I’m going to be honest with you, this year has been the bomb. From sickness to the deaths in family, to writing interruptions, because of the traumatic situations, this 2025 passage was extremely dark and rough. I kept waiting for another shoe to drop, and it always did, and they kept coming in bits and pieces. This threw me into a process of learning how to deal with the tragedies occurring in my life.
The first thing I learned is that you don’t control trauma. There is no way to run from it or to beat it over the head and be victorious over it without having faith in someone who is bigger than yourself. In my case, that someone was and still is God.
Thinking that the tide was over, on the Second Christmas Day, December 26, I received a phone call informing me that my nephew had been killed on Christmas Day. I thought to myself if anyone had told me at the beginning of 2025, I would receive notices of five deaths sprinkled out over 2025, that would pinch me in my heart, I wouldn’t have believed them. But it happened, and I am thankful that I was able to work through it and keep slowly moving forward.
As traumatic as things were in my 2025, I am thankful that gratitude permeates my life. It is now January 1, 2026, and I woke up this morning thankful to see a New Year and no snow in the area where I live. The sun is even showing itself every now and then. 🙂 I’m thankful to have that first cup of coffee, to hear my voice as I sang the first song that rose up in my heart, and to look out of my patio windows and see squirrels climbing in my trees and birds flying low between the green leaves.
Now that I have taken my first steps into 2026, let me say that I hope all my readers and friends crossed into 2026 and are looking forward to a great year.
Getting back to the title of my New Year’s article, One of my favorite passages in the Bible is the title of this blog article:
My Beloved spoke, and said to me,
Rise up, my love, my fair one,
And come away.
For lo, the winter is past,
The rain is over and gone.
(Song of Solomon 2:10-12, NKJV)
Let us hope that this is so in our individual passages in 2026.
Two lives marked by trauma. One chance to rediscover hope.
In the sun-drenched Lowcountry of South Carolina, a swim coach haunted by tragedy and a psychologist devoted to healing cross paths just as their lives unravel.
He once believed Olympic-sized dreams and awful dad jokes could get him through anything, but waves of grief threaten to pull him under. She has built a career navigating others through pain, yet she struggles to confront her own.
When their worlds collide, Cognitive Processing Therapy for PTSD forces the question: is it possible to dive into the past without drowning? Neither expects the other to become a lifeline. But with connection and courage, they search for a way forward—one stroke at a time.
Striving, tender, and surprisingly funny, this is a story about resilience and learning that the best way out of the deep end is together
THOUGHTS FROM JENNIFER:
Why did I write this book?
It’s been four years since I published sports romance Rivals. In the meantime, I’ve strived to help psychotherapy clients heal.
Have traumatized book characters led you to despair? Did you ever wonder, “How will they ever recover from this tragedy?”
As a psychologist, once I learned a powerful PTSD treatment called Cognitive Processing Therapy, I now feel hope that EVERYONE can recover from a traumatic event. When I read about characters stuck in trauma, I want to yell at them, “Go get CPT!”
Witnessing trauma survivors turn their lives around inspired me to write a fictionalized version. Due to my background as a college swimmer, I chose a swim coach as the protagonist. His psychologist faces her own drama when she meets a mysterious man while speed-dating.
~*~
Thanks to fellow author Ronel Janse Van Vuuren for hosting me on her blog to talk about domestic violence and PTSD.
TURN THE LIGHT ON WAS MY VERY FIRST PUBLISHED Short Story. I will never forget the feeling of relief that came with finally pushing it out into the world, and the joy is still there.
What impressed me the most about the book was the manuscript itself, the book cover, and the book trailer. All three elements present the strength of a southern black woman and touch on the reality of a daring and courageous woman that many people don’t see, thereby challenging the readers’ perspectives.
TURN THE LIGHT ON
Fear engulfed her. What if he was not only a counter-terrorist, but was also using her to launder money? Her hands shook as she considered the consequences of the mistakes she’d made and what could happen to her. She didn’t relish standing before a disbelieving judge trying to explain her stupidity.
Macey grunted, causing Della to uncross her legs and lean in closer to her boss’s desk. She had hoped Macey would simply speak her mind instead of grunting and bobbing her head back and forth, while examining her bank statements.
Never again will I forsake my principles because of a man with sad, lonely eyes.
Macey’ heavy sigh shattered Della’s thoughts. Della tensed, not knowing what to expect.
“Della, your story is preposterous. No…let me say it would be truly unbelievable if I hadn’t seen this with my own eyes. Macey pointed at the bank statements on her desk. “So, tell me what do you plan to do? Do you really think he’s the man that’s been depositing the money into your account? And how are you going to find him since you don’t even know him name, for heaven’s sake?”
TURN THE LIGHT ON is available on all Amazon outlets.
Hello Everyone, I returned from my sudden vacation with the necessity to work through the trauma of experiencing four deaths in three months. It’s something that I don’t wish on anyone. I’m back to what I love to do, now, and that is writing.
Continuing with my unreleased Flash Fiction Anthology, here is my first snippet from A STRANGE ENCOUNTER CHANGES TWO PEOPLE FOREVER. Have a lovely day,
Shalom shalom
Giuseppe’s right ear moved upward. Robust laughter almost shattered his eardrum.
Could Christmas Eve bring him such a massive sweet gift?
The laughter vibrated through his entire body, making him tremble. Putting down his pool stick, he walked to the dining area to see who had released the wavelength of the full-bodied laugh that caused his ear to move.
Giuseppe, (Sep), walked to the door that led out into the dining area. He noticed the table across the floor opposite him clothed in candlelight. There he saw her. Three women were sitting at a table listening intently to a dark, brown-skinned woman, caught up in whatever she was saying. Sep zoned in on her with his eyes. With his photographic memory, he took pictures, marking the small, chiseled nose and thick lips that stood out on her face. Seized by the vocal vibrations of her voice, he wondered how the chubby-sized woman would react if he covered her lips with his mouth. Would she stare at him with fright in her eyes, thinking that he was some kind of monster or a freak whose face had been put together crookedly?
I’m continuing with a new snippet that will appear in my Anthology that will be released in the winter of 2026.
Have a lovely day.
Shalom shalom
CAGED BIRDS DON’T SING
Caged Birds Don’t Sing
Kathie Mae sat and stared at her surroundings; everything was in place just like Caesar liked it. The cream-colored sofa was positioned at a right angle, three meters away from the large floor-to-ceiling window that faced the street before their house. The brightness of the sun on the mahogany Boersendorfer displayed its ivory black and white keys. . Katheie Mae looked at the portrait that hung above the piano and examined the eyes of the woman she no longer knew. The eyes in the picture were brighter, livelier, and filled with hope. Where had all that gone?
Her heartbeat quickened with every passing minute that the grandfather clock ticked. Soon, Caesar would be home. In an hour or two, she would have to stop her wandering mind from going back to the past. Kathie Mae never thought that having everything money could buy would curtail her life and lock her up in a cage.
This is another snippet from my flash anthology that will be released in Winter 2026.
The Garden
After many years of not being there, she’d returned and discovered how quickly things deteriorate when not lovingly taken care of.
As she stood looking at the poverty that had befallen the once so beautiful, proud garden, she wanted to cry.
She regarded the rundown house; no longer the centerpiece of roses, carnations, lilies, and yellow daisies.
Oh, how noble houses fall.
“What are you thinking, Linda?”
“You see that tree?” she answered, not quite knowing where to begin. “I used to climb it.”
Jordan laughed, “And you’re still climbing trees.”
Chuckling along with him, she said, “Yes, at my age, I’m still climbing trees. So, we’re here. What do you expect from me?”
Jordan was the one who had encouraged them to return here. He was her husband, lover, and friend for the last seven years. Even though much younger than she was, he was concerned about her well-being than she was. Her nightmares had forced him to convince her to come back and face the demons that terrorize me.
“I hope you’ll appreciate your wealthy upbringing and let go,” Jordan said.
She regarded the garden surrounding the house in which she was born. They were so different, Jordan and her, yet in many ways they were like homogenous barks linked together.
“You’re fantasizing again. You’re not old enough to request that I appreciate my upbringing. You weren’t there.”
“No, I wasn’t, but I love you. That alone gives me the right to help you reconcile with your past and let go.”
“Look who’s talking? The babe among us.”
“Yes, the babe by ten years and yet your husband.”
Hello Everyone, I am presenting the third story in my Flash Fiction anthology, which is written as a trilogy within a series. This is story one in the trilogy where I introduce Beno and Zelda. I hope you enjoy meeting them. Have a lovely day and take care. Shalom shalom
GOODBYE UNTIL
Storms raged within Zelda. Even though seven years had passed, her dichotomous relationship with Beno still reverberated in her gut. In contrast to what she had once thought, the young man who had overwhelmed her with his confessions of love was still with her, woven like yarn not around her heart but inside of it. The intensity of their love grew stronger with each passing year.
True, she’d always been a joyful, adventurous, youthful person, a hopeless optimist who loved unconditionally, but when she’d turn fifty-five, she had hidden these characteristics. Her friends had told her such traits didn’t become a woman of her age. Meeting Beno changed that. He unlocked the door to those traits and threw away the key. Now, they bubbled over everywhere.
Zelda contemplated as she sat at the table in the back corner, facing the street. That’s what lovers do at Café Terrace, Beno had once told her. They order coffee, or a latte, sweetened with a shot of whiskey or Cognac, and wait for their loved ones.
Zelda sipped her coffee and closed her eyes. “Delicious,” she murmured and opened her eyes to look at the crowd and see if she could pick Beno out. She would know him anywhere.
Hello Everyone, I am presenting the second story in my Flash Fiction anthology, which is written as a trilogy within a series. Three Flashes are connected as one story. I hope you enjoy seeing Beno and Zelda again. Have a lovely day and take care. Shalom shalom
Pat Garcia
Zelda tossed from one side to the other in the king-size bed belonging to her and Beno. She made herself lie still and shaped herself into a spoon on her right side, staring at the chipped, brownish-red-toned vase standing on the end table where Beno always slept. As ugly as that vase was, it radiated the only hope she had that he wasn’t dead. Like a persistent gnawing in her spirit, the vessel fanned the flame in her that Beno was alive.
Since he’d slithered into their new home to surprise her on her birthday, she’d heard nothing else from him. He’d received a thirty-six-hour pass and hadn’t allowed her to ask any questions about how he got it. Instead, he’d rushed her out of their home and taken her to the flea market. There, he’d shown her what he’d discovered. His face lit up when he pointed to the chipped antique vase. Even though it was the ugliest vase Zelda had ever seen, Beno’s lips had kissed and caressed it while scrutinizing its damages as if it were a precious jewel.
