense of self-publishing. And don't expect New York publishers to market for you. It's not that you're in the wrong business, it's just that you need to know what to expect from it. You are not always going to get out of it, what you've put into it. Unfortunately.
So, tell me now, how much do you love writing? More than life itself? That's good. It's going to take all that warm, fuzzy love to carry you through the dark hours when you feel like a loser. The best way to avoid those pitfalls, is to quit listening to family members, friends, and other writers and experts who are so quick to kill your dreams, squash your efforts, and belittle what you've already accomplished with their "reality checks."
What lengths are you willing to go to get your book into the hands of your readers? The bottom line is, unless you’ve experienced that kind of sidewalk-pounding-sell-your-book-out-of-the-trunk-of-your-car marketing, you have no clue. You don’t know how hard it is. Marketing your book, is the hardest thing you’ll ever do. But the rewards are tremendous. Sure, it's tough. But you can learn how to market your work. There's many a good teacher out there. Lots of valid support. Authors are coming together these days and they're finding ways to get the word out. Never let marketing scare you or stop you.
Sure fine, once again I'll say that unless you’re one of the rare few that landed a great agent with connections to the New York publishing houses, you’re not going to be rich overnight. Writers are not rich. Well, not many of them. But it still shouldn't stop you from going after that brass ring! Why not shoot for the stars? Okay, try to keep a level head about it, but why not go for it? What's stopping you? If that's what you want, don't let some mealy-mouthed wanna-be influence you with, "writing is enough. Just putting words on paper is my reward. If I'm never published, my writing makes be happy ..." Waa-waa-waa. I'm really sick of some writers criticizing other writers for wanting breakout status. Just as there's nothing wrong with being humble, meek, and writing a legacy to your grandchildren, there's also nothing wrong with wanting to see your name on the NY TIMES BESTSELLING LISTS!
There's nothing haughty about that. If you're going to dream. DREAM BIG. Dreams, often, come true. Whose to say yours won't?
Alright. We've stated that it's okay to dream. But let's fall back to earth for a moment, shall we? "Reality check." Oh my gosh, God forbid, but do you write because you believe the world will flock to Borders and Joseph Beth to buy your book? Do you call yourself a writer because your friends and family said your story is the greatest story they've ever read? Hmmm. Let's think about that. Right now, it may be a long shot. Some would even think it arrogant to state such a thing. But what's wrong in aspiring to it? I can't believe when Dan Brown began to write, that he never, not one time, dreamed about his books becoming successful. That he thought to himself, I'm just going to sit my butt in the chair, put my hands on the keyboard, and be thankful I'm writing. Give me a break. The man knew he had talent. He knew he was on to something. He knew that if he dreamed big enough, pushed himself hard enough, he might just see his work read by millions.
There are plenty of experts out there that have written blogs, books, chapters, and article after article to discourage you. Too many. The odds are against you. Against us all. It's true. But if you can read them and still keep your dreams of successful publishing alive, then good for you! Strive to beat the odds. Perfect your craft, attend writing conferences, take classes, write your heart out. Then go on to win that contest or publish that book.
Get my point? Lofty goals are not a waste of time, just keep yourself grounded. Don't be haughty about them. Know who you are and be the best writer you can be. You may see a few of those lofty, haughty dreams come true. Keep them to yourself and smile when somebody tells you that your only goal as a writer should be to "just write."
Speaking of keeping yourself grounded, be aware that enthusiastic career goals and believing in your dreams is one thing ... getting your work edited and finding out the first part of your book sucks ... can knock the wind out of you. There are mountains to climb along the way. Like having your work edited again and again--then after your 17th draft--when you think you've written a masterpiece, you find it needs yet another rewrite. If you still want to be a writer after working on one paragraph for a week, I salute you. If you can still call yourself a writer after a hundred rejections, then you are one. If you write NOT to be praised but because you have a message, a story, a love for the craft, then you can consider yourself a giant among many. If you can write without fear, then darling, you may just be a writer!
My point is, yes writing is an uphill climb, but know the real reality of it is that it's a juggling act. One day you're on top, believing this is your year! The next day, you don't want to be within ten feet of your computer. True. But the success of writing is not an impossible dream. Keep your dreams alive, and get all fired up (kind of like I am today) when somebody tells you to be satisfied with "just writing."
Oh yeah, here's another piece of "reality." Unless you can afford a kick-butt PR firm, or you have a degree in public relations, you’re going to start at the beginning. Like the rest of us. And learn the hard way. I teach a class at Writing Conferences called, Public Relations, Publicity, and Pulling Your Hair Out. My colleague, Dena Harris, and I pull no punches. Even with conventional publishing, you’re going to be your best publicist. BUT ... DON'T LET REALITY STOP YOU. And you don't allow discouraging people (who think they know it all) to get in your way. All in all, it's a double-edged sword you're holding. One side is painful reality, the other is the dream of success. Disappointment and rejection is a sure thing, but you can't let it stop you from dreaming. That, in itself, is failure.
So … are you a writer?
Writing is my passion, yes, but I also write because I want my work published. Oh, get over it! So do you and don’t lie. If you’re a real writer, you want to see your work in print. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s admirable. In fact, it forces you to perfect your writing, to be better than average, pushes you to breakout status and what’s wrong with that?
Those who are NOT writers don’t care if their story is well crafted, they couldn't give a flip if their characters are not larger than life, or if their plot lacks tension. They’re really not --- writers.
Make sense?
Please forgive me for being a bit preachy today. Long-winded. Mouthy. Pissed off. But I love writers. I love who and what they are, inside and out. I love and appreciate those who write out of their pain and their pleasures. I love writers with enormous dreams and big hearts. So, write for the right reasons, if you must. If you write just to make yourself happy, then fine. Write your butt off. But real writing comes from deep in your gut. It’s often painful. It sometimes rips your heart out. You’ll cry. You’ll find yourself tossing at night. You’ll laugh, too. You’ll laugh hard and long. But writing also hurts. And it cleanses. Yes indeedy, writing is about the journey, for MOST folks who call themselves writers.
For the rest of us, it’s also about the destination. And you better remember to turn around and lift another writer up along the way. Because being a writer, even a penniless one, means offering support and encouragement to any writer you meet.
Raw talent, unique voice, commitment, passion, luck … all these things are important. But in essence I’ve found that being a writer means different things to different people. Nobody has all the answers, and the rules bend. You’re a writer because you work hard at your craft and you possess the storytelling gene. You’re a writer because you’d rather write than just about anything. You’re a writer because before you die, you want to see your work in print. You're a writer because you've produced the evidence. You’re NOT a writer, just because you say you’re one.
There’s a difference.
One of my favorite authors of all time says it all: "Writing is a process of self-discipline you must learn before you can call yourself a writer. There are people who write, but I think they're quite different from people who must write." —Harper Lee
Blessings to you and yours.
I could call myself a singer. I have sung a few solos in public. But it doesn’t make me a singer. I could say, “Screw what everybody thinks. I’m a singer.” But I’d fall short. Though I love to sing, I’m not a singer.
My dad loves to write. He’s penned many beautiful letters. Even a few stories. But he doesn’t profess to be a writer. What he is, is a storyteller. He knows little about the craft of writing. Doesn't know. Doesn't care to know. His purpose in writing is for his own benefit and for his children's pleasure. He loves to entertain us with his humor and recollections of his childhood, and occasionally he’ll write them down and send them to us. He dabbles in poetry. He writes out his Bible lessons and his thoughts on various aspects of theology. Often, Daddy types out his childhood memories on a manual Royal typewriter. And once in a while, he records himself on tape.
He’s a brilliant man. A master craftsman in woodworking … and in storytelling. He could be a writer, if he wanted to. But he doesn’t. His other passions in life far outweigh his desire to write and publish.
So what is a writer? Writers possess raw talent, unique voice, commitment, passion, and a dedication and determination to see their work in print. The desire to have their words read by the masses is an all-consuming obsession, a force, and a fire that isn’t easily quenched.
Writers have a message. Many have had dreams to write for a very long time. I would be the first to encourage any emerging writer to press on toward the mark … the mark of an author. But remember that the reward of seeing your work in print … has to be enough. You’re not going to get rich. (Although some do, the odds are stacked against you.) Not everybody is going to flock to Borders and Joseph Beth to buy your book. Not even if you think your story is Pulitzer material.