She’d asked him why that vase. There were others so much prettier.
His head had slanted slightly toward her, and his eyes had locked her in place.
“Chipped, Zelda,” he’d said. “The vase’s disfigurements display its inner beauty and its strength. Don’t you think so?”
He’d purchased it for more than it was worth and handed it to her. “For your birthday, my sweet Zelda.”
They had returned home, and he’d taken it to their bedroom and placed it on the nightstand by his side of the bed. “Think of us every time you turn toward where I sleep and see the vase,” Beno had said, and he had taken her in his arms.
Afterward, exhausted from their lovemaking, she’d fallen asleep with her head lying on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
Beno snuck away just as he had come, suddenly. Since then, fresh purple and white orchids, accompanied by a single bloody red rose in the middle, have appeared on their doorsteps every two weeks, accompanied by a four-word text-“to fill the vase.”
After an unfortunate loss in my family, I am back. I haven’t formatted my latest story yet because I didn’t take the time. But I have started on it.
Today, I am presenting a snippet from my upcoming anthology, which is scheduled for release in winter 2026.
I sincerely hope you enjoy it.
Shalom shalom,
Pat Garcia
Shrill screaming woke Zelda. She scooted nearer to Beno, thinking she was dreaming. Beno put his arm around her, bringing her closer, and she continued to sleep. The shrieks came again, and this time, sobs accompanied them. Zelda raised herself to look over at the clock on Beno’s nightstand. What woman would be walking around at two-thirty in the morning, screaming and sobbing outside of their bedroom window? She immediately thought about the missing women from their urban neighborhood, and her heart sank. “Not again,” she murmured. Six women had already disappeared without a trace. The police were helpless, and Zelda trembled in Beno’s arms. Was it happening again? “Beno, wake up!” She whispered, frantically shaking his shoulder. “What, My Sweet? Can’t you sleep?” Beno said, drowsily. “I think I heard a woman screaming and sobbing outside by our bedroom window.” Beno took a deep breath and opened his eyes. “Are you sure?” “Yes, I’m sure. Now, come to your senses,” Zelda pleaded. Beno released Zelda quickly and sprang out of bed. Three women, two teenage girls, and an eleven-year-old had vanished into thin air in their urban neighborhood over the past three weeks. “Where did you hear the noise, Zelda?” Beno asked as he got dressed. “From outside Marcus’s house, which faces our bedroom. There were horrible sounds of helplessness mixed with tears.” “I’m going to take a look outside.” “I’m going with you,” Zelda said, getting out of bed. “No, you’ll stay here.” “No, I won’t,” Zelda said and put on a knee-length Mou Mou dress that he’d bought her while on a mission in Hawaii.
Today, I continue working on the Flash Fiction Anthology, which is scheduled for release in winter 2026. I have been privileged to participate in Flash Fiction contests over the years. I love Flash Fiction. I have learned a great deal about the Flash Fiction and short stories Genre from reading the works of Eudora Welty, Joyce Carol Oates, and the late Canadian writer Alice Munro.
This is a snippet I wrote for The WEP, a writing organization founded by Denise Covey. I learned a lot from all the writers who participated in the contests. I hope you enjoy the snippet.
Shalom shalom
Pat Garcia
EXCERPT:
Netta scrutinized the red wheelbarrow placed before the floor-to-ceiling window of the living room.
That wheelbarrow isn’t just attractive, but it’s a downright elixir for the soul.
She stood between the doorframe of the door, across the hall from the living room, admiring and examining the object of her curiosity. It stood so majestically before the window, in its bright red color, as if it were giving a queenly audience. She could have sworn the thing was smiling at her.
Her husband, Jonathan, had turned it into a flower bed. He had chosen the living room to place it in, stating that he could admire his handy work when he returned home every evening.
Netta shook her head. In the sunlight, the red wheelbarrow seemed to wink, but a wheelbarrow couldn’t wink, or could it?
She’d met Jonathan at her favorite Italian restaurant. She’d been sitting at a corner table with a big plate of spaghetti and a mozzarella and tomato salad. She’d just happened to look toward the entrance door of the restaurant and had gazed directly into the saddest but prettiest green eyes she’d ever seen. He’d stared back at her and then walked to her table and asked if she minded him sitting with her. Her mouth had been full of spaghetti, and the only way she could answer him without spilling the food out of her mouth had been to nod in acceptance.
Jonathan had ordered his meal after introducing himself and then began asking her questions, which made her hesitant to answer. When he’d asked her about her marital status, her eyebrows had furrowed, and her heartbeat had quickened. She’d not been so sure that it had been a good idea to let him sit at her table. Then, Jonathan assured her that he posed no danger to her. He was looking for someone to share his home with. He’d said he wanted the comfort of knowing that a trustworthy person was living with him. He needed a wife but not one to share his bed. Just a faithful wife to be there. He’d insisted on putting that clausal in their marriage agreement.
At first, Netta didn’t believe or trust him. She thought he was some ax murderer or a cannibal who wanted to kill and eat her. Her vivid imagination had her packed away in plastic freezer bags in small portions in his freezer. With her chubby size thighs, big arms, and breasts, she was pretty sure Jonathan would have had enough meat for a year.
Netta didn’t understand why a man from out of nowhere was asking her, a stranger, to marry him. What she did know was that she said yes.
Here is a new snippet from my Anthology of Flash Fiction Stories that will be released in winter.
Wishing all of you a lovely day.
EXCERPT:
The man worked hard. He and his three sons hammered and pitched each wooden plank together. Sure, people thought he was crazy, but that didn’t disturb him. He closed his ears to what others said. If he were honest, and he was, he didn’t give a hoot. He hadn’t made it so far in life by seeking the approval of others.
The other day, his sons had informed him that the neighbors thought he was insane. He had laughed and told his sons to get to work before he fired them. After all, he was not only their father but their employer. No one would give them the amount of money for the work they did for him. They had no choice. The father gazed down at the oldest son. The son looked up at the sun. The old man thought about the discussion they had had the night before. His sons thought he was a daydreamer and had invited a lawyer to his house without his permission. Their excuse for not telling him had him laughing. They wanted to rattle his brain.
After talking with him, the lawyer said that declaring their father insane wouldn’t work. Besides, the majority of the judges knew him too well as that no-nonsense man who spoke what he thought. The sons’ wives were outraged, shouting they had become the laughingstock of the whole town, maybe the whole world. They were sick and tired of people pointing fingers at them. So, what, the old man said. They had tried to explain what it meant to them not to be among the popular crowd. They considered these people their friends.
Come to my house for tea; my wife would enjoy your company, he’d answered back.
Hello, Everyone, My Snippet for today continues with a second excerpt from Boteè and The Strain Man.
Hello, Everyone,
My Snippet for today continues with a second excerpt from Boteè and The Strain Man.
EXCERPT
Boteè and the Strain Man
Strain Man played the first trio, and the spotlight appeared, covering her with light from her head to her feet. The music lifted her body, lying it flat as if she lay on a cot. The music raised her from the ground and lulled her into a trance. She looked up at the sky as he transported her with the musical notes he played. It was peaceful, and she began to snore. Strain Man moved into the second trio to wake her. The light over her head brightened, and she felt like she was lying on clouds of sheet music.
Suddenly, she lay before Strain Man. He bowed his head towards her. His cone-shaped head shone, and his metallic clothing looked absolutely chic.
Strange, she thought, looking at him, there are no stars in heaven.
Strain Main replied with the third trio movement of The Stars and Stripes Forever. It was the only song he knew from her planet to communicate with her. “They’ll come. They’re just over the horizon.”
Boteè’s dark contralto answer made his face shine, “Amen, Amen, Amen.” She sang.
The Stars and Stripes Forever’s first impatient blast sounded. Boteè jumped off her sofa. She got her jacket and grabbed her tiny case. Then she departed her third-floor apartment. She left a note for her best girlfriend, Peggy,
On the road with my friend.
Don’t know how long, but I’ll be back whenever my friend brings me back to earth.
Boteè called him the Strain Man. His shiny metallic skin tone, high cheekbones, and pointed fingers had drawn her to him. He was different from the people on earth, and she liked that about him. She danced down the steps of her apartment building, not wanting to keep him waiting. He promised to take her beyond the clouds to see another part of the universe.
Excited at the opportunity to see him again, Boteè stepped outside. She closed her eyes and hit the Deep C with her contralto voice. It was two octaves down from Middle C of the primary scale. She sang Amen note by note while holding her breath. As she slid up the scale, she accented the rise in a syncopated rhythm until she reached Middle C. She stopped, took a deep breath, and waited for his response.
At their secret spot, Strain Man was surrounded by trees hiding the white, invisible lights of his futuristic jet. He raised the trumpet to his lips and blew the first notes of The Stars and Stripes Forever. He felt the tug of his notes lifting her off the ground to bring her to him. He smiled.
This is a small snippet out of the Anthology I am gathering from my Flash Fiction stories. Each story is limited to 500-1500 words and will be released in winter 2026.
EXCERPT
Lionel didn’t answer. He walked to their bathroom to shower, leaving her lying on their bed. Sade turned on her side and watched him. His back toward her, she wondered why she had married him in the first place. It had taken him three and a half years to build the bridge of callousness she tasted in her mouth. She felt the rejection in her heart. The repudiation of who she was gnawed at her conscience. She placed her right palm on her slight bulge. He didn’t care that she was twenty weeks pregnant. Girdles and corsets, wide dresses, and baggy pants couldn’t hide her weight gain. Her bulging breasts were also noticeable. Lionel didn’t find it funny and told her she looked like a hippopotamus. He found it revolting and told her so.
This is another snippet from LABEL. ME. MAN., which will be available for preorder on June 1, 2025.
I hope you enjoy it as much as I do, revealing the characters.
Blurb:
Born a savant with Autism Spectrum Disorders and labeled as unusually bright, Gioacchino Tarinni lacked any social, emotional, or spiritual graces. The scientific world labeled him a Robot. Peddled between medical offices and laboratories, doctors and scientists examined whether he could be considered human. He has failed in every experiment except for his friendship with his manservant and chauffeur, Ferro. But no one knows how it happened. Sitting in a cafe with Ferro, Gioacchino’s eyes are drawn to a woman working on her tablet. She has a head full of braids, and he attempts to count them. But the woman keeps moving her head, foiling his efforts to get an accurate count. Annoyed, he approaches her table, intending to ask her to be still. However, in a moment of impulsive audacity, he proposes marriage instead.
Excerpt:
Gioacchino waited until they had stepped outside into the morning air to look sideways at her again. Her brown lips looked like a sweet treat. He liked covering her full lips with his own and tasting them. Precious and priceless, her plump lips awakened his manhood and gave his life meaning and normalcy. Having never dated an African American woman, Gio found Jediah, with her full lips, curvy hips, and big breasts with pointed nipples, fascinating from the first time he saw her sitting in the café. Even though his mathematical intelligence and photographic memory had catapulted him to become one of the top five major players in mergers and acquisitions for hotels, it was nothing compared to his first meeting with Jediah. With her, he was human and not a robot. He felt genuine compassion, and more naturally than ever, his blood pressure sank to normal; he could interact with Kay, his secretary, and his migraines vanished. The medical specialist in charge of tracking his developmental changes was astonished. Only yesterday evening, he had wished to tell Jediah how making love to her caused his blood pressure problem to vanish and helped him to deal with the torturous beliefs that he was some spectacular idiot savant or robot that was born on the earth once in a million years, but she had fallen asleep after their lovemaking.
@rrbc-org.bsky social #romncereader #Bloghop Tweets4rwisa.bsky.social #contemporaryromance #reading #books
Hello, Everyone,
I have two new releases coming up. The first one is on June 1, 2025, and I will be sharing some snippets from LABEL. ME. MAN, which is the first book. The second book is a series, and I will share more about it later.
Have a lovely Easter and be safe during the holiday.
Shalom shalom
Pat Garcia
Cover: 4WILLS Publishing Co
Born a savant with Autism Spectrum Disorders and labeled as unusually bright, Gioacchino Tarinni lacked any social, emotional, or spiritual graces. The scientific world labeled him a Robot. Peddled between medical offices and laboratories, doctors and scientists examined whether he could be considered human. He has failed in every experiment except for his friendship with his manservant and chauffeur, Ferro. But no one knows how it happened. Sitting in a cafe with Ferro, Gioacchino’s eyes are drawn to a woman working on her tablet. She has a head full of braids, and he attempts to count them. But the woman keeps moving her head, foiling his efforts to get an accurate count. Annoyed, he approaches her table, intending to ask her to be still. However, in a moment of impulsive audacity, he proposes marriage instead.
Excerpt:
“What I want is my freedom. I’ve never met anyone like you before.” “Freedom from me,” Gioacchino said. “I don’t understand.” “Gio, would you really understand if I broke it down for you? You sit there in your Eiffel Tower, observing me from somewhere in a world I’m not invited to enter, and I’m lost at how I can help you. You don’t respond to any of my initiatives. You hardly ever speak to me. You sit in your chair while I watch a movie, and then at seven o’clock, we go to the dining room to eat, then I go to bed, and you come in forty-five minutes later. Now you’re placing restrictions on when I can visit my girlfriend,” Jediah said. “I have enough problems dealing with my insecurities. Here I am, fifty years old, and I let myself be talked into entering a marriage with a contract of three years to a man seventeen years younger than I am and who is a savant, autistic, and brilliant, with zero skills. I wonder what will happen to me when these three years are over and you no longer want or desire me. I’ll really be a basket case. I have more than enough problems dealing with my idiosyncrasies, and now I’ve inherited yours.” Gioacchino stopped her, put her carry-on luggage by his feet at his right side, and drew her close. Jediah’s outburst had flooded his mind. Somewhere in her tirade, he had shut her out. He lifted her chin so that he could look at her. “Does my behavior scare you?” “Yes. You hardly ever say more than three sentences to me. You just stare.” “When I stare, I’m thinking about ways to love you and smiling at the pleasure I see in your eyes when I come to our bed. Don’t you understand I’m letting you rest during the day so I won’t tire you out at night? You’re mine, Jediah.” “But you talk to Ferro,” Jediah said. “You even talk to your secretary, Kay.” Gioacchino leaned, reached again for her carry-on, and picked up his pace, forcing her to walk faster. “Only when I have to, I talk to Kay,” he replied. “Why are you scared and feel unsafe when I stare at you?” “According to our contract, I’m supposed to teach you how to interact with people, and I only have three years to do that before you give me a divorce to release me. Your life is planned like the minute hand on a watch, but when it comes to me, you never have time for me to teach you what you need to know. What happens in three years when you decide I’ve failed? What am I supposed to do then? Just walk away empty-handed, like nothing happened?” “Has it ever occurred to you that I take you to bed every night and make love to you, not to scare you but to give you the security you seek, Jediah? I won’t ever leave you. What I say, I do. Don’t run from me. Stay and find out that you can trust me.” “Why?” “Because running from me will make you miserable. Me too, even though I don’t know what misery feels like. But I won’t have peace of mind until I find you and bring you back,” Gioacchino growled.
I am continuing with a snippet from THE SEVENTH CHANCE.
Excerpt:
Amato moved himself closer to Bob-Ann and leaned toward the headboard. “You haven’t answered my question, and I’m waiting for your answer.” “What do you want to hear?” “Tell me what’s on your heart right now.” “I’m sorry for breaking the champagne glasses. I thought you were going to leave me.” Amato gazed at Bob-Ann and shook his head. “I wish you would love me just as much as I love you. Then you would know for sure that I am not going to leave you. We’re in this forever thing, and I don’t plan on letting you go.
Here is a small snippet from THE SEVENTH CHANCE that I revised because I wasn’t satisfied with it.
As Amato stood in the doorway to their bedroom, he imagined Bob-Ann’s conversation with Lila. She’d never learned how to love and accept herself. Taking off his shoes, he walked to the side of the bed and sat down on it. Bob-Ann awoke at once. “Do you want to talk about it?” “Why are you here?” Bob-Ann asked, ignoring his question. “Have you forgotten you’re my wife and we live here?” “I thought…” “You thought what?” Amato replied, interrupting her with a harsh tone in his voice. “You’re angry.”
March is Women’s History Month, and included in this beautiful month is International Women’s Day, which was celebrated on March 8th. Today, I am honoring Women’s History Month by introducing a woman that I feel people know very little about. I first learned about her in 2013 and did a blog post. I have revised my blog post from 2013 here.
What would you do if your recognition and honor were stolen?
How would you react if your research was appropriated without your knowledge and permission?
What would you say to those who had violated one of the fundamental laws of the Hippocratic Oath of Science –– Thou shall not steal?
The year: 1920,
The month: July,
The date: the twenty-fifth,
The day: Sunday
In the middle of a European society filled with chaos and struggle, mistrust and discrimination were widely practiced against a small group of people as a young baby was born into an affluent family. As her eyes opened to view the world, racism, anti-Semitism, and suffrage were the dominating political and economic topics that occupied the minds of the people in the country of her birth. Fear, envy, and jealousy surrounded her. Suspicions throttled opportunities for this small ethnic group, and the baby’s facial features pointed out with clarity her ethnicity. The fact that she was born English could not eradicate the fact–– she was Jewish.
At the time of her birth, she could not predict with a crystal ball that her Intellectual Property would be robbed, nor that she would become the victim of one of the most hideous crimes there is on this earth––a crime that has not been adequately restituted up to this day–theEspionage of knowledge.
The child was the second in the lineage from a family of three boys and two girls. Her parents belonged to the Anglo-Jewry and practiced its traditions, as well as honored the traditions of the English Society, which was their birthplace. Psychiatrist and Analyst Alfred Adler stated in his theory on birth order among children that the second child is the fighter, the challenger, the competitor sandwiched between the oldest and the middle child. This young woman certainly fits this description.
According to my favorite biographer of her life, Brenda Maddox, the young child knew her life was destined at twelve. Her dream was to become a scientist, and The Unsung Heroine arose.
What would you do if you came into the world with your mission already defined and embedded within your heart?
Throughout her life, the young woman thrived in her learning atmosphere. She mastered mathematics, geometry, and the sciences and learned languages quickly. Raised in an environment of love and respect, the idea that she was anything less than equal to others never came to her mind. The Dark Lady, our Unsung Heroine, was not a feminist, yet would suffer unjust snubs, ridicule, and recriminations–––after all, she was only Jewish.
By the time the Unsung Heroine had reached fifteen, she was in love with science. There was not a scientific topic that did not tease her analytical mind. Motivated, dedicated to her family, and with the stamina of persistence, she was indeed unusual.
She attended Newnham, one of the two female colleges at Cambridge University. This honor made her family incredibly proud, and she was recognized as the top student upon entry with the best evaluation in Chemistry.
In 1941, The Dark Lady received her bachelor’s degree from Cambridge and a scholarship to work on a research project concerning photochemistry. She worked under R. G. Norris, but the Second World War had begun, and our Unsung Heroine weighed her options regarding how she could best contribute to helping her nation during the war. She decided to work on researching the microstructures and coal usage for wartime purposes. Identifying the microstructures and their reactions to each other was successful and later led to her receiving her Ph.D. from Cambridge University and the acknowledgment and publication of five scientific papers.
It was after this period that she began her most fruitful work. This work led three men to receive the Nobel Prize for Physiology or Medicine in 1962 for the discovery of the structures of Deoxyribonucleic Acid, known by its acronym DNA.
The Dark Lady had spent time in France, where she had experienced international renown among her colleagues, and she had returned home to England on a three-year research grant to work in the lab of John T. Randall’s Bio Physics Unit at King’s College in London. He asked her to work on his DNA research project. With her experience in x-ray diffraction, where she was considered an expert before her time, she discovered two forms of Deoxyribonucleic Acid, a wet and a dry form, displaying totally different pictures. The Dark Lady conducted various tests, and in 1953, she had photo picture proof that both structures were helices.
Unfortunately, Maurice Wilkins sent her work to scientists Francis Crick and James D. Watson without her knowledge. Because he had not been assigned to work with her on the project, a rivalry began that brought our Unsung Heroinemuch pain. Wilkins made her life miserable during her time at King’s College. Based on her research and pictures, Crick and Watson broke the mystery of the DNA structure. However, they did not mention they had based their work on the photo pictures from The Dark Lady, our Unsung Heroine.
What would have been your reaction to the theft of your intellectual property?
How would you have reacted to the failed acknowledgment of your critical research that may have rewarded you with the Nobel Prize?