Okay, so that's the reality of it. Ah, but wait. Is it wrong to dream about selling a million copies of your book? To harbor such secrets, such lofty goals of success in your heart? Is it possible that silly dreams like these might propel a writer to achieve local, regional, even national success? International? (Some would say, God forbid. How dare you, you conceited writer, you.)
IF writing is your passion, (there’s that word again) if you dream it, eat it, sleep it, if it bubbles out of each breath you take, then by all means, be it. Get yourself published … one way or another. New York is not the only way to get published these days. (Yet a New York agent and publisher is a big dream for many writers. If it's your dream, then hold on to it.) At any rate, educate yourself in the publishing industry. In my opinion, if you don’t have the desire to see your work in print, then writing is just a hobby. A pastime. And there’s nothing wrong with that. In a sense, the world needs those kinds of writers. And if that’s all you aspire to, do it with gusto. But yes, write to publish!
Why not?
If you study the art of writing AND if you’ve got a storytelling gene, the world needs to read your work.
Now, that being said, not everyone can write a book, and not everybody should. There’s more to writing a book than the writing of it. If you don’t have the desire to market your book, then just write as a hobby and don't go to the expense of self-publishing. And don't expect New York publishers to market for you. It's not that you're in the wrong business, it's just that you need to know what to expect from it. You are not always going to get out of it, what you've put into it. Unfortunately.
So, tell me now, how much do you love writing? More than life itself? That's good. It's going to take all that warm, fuzzy love to carry you through the dark hours when you feel like a loser. The best way to avoid those pitfalls, is to quit listening to family members, friends, and other writers and experts who are so quick to kill your dreams, squash your efforts, and belittle what you've already accomplished with their "reality checks."
What lengths are you willing to go to get your book into the hands of your readers? The bottom line is, unless you’ve experienced that kind of sidewalk-pounding-sell-your-book-out-of-the-trunk-of-your-car marketing, you have no clue. You don’t know how hard it is. Marketing your book, is the hardest thing you’ll ever do. But the rewards are tremendous. Sure, it's tough. But you can learn how to market your work. There's many a good teacher out there. Lots of valid support. Authors are coming together these days and they're finding ways to get the word out. Never let marketing scare you or stop you.
Sure fine, once again I'll say that unless you’re one of the rare few that landed a great agent with connections to the New York publishing houses, you’re not going to be rich overnight. Writers are not rich. Well, not many of them. But it still shouldn't stop you from going after that brass ring! Why not shoot for the stars? Okay, try to keep a level head about it, but why not go for it? What's stopping you? If that's what you want, don't let some mealy-mouthed wanna-be influence you with, "writing is enough. Just putting words on paper is my reward. If I'm never published, my writing makes be happy ..." Waa-waa-waa. I'm really sick of some writers criticizing other writers for wanting breakout status. Just as there's nothing wrong with being humble, meek, and writing a legacy to your grandchildren, there's also nothing wrong with wanting to see your name on the NY TIMES BESTSELLING LISTS!
There's nothing haughty about that. If you're going to dream. DREAM BIG. Dreams, often, come true. Whose to say yours won't?
Alright. We've stated that it's okay to dream. But let's fall back to earth for a moment, shall we? "Reality check." Oh my gosh, God forbid, but do you write because you believe the world will flock to Borders and Joseph Beth to buy your book? Do you call yourself a writer because your friends and family said your story is the greatest story they've ever read? Hmmm. Let's think about that. Right now, it may be a long shot. Some would even think it arrogant to state such a thing. But what's wrong in aspiring to it? I can't believe when Dan Brown began to write, that he never, not one time, dreamed about his books becoming successful. That he thought to himself, I'm just going to sit my butt in the chair, put my hands on the keyboard, and be thankful I'm writing. Give me a break. The man knew he had talent. He knew he was on to something. He knew that if he dreamed big enough, pushed himself hard enough, he might just see his work read by millions.
There are plenty of experts out there that have written blogs, books, chapters, and article after article to discourage you. Too many. The odds are against you. Against us all. It's true. But if you can read them and still keep your dreams of successful publishing alive, then good for you! Strive to beat the odds. Perfect your craft, attend writing conferences, take classes, write your heart out. Then go on to win that contest or publish that book.
Get my point? Lofty goals are not a waste of time, just keep yourself grounded. Don't be haughty about them. Know who you are and be the best writer you can be. You may see a few of those lofty, haughty dreams come true. Keep them to yourself and smile when somebody tells you that your only goal as a writer should be to "just write."