In 1954, damaged relationships were irreparable, and The Dark Lady resettled herself and transferred her fellowship to J.D. Bernal’s Crystallography Laboratory at Birkbeck College. She refused to look backward; instead, she looked ahead and began working with the structures of plant viruses, which drew her international attention. During this time, she made two trips to the North American Continent.
Can’t you see her people?
The Dark Lady,
The Unsung Heroine of Science,
Giving her best, putting her best foot forward, no matter the circumstances, and succeeding, even though she had been intellectually robbed.
The year was 1958,
The date is April 16,
And one of the most prolific women of the twentieth century,
The Dark Lady,
The Unsung Heroine,
Dr. Rosalind Elsie Franklin,
was about to put on her wings and cross over into eternity.
In 1956, this thirty-five-year-old woman had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Even though she had undergone two surgeries and other treatments that brought about remission, the tumor continued to reappear. Nevertheless, Dr. Franklin, The Unsung Heroine of DNA, continued to gather funds for her team until she could no longer work. She knew her time was slipping quickly but wanted to leave her team well-funded.
On her departure day, in 1958, April 16, it was windy in London. The winds were strong throughout the United Kingdom. The weather forecast predicted that the latter part of April would bring extremely warm temperatures. However, The Dark Lady, The Unsung Heroine of DNA, was ready to rest, and her eyes looked towards going home.
Can’t you see her?
Dr. Rosalind Elsie Franklin, The Dark Lady,
The Unsung Heroine of the Nobel Prize for Physiology or Medicine,
The woman in the background who laid the groundwork for the Double Helix,
She lay there reminiscing over her life, taking an account of the path she had deliberately chosen to walk.
Looking back at thirty-seven years of a life well spent in public service and helping others by fulfilling her purpose, I can see her in my mind. I see her smiling as she examines her accomplishments:
She worked successfully on a research project in Photochemistry and earned a bachelor’s degree.
Identified the microstructures in coal and their usage for the war industry in the Second World War. Doctor’s degree, followed by the publication of five scientific papers.
Discovered the wet and dry helical structures of Deoxyribonucleic Acid, which led to the discovery of the Double Helix.
Instrumental in the research of plant viruses and the tobacco mosaic virus
Published 19 articles on coals and carbon, five articles on DNA, and 21 on Viruses
Was the top expert researcher in X-ray diffraction
Established a global network of contacts for her team within the research world.
Left more than enough financial funding to assist them.
See her through the eyes of your heart!
Look at this woman,
The Dark Lady,
The Unsung Heroineof Deoxyribonucleic Acid,
smiled once more before she let out her last sigh. Dr. Rosalind Elsie Franklin, the lady who laid down the groundwork for the Double Helix, put on her wings, and her spirit stood up and Walked On.
Shewalked on, people, she walked On! Dr. Rosalind Elsie FranklinWalked On!
Walk On all you weary people who have been misunderstood, abused, or misused.
Stand tall and keep walking; a light is at the end of the tunnel.
Hold your head up high,
Walk On, I say, Walk On!
Shalom shalom,
Pat Garcia
*Some facts after Dr. Rosalind Elsie Franklin’s departure:
In 1962, Francis Crick, James D. Watson, and Maurice Wilkins received the Nobel Prize for Physiology or Medicine for the Double Helix. None of the three men mentioned that his work was based on the pictures they had illegally taken from the work of Dr. Rosalind Elsie Franklin.
1968, Watson published his memoirs in which he portrayed Dr. Rosalind Elsie Franklin in a derogatory manner.
In 1975, Franklin’s friend Anne Sayre wrote a rebuttal, which began to uncover the truth about the discovery of the Double Helix. However, a posthumous Nobel Prize award for Dr. Rosalind Elsie Franklin regarding her critical role that led to this discovery has not yet been rectified.
I am continuing with the Flash Fiction Story, THE SEVENTH CHANCE. I hope you enjoy it.
Bob-Ann stretched and yawned at the same time. She had not slept well. The memory of the broken glass she left on the floor by the entrance to their home, the fact that she hadn’t heard Amato come home, and her pounding headache caused her to sigh heavily. She unwrapped her body, twisted in the bedsheets, glanced at the watch near her bedstand, and decided to go back to sleep.
Amato entered the quiet house. The crystal glass crunched under his shoes. His body tensed.
Where is Bob-Ann? Is she hurt?
Flipping on the lights, he saw the room was in order except for the opened Cabinet and the glass on the floor, glimmering like stars.
He breathed a sigh of relief.
No thief.Now, where is she?
He walked down the hallway to their bedroom and stopped at the door. The chubby brown bundle lay partially covered with the downy feather comforter and one of her thick thighs hanging out.
Amato had seen Lila talking to her and thought nothing of it. A few minutes later, he glanced in Bob-Ann’s direction; he saw neither and assumed Bob-Ann was talking to someone else.
An hour later, he went to find her and bumped into Lila. She informed him she’d asked Bob-Ann to leave because he didn’t want her. Amato thought the red-headed woman who had been his friend since they were kids had lost her mind. He wanted to throttle her. She’d always wanted to marry him, but he had never desired to marry her. Bob-Ann owned his heart.
As Amato stood in the doorway to their bedroom, he imagined Bob-Ann’s conversation with Lila. She’d never learned how to love and accept herself. Taking off his shoes, he walked to the side of the bed and sat down on it.
Bob-Ann awoke at once.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Why are you here?” Bob-Ann asked, surprised.
“Have you forgotten you’re my wife, and we live here?”
I am continuing with a snippet from last week’s introduction of The Seventh Chance, a flash fiction I am developing from a compilation of stories that will be released sometime this year.
Bob-Ann stretched and yawned at the same time. She had not slept well. The memory of the broken glass she had left on the floor by the entrance into their home, the fact that she hadn’t heard Amato come home, and the pounding headache that she had caused her to sigh heavily. She unwrapped her body, twisted in the bedsheets, and glanced at the watch near her bedstand. She had flunked her last chance not to act like a speechless, bashful mouse. Her husband, Amato, always told her that what others thought of them was unimportant. But she hadn’t been able to accept his way of thinking. Their age difference made her doubtful, mistrustful, and jealous. She’d never believed he was offering her a future with him. Bob-Ann flung herself on the bed and thought about Amato’s longtime friend and schoolmate, Lila. When Bob-Ann first met Lila, she tried to befriend the woman, but Lila noticed her insecurities and used misconstrued truths to gnaw away at Bob-Ann’s confidence one brick at a time. Since their marriage, Lila promised her that Amato would leave her because Bob-Ann wasn’t his type. For the sixth time, Bob-Ann believed her. Lila sounded so convincing that Bob-Ann’s tears started flowing, and she left the party without telling Amato she was going. He had given her many chances to see the beautiful woman she was, but she failed every time. She mumbled, “There’s no such thing as a seventh chance.” Curling herself around her pillow, she covered herself with her feather down as she thought about the cruelty of others and her inability to fight back.
This is another work in progress. It belongs to a group of flash fiction pieces that I have written and will be available sometime this year.
The Seventh Chance
Anger boiled within Bob-Ann’s breasts. In her hand, the crystal glass engraved with his name, she threw like a professional pitcher across the room, and it across the room, and hit the silver doorknob. It splattered, and tiny splinters rained on the floor, but her anger was not yet appeased. She walked to the glass vitrine and reached for the matching crystal glass engraved with her name. Gripping it at the bottom, she threw it like she was pitching her first shutout. Afterward, she examined the little glass mountain piled up before the door.
“Strike out,” she mumbled.
She wouldn’t need those glasses anymore, and her heart hurt. Her future had taken a deplorable end, one she had been expecting for some time.
The anger dissipated as tears streamed from her eyes.
Turning, she walked down the hallway to what used to be their bedroom.
No use cleaning up the mess now. I have plenty of time to do that.
This is a Creative Non-Fiction Story that I am compiling in honor of Black History Month. The title: FREEDOM’S CALLING
Note: The speech, AIN’T I A WOMAN, given in 1851 in the state of Ohio, has been left in its original form.
Was there no mercy for a child who, unlike others, had been brought up in a home that had spoken a different language than English? Black skin and nappy hair that a fine-tooth comb couldn’t even go through, the child’s place was to listen and obey, but what if she didn’t understand?
Born in 1797 in upstate New York, the child had never known the torment she would endure at nine years of age after being separated from her family. If she had, she would have probably cursed the day she was born and died.
Purchased by a family who spoke no Dutch, the girl spoke no English. Her owners were infuriated at her lack of English and beat the language into her with rods and leather. She was not a human for them but an unruly, disobedient piece of property that did not understand and, therefore, could not follow orders. She became an It.
For It, lashings became a way of life; the beatings hurt and left intolerable bruises. But It found freedom in the God her masters sang about. Later, whenever they beat her, she would pray aloud, hoping the God she had come to faith in would rescue her from the torture. He did.
Sold to a tavern owner, she went to live in a bar and house of prostitution. The beatings stopped. But, here, she saw the cruelties against women and the ruthlessness of men. She discovered her voice, and it dawned on her that she was not an It but a woman, a human being.
Unfortunately, her owner sold her. Her respite in the bar only lasted one and a half years. The pause gave her time to refuel and strengthen herself for the unknown brutality that awaited her in the future. She was denied the right to marry the father of her firstborn child because a neighboring plantation owner owned him and opposed the marriage; due to the fact the newborn would not be his property, she had to marry a slave owned by her new master, an older man who impregnated her four times.
On July 4, 1827, New York issued its Emancipation Proclamation and freed all slaves. But, the woman who had endured so many hardships and maintained her toughness and faith in the good of humanity was already free. It had already started seeking to find her thirteen children––the children she had borne that were taken away and sold into slavery.
During the Great Spiritual Awakening, she had a life-changing experience that would change the way she lived and changed her name. This woman became a friend of the progressive Quakers; she spoke out for the Civil War, recruited black men to fight for the Union, worked in government refugee camps for freed slaves, and spoke out for women’s rights.
She made her most famous speech in 1851 at the Ohio Women’s Rights Convention in Akron, Ohio. Let’s hear the address from the woman herself.
***
Ain’t I a woman
“Well, children, where there is so much racket, there must be something out of kilter. I think that ’twixt the negroes of the South and the women in the North, all talking about rights, the white men, will be in a fix pretty soon. But what’s all this here talking about?