Speaking of keeping yourself grounded, be aware that enthusiastic career goals and believing in your dreams is one thing ... getting your work edited and finding out the first part of your book sucks ... can knock the wind out of you. There are mountains to climb along the way. Like having your work edited again and again--then after your 17th draft--when you think you've written a masterpiece, you find it needs yet another rewrite. If you still want to be a writer after working on one paragraph for a week, I salute you. If you can still call yourself a writer after a hundred rejections, then you are one. If you write NOT to be praised but because you have a message, a story, a love for the craft, then you can consider yourself a giant among many. If you can write without fear, then darling, you may just be a writer!
My point is, yes writing is an uphill climb, but know the real reality of it is that it's a juggling act. One day you're on top, believing this is your year! The next day, you don't want to be within ten feet of your computer. True. But the success of writing is not an impossible dream. Keep your dreams alive, and get all fired up (kind of like I am today) when somebody tells you to be satisfied with "just writing."
Oh yeah, here's another piece of "reality." Unless you can afford a kick-butt PR firm, or you have a degree in public relations, you’re going to start at the beginning. Like the rest of us. And learn the hard way. I teach a class at Writing Conferences called, Public Relations, Publicity, and Pulling Your Hair Out. My colleague, Dena Harris, and I pull no punches. Even with conventional publishing, you’re going to be your best publicist. BUT ... DON'T LET REALITY STOP YOU. And you don't allow discouraging people (who think they know it all) to get in your way. All in all, it's a double-edged sword you're holding. One side is painful reality, the other is the dream of success. Disappointment and rejection is a sure thing, but you can't let it stop you from dreaming. That, in itself, is failure.
So … are you a writer?
Writing is my passion, yes, but I also write because I want my work published. Oh, get over it! So do you and don’t lie. If you’re a real writer, you want to see your work in print. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s admirable. In fact, it forces you to perfect your writing, to be better than average, pushes you to breakout status and what’s wrong with that?
Those who are NOT writers don’t care if their story is well crafted, they couldn't give a flip if their characters are not larger than life, or if their plot lacks tension. They’re really not --- writers.
Make sense?
Please forgive me for being a bit preachy today. Long-winded. Mouthy. Pissed off. But I love writers. I love who and what they are, inside and out. I love and appreciate those who write out of their pain and their pleasures. I love writers with enormous dreams and big hearts. So, write for the right reasons, if you must. If you write just to make yourself happy, then fine. Write your butt off. But real writing comes from deep in your gut. It’s often painful. It sometimes rips your heart out. You’ll cry. You’ll find yourself tossing at night. You’ll laugh, too. You’ll laugh hard and long. But writing also hurts. And it cleanses. Yes indeedy, writing is about the journey, for MOST folks who call themselves writers.
For the rest of us, it’s also about the destination. And you better remember to turn around and lift another writer up along the way. Because being a writer, even a penniless one, means offering support and encouragement to any writer you meet.
Raw talent, unique voice, commitment, passion, luck … all these things are important. But in essence I’ve found that being a writer means different things to different people. Nobody has all the answers, and the rules bend. You’re a writer because you work hard at your craft and you possess the storytelling gene. You’re a writer because you’d rather write than just about anything. You’re a writer because before you die, you want to see your work in print. You're a writer because you've produced the evidence. You’re NOT a writer, just because you say you’re one.
There’s a difference.
One of my favorite authors of all time says it all: "Writing is a process of self-discipline you must learn before you can call yourself a writer. There are people who write, but I think they're quite different from people who must write." —Harper Lee
Blessings to you and yours.
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
A New Year of Priorities
Another year ... gone. Poof!
As I have done for the past five years, I spent last evening watching the HGTV Dream Home Special. The house they build all year long then give away to one lucky winner. This year, the house was built in the Florida Keys. A couple years ago, the house was built in Lake Lure, NC. I've been in that house. I think it's still empty. The winner sold it back to the land developer. Dream Home winners never live in the houses they've been lucky enough to win. They can't afford to pay the taxes. So ... in a way ... the contest is a joke. Just another advertising gimmick, really, that's what it is.
But I still watch, drool, and enter. Maybe this year, huh?
I've made no resolutions this year. Nope. Not a one. Zip. Zilch. Nada. I'm sick of them. They bog me down for the first three months until I can forget about them. All I know is that changes are definitely on the horizon. But I've mentioned that already. It just feels good to write it. To see it written. To hear it in my head.
If you're a writer, however, the act of sitting your butt in the chair and placing your hands on the keyboard ... must take over as a priority this year. If writing is truly what you were born to do, then you must find the time to allow your muse to overtake you. Blogging doesn't count. Blogging, it seems, has become a form of writing to "replace" the writing you put off. Blogging, though important, is no substitute for your storytelling, your poetry, your unfinished memoir.
I've clicked on some blogs that astound and amaze me. Long, beautifully crafted pieces that I'm assuming the author wants to eventually publish. But I wonder how much energy they have left to write the rest of the day. These blogs are endless entries of the blogger's travels, their gripes and complaints, their thoughts on everything from A - Z. My question is ... where is their book?
Although I love to read blogs, catch up on a few, and believe they are a way to warm up the fingers--writers who blog should not feel as though once they've blogged their word quota is up for the day. No, blogging (in my humble opinion) should be just what it is. An online journal. A way to wake up with a cup of a coffee every morning. The real work ... the writing that matters ... should come after the blog. Spending anymore time than 20 minutes on one blog entry is biting into your time. Time that could have been spent on your next article, outline, or prologue.
If you don't see a blog from me every day ... just know there's a story I'm working on instead. I'll get back to the blog when I can. Blogging is not a priority. My blogs are just a howdy. A few random thoughts on writing, a way to let off steam, a bit of sharing the events in my life. Maybe even a few pictures here and there.
And so, to end today's blog ... I begin a new year of writing. A new year of changes. A new year and a new book. A year of no resolutions. Just priorities.
Blessings to you and yours.
As I have done for the past five years, I spent last evening watching the HGTV Dream Home Special. The house they build all year long then give away to one lucky winner. This year, the house was built in the Florida Keys. A couple years ago, the house was built in Lake Lure, NC. I've been in that house. I think it's still empty. The winner sold it back to the land developer. Dream Home winners never live in the houses they've been lucky enough to win. They can't afford to pay the taxes. So ... in a way ... the contest is a joke. Just another advertising gimmick, really, that's what it is.
But I still watch, drool, and enter. Maybe this year, huh?
I've made no resolutions this year. Nope. Not a one. Zip. Zilch. Nada. I'm sick of them. They bog me down for the first three months until I can forget about them. All I know is that changes are definitely on the horizon. But I've mentioned that already. It just feels good to write it. To see it written. To hear it in my head.
If you're a writer, however, the act of sitting your butt in the chair and placing your hands on the keyboard ... must take over as a priority this year. If writing is truly what you were born to do, then you must find the time to allow your muse to overtake you. Blogging doesn't count. Blogging, it seems, has become a form of writing to "replace" the writing you put off. Blogging, though important, is no substitute for your storytelling, your poetry, your unfinished memoir.
I've clicked on some blogs that astound and amaze me. Long, beautifully crafted pieces that I'm assuming the author wants to eventually publish. But I wonder how much energy they have left to write the rest of the day. These blogs are endless entries of the blogger's travels, their gripes and complaints, their thoughts on everything from A - Z. My question is ... where is their book?
Although I love to read blogs, catch up on a few, and believe they are a way to warm up the fingers--writers who blog should not feel as though once they've blogged their word quota is up for the day. No, blogging (in my humble opinion) should be just what it is. An online journal. A way to wake up with a cup of a coffee every morning. The real work ... the writing that matters ... should come after the blog. Spending anymore time than 20 minutes on one blog entry is biting into your time. Time that could have been spent on your next article, outline, or prologue.
If you don't see a blog from me every day ... just know there's a story I'm working on instead. I'll get back to the blog when I can. Blogging is not a priority. My blogs are just a howdy. A few random thoughts on writing, a way to let off steam, a bit of sharing the events in my life. Maybe even a few pictures here and there.
And so, to end today's blog ... I begin a new year of writing. A new year of changes. A new year and a new book. A year of no resolutions. Just priorities.
Blessings to you and yours.