That man over there says that women need to be helped into carriages and lifted over ditches and to have the best place everywhere. Nobody ever helps me into carriages, or over mud-puddles, or gives me any best place! And ain’t I a woman? Look at me! Look at my arm! I have ploughed and planted, and gathered into barns, and no man could head me! And ain’t I a woman? I could work as much and eat as much as a man – when I could get it – and bear the lash as well! And ain’t I a woman? I have borne thirteen children, and seen most all sold off to slavery, and when I cried out with my mother’s grief, none but Jesus heard me! And ain’t I a woman?
Then they talk about this thing in the head; what’s this they call it? [member of audience whispers, “intellect”] That’s it, honey. What’s that got to do with women’s rights or negroes’ rights? If my cup won’t hold but a pint, and yours holds a quart, wouldn’t you be mean not to let me have my little half measure full?
Then that little man in black there, he says women can’t have as much rights as men, ’cause Christ wasn’t a woman!Where did your Christ come from? From God and a woman! Man had nothing to do with Him.
If the first woman God ever made was strong enough to turn the world upside down all alone, these women together ought to be able to turn it back , and get it right side up again! And now they is asking to do it, the men better let them.
Obliged to you for hearing me, and now old Sojourner ain’t got nothing more to say.”
***
Three days after Thanksgiving, on November 26, 1883, on a wintry, cold day in Michigan, this woman completed her mission at eighty-six years of age. She took flight. Isabella Baumfree, better known as Sojourner Truth, born and raised in slavery, died a free woman and Walked On!
Here is a second excerpt from my upcoming novella.
Label.Me.Man
Ferro closed the door behind them and walked around the Bentley to the driver’s side. The dark-tinted glass panels that separated the front and back seats were closed, accommodating Gio’s often withdrawn nature. He sat back and sighed. His most precious treasure was seated beside him. Gio looked to his left. Jediah sat close to the door, gazing out the window. Pain flowed through his heart. Jediah filled his world with light, but her fear of him was an agitation he needed to learn how to deal with. Could he bear to let her go? He ached deeply for her to understand and commit to him and their marriage. “You don’t have to sit so far away from me.” “I’m fine.” “All right.” “Aren’t we going home?” Jediah asked, noticing that Ferro wasn’t driving in that direction. “No, we’re going to my office. I have to attend the negotiation.” “When does it end?” she asked, turning her head from the window to look at him. “I don’t know.” “Then it will be a long one.” “Probably, but don’t let it concern you.” “Could you take me home first? You have my word that I’ll never run away again.” “I want you to come with me.” “Why?” “Because I need you by my side,” Gio answered, his voice hardening. “Do you need or want me here because you don’t trust me?” Jediah replied. “Would I still have to go to the meeting if I agreed to the additional inclusion in our marital agreement to give you all the time you need?” Do you agree?” “Yes, I agree.” “That makes me happy, Jediah. I know I’m weird, but I’m not insane. I wouldn’t have chosen you if I didn’t think you could handle marriage to me. We’ll drop you off at our home, and I’ll have another car pick me up so I can return to my meeting.” Gioacchino leaned forward, opened the glass panel, and instructed Ferro regarding the change of plans. “Thank you,” Jediah said as Ferro moved to the right lane, which led to the interstate to take them home. “You’re welcome,” Gioacchino said, closing the glass panel between them and Ferro. He leaned toward her and kissed her cheek. “I love you,” he whispered in her ear, putting aside the formality between them. He reminisced about the romcom Jediah loved to watch. Practicing the scene that he had stored in his memory, he left his hiding place, bridging the distance, and turned her toward him. He pulled her to his chest and cradled her in his arms, pressing her head against him. Jediah’s body relaxed in his embrace. “I believe you,” Jediah turned and murmured, her mouth covered by his jacket. Surprised that his action seemed to calm her, he experienced a rare happy moment and planted kisses on her forehead, unaware of what his action meant to her.
I am finishing my Novella, which will be released between April 15 and May 5, 2025. It is Romantic Women’s fiction with bits of drama, suspense, humor, and sensuality.
Blurb:
Gioacchino Tarinni needed to figure out who or what he was. Born savant with Autism Spectrum Disorders that labeled him as unusually bright, he lacked any type of social, emotional, or spiritual graces that would qualify him as being human. He was peddled between medical offices and laboratories as doctors and scientists deciphered whether he could be considered as human. So far, he has failed in every experiment except for his friendship with his friend, manservant, and chauffeur, Ferro. Psychiatrists and Sociologists have yet to find out how that developed.
Seated with Ferro at a cafe, Gioacchino focuses on a woman engrossed in her tablet. He attempts to count the braids on her head while sitting at a table on the other side of the room, but her frequent head movements foil his efforts each time. Annoyed at her not keeping her head still, he gets up and goes to her table to command her not to move. However, the displeasure on her face at his interruption fascinates him, and in a moment of impulsive audacity, he proposes marriage instead.
Excerpt:
A wife of noble character who can find?
She is worth far more than rubies.
Her husband has full confidence in her and lacks nothing of value.
She brings him good, not harm, all the days of her life.
—Proverbs 31:10–12
Gioacchino Tarinni’s speedometer hit 280 kmh on Interstate 3 heading to Frankfurt International Airport. Traffic was heavy. Approaching the exit leading to the departure terminal for Lufthansa, he drove into a sharp curve, his car leaning to the left on two wheels. His tires screeched, and Ferro, his long-time friend, manservant, and chauffeur, fell against his right shoulder. Gio skidded to the boardwalk of the Lufthansa’s check-in for outbound flights going to London Heathrow and stopped the car abruptly. Leaving the engine running, he jumped out, commanding Ferro to get behind the steering wheel and to remain near so he could spot him when he returned with Jediah.
The only thing that mattered to Gioacchino was stopping his wife. She would always be his utmost concern. Six months of marriage had taught him that she could be stubborn if she wanted to. When she tried to leave him the first time, he’d resorted to drastic measures and called the chairman of the board of directors at the airport. The plane take-off was delayed. Gioacchino had entered the first-class section and saw the brown, velvet pieces of cloth knitted together and sitting quietly, waiting for the plane to close its doors so it could move to the runway. Her eyes met his, and she stood up without a word and walked to him with her brown, velvety arms flapping like bird wings.
He had desired to reach out, take those dark pieces of cloth in his arms, and hold them close to his heart as he did at home, but he didn’t want to create a disturbance. So he put his hand gently around her luscious waist and let his fingers feel her softness as he led her out of the plane.
The stewardess looked frightened, but Jediah told her she had nothing to fear, that her husband’s mental processes had failed to register that she had planned to take a trip. Gioacchino snorted. That was a lie. A savant autistic whose intelligence had been measured at 220 in mathematics and aerodynamics and 125 in all other areas of the autism scale, he didn’t understand people at all. But Jediah was an exception. He needed her to help him break out of the mold that characterized him as a robot incapable of relating to others emotionally, socially, sexually, and spiritually. According to tests taken in these areas, he had zeroed out completely. For Gioacchino, Jediah had lied, and a lie was a lie. There was no such thing as strategic lying based on diplomacy. His doctors labeled him a robot born with human skin and a strong heart that beat to keep him alive.
My lover is like a swift gazelle or a young stag. Look! there he is behind the wall, looking through the window, peering into the room. (Songs of Songs 2:9 New Living Translation, NLT)
Janie B sat behind the steering wheel of Paolo Di Salva’s Aston Marting and gazed down at what was once an old, dilapidated mill by a lake. Over the past twelve months, Paolo, her savior, had it remodeled for them. He’d left instructions for her to drive to the newly renovated late house and wait for him. He hadn’t informed her why, but she already knew the unspoken reason. He was going to guide her through her final therapeutic steps of deliverance into freedom. That’s why he’d sent her on ahead alone; he told her he would come with his vesper.
Balls of yellow, red, and purple yarn lay in the passenger seat beside her.
Memories flooded her senses. She could see the stranger as if it were yesterday. He’d forced her to sit in the middle of the floor in the cabin’s kitchen. Her hands were behind her back, the yellow yarn tied around her wrists, cutting off blood circulation. She’d done her best to wriggle her fingers to keep the blood flowing, but as the stranger walked around her inspecting his work of art, she knew he was going to kill her before he got what he wanted. He let out a weird howl, and his eyes glazed like a hungry wolf. Then, he slapped her face so hard she thought her head had been severed from her body. He mumbled that the red yarn in his hands was the blood yarn with which he would bind her ankles.
Buy Link: Amazon Stores Worldwide, Apple Book store Worldwide
A Word from the Author: Janie B is a Micro-Read with a special introductory price to acquaint readers with what I write.
Staitioned within an International Explosive Ordinance team (EOD) in Germany for six years, Gianluca Abate has never anticcipated that unexpected inciences could throw his life off balance. He didnt thim’t thin there was a situation that could touch him so closely until the day he experienced an explosive blast underwater. His life spirals downward, and he loses all hope of ever being normal again.
At a train station, he is waiting for a train to come to end it all and is so involved in what he is about to carry out that he doesn’t see the woman running toward him who is about to change the trajectory of his destiny forever.
THE POWER OF TOUCH is a story of redeeming love. A warrior stopped from ending it all finds true love through a woman who plays a musical instrument and teaches him how to hear.
Excerpt:
Aniyah watched him as he came up the escalator with the crowd. He stopped. Her ees widened as she saw him creep his feet nearer and nearer to the planform’s edge. She stared at his profile, willing him not to get any closer. When he turned his head a little sideways so she couldbehold his face, she saw him looking down the tracks. Aniyah saw his anguish and felt his pain. Her heart missed a beat.
She heard a train approaching. The station master announced over the speakers that an incoming train was passing through and ordered the people to step back from the p0latform. But the man didn*t move.. The sound got louder, and she shouted, “Move back!” But he didn’t react.
She ran toward him, whispered a short prayer, and huffed and puffed.
“At forty-two, I’m really out of shape,” she mumbled.
What was left of her ice cream cone fell out of her hand, her shoulder bag slid down her shoulders, and she let go of her pocketbook. In slow motion, she saw herself stretch her arms out to grab him. They both toppled to the cement floor, the man underneath her. The wind of the train’s passage whipped over her back. The fast moving train’s backdraft would have sucked them in its path and killed them both.
THE POWER OF TOUCH is available at all Amazon stores as an Ebook or Paperback.
Moving toward her Sixty-fifth birthday, Tessie Blount contemplates the next stage of her life. The death of her last girlfriend has her floundering as she deliberates between wanting to go on living or taking flight as all her friends have done and go up yonder. Not married and with no purpose, she questions the validity of living further until love is offered to her mostunexpectedly. But will she accept it?