Sunday, December 30, 2007
The Best Ever
Ten days ago was my last blog entry. Ten days. Wow. Well, what's happened since then? Nothing much. Just Christmas. A quiet Christmas in Ohio with friends and family. A little snow. A little cheer was spread. A little time of magic. No fancy holiday in New York or Mexico. Just a quiet and peaceful Christmas. Then home. For one night. The next morning Michael and I headed to Atlanta. For more holiday fun with family.
I've eaten too much, laughed too much, slept too little, watched too many holiday TV movies, drove too many miles, but we took some much needed time off from thinking about everything. Isn't that what the holidays are for? A sedative. A time warp. A chance to forget our problems for about two weeks. But now it's back to the reality of life. My life. And this year, things are going to change.
Michael and I are on a quest for major changes this year. In every area of our beings. And by God, we're going to make it happen. No fruitless New Year's resolutions to waste our time, just positive changes to soul, mind, and body. Christmas brought things into focus for me this year. A time to reflect on the past few years and realize that although I've made tremendous strides in my career as a writer and speaker, there's still a part of me that's searching. Christmas did not consist of lots of presents for either of us. We cut way back this year and decided that our gifts to each other would be a better year ... 2008 ... a year of changes.
I've lost myself along the way. Not a big part of myself, just a few minor pieces that fell off in my move to the South. But one of my favorite lines in a movie is from Sense and Sensibility. "There is nothing lost that may be found, if sought."
My novel will be bought this year. My next book will be finished this Spring. My life as a writer and speaker will continue to face the same challenges as most writers. But this year, I'm going to enlighten my reader's minds and jolt my reader's hearts. Open their hands to discover the possibility of reaching out with compassion. I'm giving them more than Southern Fried delights. I'm tossing caution to the wind. It's already in motion.
And life as we know it ... will change.
Christmas was fine. One more done and gone. It was a merry one. I'm hoping your Chrismas was, as well. But I for one, am glad it's over. Because it's 360-some days to next Christmas ... and I'm already looking forward to it. Because I know this year will be ... the best ever.
Blessings to you and yours.
I've eaten too much, laughed too much, slept too little, watched too many holiday TV movies, drove too many miles, but we took some much needed time off from thinking about everything. Isn't that what the holidays are for? A sedative. A time warp. A chance to forget our problems for about two weeks. But now it's back to the reality of life. My life. And this year, things are going to change.
Michael and I are on a quest for major changes this year. In every area of our beings. And by God, we're going to make it happen. No fruitless New Year's resolutions to waste our time, just positive changes to soul, mind, and body. Christmas brought things into focus for me this year. A time to reflect on the past few years and realize that although I've made tremendous strides in my career as a writer and speaker, there's still a part of me that's searching. Christmas did not consist of lots of presents for either of us. We cut way back this year and decided that our gifts to each other would be a better year ... 2008 ... a year of changes.
I've lost myself along the way. Not a big part of myself, just a few minor pieces that fell off in my move to the South. But one of my favorite lines in a movie is from Sense and Sensibility. "There is nothing lost that may be found, if sought."
My novel will be bought this year. My next book will be finished this Spring. My life as a writer and speaker will continue to face the same challenges as most writers. But this year, I'm going to enlighten my reader's minds and jolt my reader's hearts. Open their hands to discover the possibility of reaching out with compassion. I'm giving them more than Southern Fried delights. I'm tossing caution to the wind. It's already in motion.
And life as we know it ... will change.
Christmas was fine. One more done and gone. It was a merry one. I'm hoping your Chrismas was, as well. But I for one, am glad it's over. Because it's 360-some days to next Christmas ... and I'm already looking forward to it. Because I know this year will be ... the best ever.
Blessings to you and yours.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
A Grand Christmas
It's been an interesting week. I've talked to two literary agents this week and received great feedback, as well as possible representation. Nothing set in stone, as of yet. So much to think about, so much to consider. Still waiting to hear from a California agent. But I'm encouraged and the next book is well on its way. A special project Michael and I have been working on is going well. In fact, January may hold a special meaning for us ... in addition to our five-year anniversary. It's going to be a great Christmas this year.
For one, we'll be in Ohio with our children. Although Christopher, Nicole, and our grandson will be in Arizona with Nicole's parents (we'll miss them) we get to spend a few quality days with Jillian, Aaron, and our future daughter-in-law, Annie. And, of course, our best friends Tina and Tim. Like I said, it's going to be a great Christmas.