EXCERPT
Teach us to number our days,
That we may gain a heart of wisdom
Psalm 90:12 NIV 2011
Tessie Blount did not believe clouds could fall from Heaven, nor that gold was at the end of a rainbow, or that her life had to end at sixty-five… until her best girlfriend, Bob-Ann, crossed over right after her sixty-fifth birthday. As she stood by the gravesite, Tessie wasn’t so sure what she thought anymore. The ache in her heart at the loss of Bob-Ann had robbed her of her peace. She had done everything she could to keep Bob-Ann alive, but her girlfriend had been determined to go up yonder and leave her alone. Tessie had cried bitterly. The first days of aloneness nearly wiped her out. She took one last look at the grave and left the cemetery. Down to earth and by no means flighty, words of consolation given by the Pastor rose in her mind.
‘Death is unavoidable.’
Amen, Reverend! Tessie thought. As far as I know, it is inescapable, but does a person have to go at sixty-five? Can’t we live a full life after that magic retirement number?
I woke up this morning and looked at the frost covering my window to the sky. Yes, it was and still is cold, but I slept in a warm bed. Sleeping in a warm bed is one of the simple things in life that stirs up gratitude in my heart. It helps me realize that I live, breathe, and get everything I need from somebody much bigger than I, as Paul states in Acts, Chapter 17, verse 24, New International Version (NIV).
Over 2024, I sometimes forgot Him. Due to various problems that confronted me, I saw these problems as impossible to solve. My vision had to be corrected so that I could see Him working in my life for my good. He showed me what I didn’t see.
My faith is what keeps me walking out my journey. I trust in God who has given me purpose, even when I sometimes don’t understand what He’s doing. He’s always working all things out for my good.
As I look back over this year, I thank all of you who have read my short stories, especially my latest, THE POWER OF TOUCH. Thank you for your reviews and, most of all, for being readers who appreciate multicultural stories that present the different perspectives of living among the varied cultures we have in the world.
Truly, I am thankful.
Have a safe crossover into 2025, be safe, and rejoice because life is worth living.
Would you ever accept a dinner invitation to meet a stranger who never spoke one word to you during your time together? Would you accept that you could not even sit at the same table with them? How about, you don’t even know their name and you continue this “game” for months? Meet Della Cartwright. A superstar at what she does professionally, but when the tall, mysterious, Italian stranger, Alessio Terracina, enters her world, she begins to question her judgment and everything about her. In this short story which takes place over the course of one day, this otherwise savvy businesswoman is led into making decisions that could jeopardize her professional life and maybe even cost her her freedom. But the greatest danger…just might be to her fragile heart.
Excerpt
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; For you are with me. Psalm 23:4 (NKJV)
Della Cartwright sat in Macey Bergstein’s office in Frankfurt, Germany. She balled her hands into fists, flexing them, waiting for Macey, her boss, to express her opinion about the unexplained money transfers in Della’s private bank account. A plane flew over their building, and Della’s eyes followed its path as she gazed out of the window behind Macey. How she could have gotten involved with a man in a counter-terrorist group was puzzling. Downright despicable. Until now, she had made a name for herself as the Foreign Exchange Settlements department’s queen. Everyone in the department acknowledged her magical abilities. Her intuitiveness and her strong sense of discernment had caught errors and even settled deals, which would have cost dealers their jobs if she had not noticed the mistakes. Yet, she had managed to let a man whose name she didn’t even know wrap her in his web.
It doesn’t take Chance Mancini long to accept that she’s allowed herself to fall in love with Gavino Mancini, a man much younger than she. To make matters worse, after their marriage, he’s led her into a lifestyle she has come to love. He is her, Sir.
All is well until she finds out she can’t give him a family, and insecurity about their relationship haunts her.
Chance runs away, only to be terrorized every night in her sleep by her dreams. Three years later, Gavino Mancini enters her life again to repossess what belongs to him––her heart and her body.
EXCERPT
Chance gasped when Gavino Mancini came out into the open. Shock reverberated through her body. Overcome with guilt about the way she had left him; her eyes trailed their way down from his face to his neck. Once upon a time, she had delighted in planting kisses on the tanned column of his neck between his ear and shoulder. Instinctively, she bowed her head in the presentation pose he had taught her. She shivered as she remembered how she loved standing on her tippy toes to kiss his shoulders, his neck, and his chin, after he had given her permission to touch him. He would then reach out and pull her close to him and lift her up so that she could reach his mouth and drape his body with hers. At night, those same shoulders became her pillow after he finished making love to her. She would fall into a deep sleep listening as he whispered repeatedly, I love you.
The Power of Touch is a multicultural/interracial short story. The story centers around Aniyah, an African-American woman who finally leaves the orphanage she is raised in and moves to Cologne, a city in Germany, where she has the opportunity to study at the University about the effects of music on people who are deaf.
She has finally finished her studies successfully and is waiting at the train station to catch her train when she sees a man walking into the same train station, and she feels that he wants to hurt himself.
The Power Of Touch is a love story that transcends barriers and brings hope to people who have given up on life.
Book Cover by Olga Godim
Blurb:
Stationed within an International Explosive Ordinance Team (EOD) in Germany for six years, Gianluca Abate has never anticipated that unexpected incidences could throw his life off balance. He didn’t think there was a situation that could touch him so closely until the day he experienced an explosive blast underwater. His life spirals downward, and he loses all hope of ever being normal again. At a train station, he is waiting for a train to come to end it all and is so involved in what he is about to carry out that he doesn’t see the woman running toward him who is about to change the trajectory of his destiny forever.
EXCERPT: Aniyah paused before the sizeable glassed-in train terminal, observing the people who crossed the pedestrian walk to enter. As always, she forgot to eat her ice cream as she watched the people, and it melted and streamed like a tiny river over her cone.
She licked her cone enthusiastically, trying to catch the drips before they reached her hand. She painted pictures of everyone crossing the path as she licked. She loved that she could look out from the second level of the modernized station. People fascinated her, and she dissected the world they were living in by contemplating the emotions she saw written on their faces, especially in their eyes. Her gaze went to a man with wavy black hair. He walked stiffly as if he were a robot. He lifted his head suddenly and glanced straight up into her eyes. Aniyah discerned a hopeless look she had seen many times from children in the orphanage who had hoped to be adopted but never were. By their eyes, she could tell when they had given up. Some let life pull them along and got more bitter daily; others gave up entirely and left the world forever. She lost sight of the man when he walked under the canopy that led to the entrance below, but something wasn’t right about him.
You may find the paperback and Kindle versions on all Amazon Outlets worldwide (amazon.com)
Shalom shalom
Pat Garcia
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This week has started out with surprises. I woke up Monday morning lying in bed, talking to God; my mobile rang. It was my sister and her husband from Tennessee. To say it was nice hearing their voices at 6:45 in the morning is an understatement. Their phone call showered me with love, and I lay there thanking God for my family. As we were talking, my doorbell rang.
Who could be ringing my doorbell at 6:55 in the morning?
I thought I was hearing things. When I ended my call, the doorbell rang again. I jumped out of my bed to run down the stairs to see who it was, and a man was standing before my door with work clothes on.
The first thing I did was to calm down because I was sure he had the wrong house.
When I tipped my door open, I said, “Yes, may I help you?”
“We’ve come to repair the damage in your basement,” he answered.
I didn’t roll my eyes or ask him if he knew what time it was or say I didn’t know they were coming and that no one had notified me. I just told him to wait a minute, and I would go downstairs and let them in.
Then I ran upstairs thinking, “God, you sure know how to surprise me.
This was God’s gift and way of showing me He’s got humor.
So, I quickly dressed and canceled breakfast with a dear friend I treasured very much. I went downstairs to let the men in my basement so they could repair my office.
Some of you know that my office is in my basement. I have been out of it since May 2nd of this year because of the floods we had in my area. I had fallen into deep despair because my office is where I write. The world that I’ve built for the characters I write for is in my office, and I love it.
I will be able to move back into it over the weekend. To say that I am thankful is again an understatement, so I’ll say that God is good, and my heart is filled with gratitude to see a new year. Without God, I am nothing.
Many thanks to all of you who reached out to me on the first day of my new year. All of you are so amazing, and I will do my best as a writer, or whatever else I am called to be, to be true to the One who knows all and is overall and created all and to keep finding God’s life for my will. To God be the glory, Amen.
I woke up this morning with expectancy. Usually, I only look at my iPhone to see the messages and emails I receive after eleven, but this morning was particular, and I did. I have taken a small step in my writing and publishing career. My first paperback, THE POWER OF TOUCH, came out as a paperback and is on Amazon Worldwide.
I read the announcement I received from Amazon, telling me it was up, and I wept tears of joy and spoke soft words of thankfulness. No one knows how difficult it was for me to overcome the fears within me except those close to me and the ONE who watches over me night and day.
Five juniors at Las Animas High have a long history together. They love, dislike, or tolerate each other depending on the day. Occupied with class assignments, career choices, family disharmony, and the usual teen turbulence, none of them thinks seriously of the danger lurking in their near future or how fragile and temporary life is.
Inspired by real-life tragedy, the story unfolds in alternating points of view as the characters explore the resilience of their hearts and their ability to rebuild their lives after a shattering tragedy.
Stationed within an International Explosive Ordinance Team (EOD) in Germany for six years, Gianluca Abate has never anticipated that unexpected incidences could throw his life off balance. He didn’t think there was a situation that could touch him so closely until the day he experienced an explosive blast underwater. His life spirals downward, and he loses all hope of ever being normal again. At a train station, he is waiting for a train to come to end it all and is so involved in what he is about to carry out that he doesn’t see the woman running toward him who is about to change the trajectory of his destiny forever.
Good Morning, Everyone, I received the official notice today about winning the 2nd RRBC “A DAY IN MY LIFE” 30-Day Blogging Challenge. I send all of you a heartfelt thanks for following me during March and cheering me on. By the way, here is a picture of Hadessah. She has a beautiful green glow and has a baby shoot at the top of her head.
Give thanks in all circumstances, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. 1Thessalonians 5:17, English Standard Version
I am in a dilemma at the moment. Things are happening around me that I don’t understand. It could be that I am just coming off of a 30-Day Blogging Challenge with the Rave Reviews Book Club, and I have become sensitive, or I am tired.