Then there's a few days after Christmas ... we'll be in Atlanta with my sister and parents. Lots of traveling this season, but still ... a great Christmas.
I've had all kinds of Christmas's. (What is the plural of Christmas? es, 's, s' ... ah who cares?) Point is -I've had good ones and not-so-good ones. Sad ones. And one or two Christmas's that were so wretched and horrible, I've pushed them out of my mind. Forgotten. But there are many more Christmas's that hold pleasant memories. And this is going to be one of them.
Last night our dear friends, Dena and Blair, went to dinner with us at the Bonefish Grill and then we had floor seats for the Trans-Siberian Orchestra in Greensboro. I'm hung over this morning ... from not just the wine at dinner, but the LOUD music, the smoke, the faux snow, and strobe lights. Whew. I'm not as young as I used to be, that's for sure. However, this was a concert to remember. I'm sure you've heard them, at least on the radio. But this group of musicians and vocalists were outstanding and the music made your heart swell. If you were a Grinch or a Scrooge, you were no longer after the sights and sounds of this magnificent performance. Truly remarkable.
It made me realize ... this is a GRAND CHRISTMAS!
Have a more than a merry one yourself. Have a GRAND one!
Blessings to you and yours.
For one, we'll be in Ohio with our children. Although Christopher, Nicole, and our grandson will be in Arizona with Nicole's parents (we'll miss them) we get to spend a few quality days with Jillian, Aaron, and our future daughter-in-law, Annie. And, of course, our best friends Tina and Tim. Like I said, it's going to be a great Christmas.
Then there's a few days after Christmas ... we'll be in Atlanta with my sister and parents. Lots of traveling this season, but still ... a great Christmas.
I've had all kinds of Christmas's. (What is the plural of Christmas? es, 's, s' ... ah who cares?) Point is -I've had good ones and not-so-good ones. Sad ones. And one or two Christmas's that were so wretched and horrible, I've pushed them out of my mind. Forgotten. But there are many more Christmas's that hold pleasant memories. And this is going to be one of them.
Last night our dear friends, Dena and Blair, went to dinner with us at the Bonefish Grill and then we had floor seats for the Trans-Siberian Orchestra in Greensboro. I'm hung over this morning ... from not just the wine at dinner, but the LOUD music, the smoke, the faux snow, and strobe lights. Whew. I'm not as young as I used to be, that's for sure. However, this was a concert to remember. I'm sure you've heard them, at least on the radio. But this group of musicians and vocalists were outstanding and the music made your heart swell. If you were a Grinch or a Scrooge, you were no longer after the sights and sounds of this magnificent performance. Truly remarkable.
It made me realize ... this is a GRAND CHRISTMAS!
Have a more than a merry one yourself. Have a GRAND one!
Blessings to you and yours.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Christmas Tuna
Last night Michael and I visited Tuna, Texas. At the Broach Theatre in Greensboro. Funny, to say the least. A play consisting of over a dozen characters ... played by two actors, Hall Parrish and Stephen Gee, they gave outstanding performances. These two men kept their audience laughing from beginning to end.
From Greensboro, they decked the halls of Tuna, a redneck town of political conservatism, religious fundamentalism, bouffants and bad taste. Split second costume changes transformed the actors into townspeople of every age, type, and gender. The characters names made me laugh as much as anything. The town sluts, Inita Goodwin and Helen Bedd won the Christmas yard display contest ... too funny!
A true poke at the small-town South, A Tuna Christmas has been around for twenty years of Christmas' in cities from Greensboro to Lubbock. If you get the chance, go see it. After all, one can never have enough Tuna at Christmas. Right?
Blessings to you and yours.
From Greensboro, they decked the halls of Tuna, a redneck town of political conservatism, religious fundamentalism, bouffants and bad taste. Split second costume changes transformed the actors into townspeople of every age, type, and gender. The characters names made me laugh as much as anything. The town sluts, Inita Goodwin and Helen Bedd won the Christmas yard display contest ... too funny!
A true poke at the small-town South, A Tuna Christmas has been around for twenty years of Christmas' in cities from Greensboro to Lubbock. If you get the chance, go see it. After all, one can never have enough Tuna at Christmas. Right?
Blessings to you and yours.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)