It is at times when I have gone beyond my energy supply and I am running on reserved strength that gratitude is not an easy path for me to walk. It means taking my anger, frustration, disappointment, annoyance, or whatever I might be feeling and taking a stroll down memory lane to look at some of the good things I have experienced, like the successful completion of the RRBC 30-Day Blogging Challenge. Or it might be just peering at my garden and noticing that Daniel and Joshua, my cherry trees, have blossomed since yesterday.
I cannot stop the things that bring upheaval into my life. Most of the time, such incidents catch me on my blindside. But I can choose how I react to them. The choice is always mine. I have learned that this is how I reinforce my vision. As one of my favorite mentors, Viktor Frankel, said in Man In Search Of Meaning, at the beginning of his book, “detachment is granted to the outsider, but he is too far removed to make any statements of real value. (Frankel was writing about his time in the concentration camp.) Only the man inside knows. His judgments may not be objective; his evaluations may be out of proportion. This is inevitable. But an attempt must be made to avoid any personal bias.”
Therefore, the strength within me gives me the willpower to detach myself from my emotions and see anything coming at me differently. Thus, as I beheld Daniel and Joshua, my sentiments slowly turned to a deep sense of thankfulness, and my heart was amazed again at God’s faithfulness to me. Truly, I am thankful.
The time has come. The 2nd Annual RRBC “A DAY IN MY LIFE” 30-Day Blogging Challenge is closing its gate. It has given me the time I needed to contemplate, to exhume things I had buried and forgot about, peep through doors that are daring me to open and take steps toward them, and to bury those situations that needed to be buried so that I may live. And it has indeed been a challenge in that it has reinforced those things I believe in.
Faith is the substance of things I hope for, the evidence of things not seen, but I’ll never hope for them if I don’t step out, leave the gate, and start walking that path. Another thing I know is when I close the door to this gate; I won’t be able to open it again. It disappears, and I must choose to stand still or continue walking out the purpose designed for my life.
The front side of my home. The birds have built a bird nest in the tree by house. My office is in the basement where the tiny window is below.
Very few people tell us that our destiny is a collection of decisions. None mention that it is OK to make mistakes either. You lose when you don’t know the sting of rejection, or the loss of a loved one through death or divorce, or the burden of trying to overcome financial oppression or an illness in your body. To experience undefeatable joy, you will encounter such paths and discover what makes you grow. It is the fertilizer for your soul.
It’s been a pleasure working beside colleagues who participated in this challenge and to get to know them better than I have known them before. In some of their posts, I cried; in others, I laughed; and in others, I said, OK, that’s their way of thinking, and I accepted it. I don’t have to agree with their opinions to respect them.
Thank you to everyone who has been by my blog and left a comment. I really appreciate that. I heard from writers I hadn’t heard from in a long time, and it brought joy to my heart to know they were still writing.
Thanks to all the writers who make it a point to attend the RNH (Raters Not Haters) Zoom Show I co-host with John Podlaski. You have been following me daily, which has motivated me immensely.
Lydia has been blossoming since Wednesday or Thursday.
Thank you to that person who has been pingbacking me. I appreciate every pingback I receive. The pingbacks were a tremendous boost because someone put my writing out there. I smiled each time I saw one.
Thanks to all the new followers that I have received on Facebook and Instagram. I will respond to those comments on my Facebook Author Page and Instagram. I only got the chance to respond to some of the comments on my blog. I will finish as many as I can today.
Tomorrow is Easter Sunday, and I will go to church, say hello to a few people, return home, sit in my home, and enjoy the peace and quiet I receive for being in the right place at the right time.
White Eagle, my VW Beetle
In closing, I have taken pictures of the front part of my house with its garden this morning. A bird’s nest is in the tree beside the house. Lydia has blossomed in my backyard, and White Eagle, my VW Beetle, is nesting in its parking space beside my home.
Take care, everyone. Remember that Easter deals with the resurrection and not only Easter eggs, and walk safely through the rest of the year.
DAY 29, MARCH 29, 2024, THANK GOD, IT’S GOOD FRIDAY!
Good Morning, Everyone,
I contemplated how it must have been for Jesus when he knew his time was up. I don’t believe he said, “Father, get me out of here as soon as you can. According to the Gospel written by Matthew, in the garden of Gethsemane, he pleaded with God as he asked Him if there was any other way to do what he had to do besides going on the cross.
He knew the disciples weren’t ready for him to leave the earth. They were still looking for him to gather an army to defeat the Romans. However, when I look at Jesus’s prophetic words to them, I see they had no clue that that night would be the night that destroyed their dreams of overcoming the Roman Empire and would throw them into a state of perplexity.
Jesus knew this would happen, and like the loving Lord that He is, He asked God for more time, which was denied. I look at Jesus’s prophetic words, “One of you will betray me,” or as he told Peter, “Before rooster crows, you will have disowned me three times.” Peter’s vehement declaration was that he was willing to die for him.
I am astonished at how many times I unknowingly or knowingly disowned Jesus, the power of what He did on the cross, and the power of His resurrection. And by the way, all the disciples agreed, like Peter, that they would die for Jesus too, except one, ––Judas, who had gone off to complete his task to betray him. None of them were aware of what would happen.
And so was it with my own life in the beginning. If you had asked me some years ago, I would have said that a walk of faith is like a sprint. After you have won three or four of them, you could retire and live off of what you have accomplished.
But the faith walk is different. It is a complicated process: walk, run, stumble, run, stumble, walk, filled with your purpose.
You start out walking. The day is sunny and bright, only to come upon dark clouds that douse you in the rain. There is no shelter to hide in, so you keep walking and notice ahead the sun is shining again, and you start running only to realize the more that you run toward the end, the farther away it is, and because you’re running, you don’t take a look at the path, and you stumble and fall. You lay there wondering what to do. You’re perplexed.
However, like the disciples, we have a loving Lord who looks after us. He picks us up. And like with Peter and the gang, He showed up right on time at the sea of Galilee. He fed them, reinstated Peter, and showed them what to do next.
This is why I love Good Friday. Jesus paid my debt entirely, and now I walk out my purpose daily, knowing that I am cleansed, healed, justified, redeemed, and sanctified by the lamb’s blood, which was Jesus going to the cross. He was the sacrificial lamb, and on the third day, He rose.
He would have been limited in time and space if He had not gone to the cross. Now, He’s everywhere.
Thank God! It’s Good Friday.
Nina Simone’s daughter singing one of my favorite songs.
DAY 28, MARCH 28, 2024, FRIENDSHIP, FOOD, & KITCHEN
Good Morning, Everyone,
I have said a lot during the Blogging Challenge, and as I thought about the situations and things I’ve shared, some of you reading my blog entries might think I am perfect or have it all together. Well, I am far from perfect, and I definitely don’t have it altogether. If I didn’t have people who are like family watching out for me, I wouldn’t be where I am today. People, like my sister and her husband, talk to me often on Zoom. They live in Louisville, Tennessee. The first question they ask is not how I am but whether I have eaten in the past two days. They scrutinize me on their screen as if they can tell whether I’ve eaten. I call this friendship and sisterhood/brotherhood combined.
Me, eating Thanksgiving Dinner in 2023. Elke Schaffrath sitting opposite me at Thanksgiving with friends we both know. Elke is in my sisterhood/brotherhood family.
Another couple watches over me, but they live closer to me than my sister in Tennessee. They come from Romania and live about twelve or fourteen kilometers from where I live in Germany. They don’t call me on Zoom; they show up.
I am one of those writers who forget about eating when I sink into my story. Thus, writing until I have finished the first draft and skipped two or three meals is expected. This couple feels that. My doorbell rings, and there they are with a delicious three-course home-cooked meal. Again, I call this sisterhood/brotherhood wrapped into friendship.
Here’s a good look at my kitchen. It is small, but just right for me.
I would be lost without these people and four or five other people I know who have adopted me into their hearts. They care, love, and have studied me enough to know my habits. I don’t have to pretend to them. My life has become an open book, and I trust them.
We all need three or four friendships like these. You don’t need to have everybody you relate to become your friends on this level. But you do need the kind where you don’t have to watch what you say because if you don’t, they won’t understand. You need friendships that feel like they are your family. I am blessed to say that the people who are close to me and in my inner circle come out of different countries, from South Africa, Canada, Germany, Italy, the United Kingdom, and the USA, and they know me.
Today, I have a three-course meal for dinner. You guessed it. My dear Romanian family brought it over yesterday. The dessert is Tiramisu, my favorite Italian dessert.
Idiko’s Tiramisu is simply delicious.
So, I have learned that perfectionism doesn’t cut it. It doesn’t bring closeness. It is the willingness to show your vulnerabilities, to laugh at your mistakes, to be able to say I’m sorry even if you’re hurt, to walk away from an argument instead of walking into one, to stand firm and loyal to the people you commit to even though you don’t understand what the other is doing. These are the elements that build bridges instead of walls.
In closing, I added a few pictures of my kitchen to this post. As you can see, it is small but my tiny jewel. When my friends come over, we always have a meal together. While they cook, I write.
The word “Soon” has always intrigued me. Like most words in the dictionary, it is one of the words I cannot pinpoint to one particular meaning. I know how to conjugate it as an adverb, soon, sooner, soonest, but I have never been able to nail it and define it.
But saying he is coming soon doesn’t tell me if I should expect him in twenty minutes, two days, or even two years.
Picture courtesy of Amanda Jones, Unsplash
Thus, when the person I expected showed up two weeks later, and I asked him where he was, he said, ” I told you I would be here soon. But he didn’t tell me how soon. I should have asked, but I didn’t.
It could have been that I was making tiramisu and expecting him to walk in the door so we could sit together and have coffee and cake when he arrived.
Thus, I love wordplay. It is perplexing, and it takes my mind for a spin, forcing me to expand my sentences and give them depth like physical exercise does for the muscles in our bodies, and so is wordplay for my mind.
I am a writer, and becoming aware of what is happening in my plots while writing is a significant and fundamental need for me. I must develop an inner connection to my surroundings and the characters I write about. If I don’t do that, my book is just like meaningless words scrambled on paper. The story may be good, but it is missing something important, and that is life. Whatever I write, I want it to breathe.
TURN THE LIGHT ON
I write mainly romance stories. I know many people say oh, romance and they block out that category of genre writing because when they hear romantic, they immediately think erotic. Romance stories have an element of love, but intimacy is a fact of life. I don’t think any of us got here on our own, and there was only one person who was born of a virgin.
JANIE B
However, because we want to avoid facing that part of life, authors have developed categories in the romance field. Now we have sweet romance, which avoids the bedroom, and romance, which doesn’t.
I don’t write sweet romances. I write realistic romance stories encouraging people to live responsible lives and take ownership of their responsibilities.
Contemplations of a Woman Turning 65
There are all kinds of people in my books. My characters are wounded, or disabled, or healthy. The heroines are usually plus-sized women with short natural hair or full-sized afro, older and successful. I’m not going to apologize about the heroines in my books being women from different races. Since we all belong to the human race and live in a world that is full of color, I refuse to write a book that is not diverse, multicultural, and with a philosophy that is based on my faith in God.
Let His Banner Over Me Be Love
I’m not going to apologize for the topics that I write either. In my book, LET HIS BANNER OVER ME BE LOVE, I discovered that the Scriptures I wrote the story around were unknown to many of my readers. One lady whose name I will not mention here admitted having to return and read the Song of Songs herself. She didn’t know how candid the Song of Songs was in the Bible. I had to applaud her. I liked her honesty.
Late Bloomer
Other than that, I do my best to write flawlessly. I desire to present a book that a reader can sit back and read without flinching at each grammar mistake or trying to guess what word I wanted to write when they find a word left out. To achieve this, I have an independent editing team that reads through my work. I treasure them greatly. Yes, they cost, but I would rather pay for excellent editing than have to take a book off the market because it is poorly edited. I have made that mistake once and don’t intend to repeat it.
Although many of you went to Daylight Savings Time (DST) on March 10, 2024, the European Union will change on March 30, 2024. Usually, the difference between the changes is one week. However, it is longer this time, confusing many of us here in Germany. For example, when it is 3 PM EST in the USA, it is 8 PM GMT +1 here in Germany because the East Coast is now five hours behind us instead of its regular six hours. Adjusting the time to five instead of six hours can be mind-boggling. That’s why I am looking forward to time syncing to the regular rhythm of 6 hours.
Let me show you an example of what I mean. The sun shone brightly this morning when I went to my living room at nine AM. It is now 11:45 AM, and it is still beaming. Isn’t the way the sunlight falls in my living room beautiful?
But, yesterday at 6 PM, twilight had already set, and I was sitting in my living room enjoying my fireplace.
Yes, it was still cold enough to heat the living room for Hadassah, my baby palm tree, and me.
Observing such changes amazes me. It proves my viewpoint that everything changes and that these changes affect us. Our lives are no longer the same.
When I looked at Day 24 this morning, I jumped for joy. We have seven days before the Challenge ends, and I am grateful. It’s not that I am not enjoying the Challenge; I have learned a lot about my consistency, persistence, and perseverance. As I reached the halfway point, I had to push harder, use more energy to rethink my sentence stying, and give more time to reading my posts before I put them on my blog. I am genuinely thankful that I could do that.
I also had to increase my sleep. My brain refused to let me override my tiredness and continue working. Instead, when I am tired, I have had to stop, rest, and do nothing.
Thus, this ability to stay consistent and persist has become more potent. It is true that the more you practice your weaknesses, the stronger you become because your weaknesses become strengths. To grasp this principle fills my heart with gratitude.
This Challenge has helped me stay consistent and authentic to myself and others, persisting forward as I persevere toward my goal of finishing it.
Therefore, I am thankful for the 2nd RRBC “A DAY IN MY LIFE” 30-Day Blogging Challenge. We have approached the last seven days, and on DAY 30, I hope to be one of those who have reached the finish line. Truly, I am thankful.
I leave you with a short peep into one of my concerts. Most of these are cover songs or songs I have written that follow me through my life. If you have noticed on these blog posts for the Challenge, I always say a poem, a quote, a reading, or a song follows me. These things suddenly spring up and help me make the right life choices whenever necessary. Each one of the songs I cover onstage I have been singing for years. Whatever I do in life, I take full responsibility to live the way I choose by being as authentic as possible.
Truly, I Am Thankful- A short peep into my concerts with the Jan Masuhr
Shopping has always been a challenging task for me because I don’t like it. Regardless of whether it is to the grocery store, an apparel shop for women’s clothing, or shopping for something that is needed in the house. I see it as a waste of time, but I like eating. 😋
Since I have gotten used to cooking and eating fresh foods instead of canned or frozen foods, shopping is a must. I go shopping three or four times a week, as I said in one of my blog posts, and that takes care of my exercise. Looking at my fridge below, you can see why I often go to the grocery store. When I first moved here, the giant USA refrigerators sold in the USA were only in the Housing areas where soldiers and their families were living.
The bottom part is the fridge. The top part over it is my freezer.
For women’s clothing, I use the internet. That gives me flexibility, and I shop when I can no longer put it off. It is different with grocery shopping, though. Our stores open between seven and eight in the morning and close between eight and nine-thirty in the evenings. But that depends on the stores. Stores for household goods are included in these times.
Good old Aldi Süd
Netto, which is right across the street from Aldi
However, pharmacies have stable but irregular hours that Americans are not used to. They close on Saturdays between twelve-thirty and one P.M. Also, pharmacies close at twelve-thirty and open back up at two-thirty or three PM during the week.
Therefore, I left my home earlier today because I needed to pick something up from the pharmacy before it closed, and I also decided to take a couple of pictures of some of the stores I visited.
I love the pictures of the cherry trees across from the pharmacy.
I hope the pictures delight all of you who have lived in Germany. You would be amazed how much this country has changed.
I opened my eyelids, and the brightest sky with Stratus clouds smiled. There is something special about having a sky window on the right side of where I sleep. Thoughts of gratitude flooded my mind.
Today, we are eight or nine days from the end of the 2nd RRBC “A DAY IN MY LIFE” Blogging Challenge. Since I have shown you my garden, I want to show you a few things that always bring a smile to my face.
The town next to my village is Hanau-Grossauheim. I drive there primarily when I have to go to the Pharmacy, which is called Apotheke in German. Across from the Pharmacy is the Catholic Church. Although I am not Catholic, I enjoy attending Taize on Friday evenings. We sing songs, A Cappella, and I am a fan of people who can sing a song well without being accompanied by a musical instrument. I consider the voice to be the first musical instrument before mankind began creating instruments.
What I like most about this church is the cherry trees. They have started blooming, and I love standing before the church to admire them.
I have lots to do today, but before I close this post, I want to leave you one of my favorite quotes. This is one of those quotes that follows me. I have posted it below. Vince Lombardi spoke these words to his team, the Green Bay Packers. He was also the first coach to win Super Bowl 1 in 1967, and the Super Bowl Trophy is named after him.
DAY 21, MARCH 21, 2024, HAPPY NATIONAL FRENCH BREAD DAY!
Good Morning, Everyone,
It is funny now, but I didn’t eat much bread as a child. I thought it was an unnecessary item on the table. In our home, cornbread and biscuits were the bread items offered with our meals. Both breads, cornbread, and biscuits were made from scratch.
My father used to love to eat bread. I didn’t understand that, and at every meal, he expected bread to be on the table. I didn’t know at that age that moving to Europe would challenge my taste buds and change my opinion on bread.
The Europeans bake excellent bread. Each country has its specialties. Today, I am focusing on breads that come out of France.
Courtesy of Sergio Arze –A loaf of fresh French bread
The French loaf of bread that is bought from the bakeries tastes fantastic with Jam. One can cut it into big slices, warm it in the oven or toaster, spread it with butter, and eat it as it is. You have a meal if you want to spread Jam or cream cheese on it.
Courtesy of Kavita-Joshi-Rai – French Croissants
Who hasn’t heard of the French Croissants? Thinking about them right now makes me hungry. One can buy them plain or filled with chocolate, Jam, or cheese inside them. They are delicious for a snack. However, many French people eat their croissants plain. Croissants are delicious, and the best way to eat them is the way you want them.
Courtesy of Sergio Arze – French baguettes
Another French bread that I have fallen in love with is the baguette. I love to buy it fresh from the bakery and then slice it into pieces, spread butter over the slices, and freshly grated garlic. If you desire, pan-fry some fresh shrimp and make a green salad; it makes an outstanding evening meal. I must admit that I sometimes eat a baguette with only butter and garlic. It’s yummy! I add a glass of Pinot Noir, my favorite wine, and sit back and relax.
Remember that at the beginning, I said I wasn’t a bread person. Well… now, a meal without some fresh bread is unthinkable—my, how I have changed.
Happy National French Bread Day! Go out and buy some French bread and celebrate this day.
DAY 20, MARCH 20, 2024, HAPPY INTERNATIONAL HAPPINESS DAY!
Good Morning, Everyone,
Yesterday afternoon, my Mac wasn’t performing as it should. No matter what I did i.e. checking different online forums, everything stayed the same. So, I stopped working at 8:30 PM.
I sat and contemplated all of the steps I had been taking. Contemplation helps me in every area of my life. It chases the agitation away; I find peace with the fact that I wasn’t successful in solving the problem, but I had done all of the background work I needed to do to sleep well. And I did sleep well.
When I awoke to a beautiful blue sky winking at me through my window this morning, I knew I would have a lovely day.
My sky window in my bedroom
I went downstairs, made coffee, and meditated before I brought up my Mac. Last night, I chose International Happiness Day as the topic to write about. My Mac wasn’t working as it should. But I believe happiness is a choice I make.
Then it happened. An idea sprang before my eyes, and a tiny whisper said, “Try to do the task (I needed to scan a document) with your iPhone.”
I had never done that before. I laid the document on my printer and pulled my printer software up on my iPhone. Guess what? I learned to scan a document with my iPhone and save it to the files on my Mac. Voila! It worked!
When I looked on my Mac, I saw my file sitting among my documents. I have a smile of contentment on my face. I learned something new.
These little moments where I move from where I don’t know how and learn something new make me happy.
Have a HAPPY INTERNATIONAL HAPPINESS DAY, everyone, and do something to make you happy.
When I first came to Europe as a United States Army soldier, I thought the world revolved around the United States. Imagine my surprise when I found it didn’t. The Europeans are different. Their differences lie in treasuring their time off from work, the public holidays they celebrate, and their summer vacations.
If you visit Europe in June, July, and August and maybe the first two weeks in September, you will find few Federal offices open. Some stores, doctors’ offices, and other medical facilities are closed too. People are on vacation or at home working in their backyards, and if they don’t have a house with a backyard, they have gardens and can apply to the city municipal office, where they are put on a list to rent one.
This is my shed where wood for the winter is kept. When you walk out of my front entrance, it is on the right, going into my backyard. It is already filled with wood that is drying.
Our space in Europe is small; we live close to one another, which I had to get used to. I have a home, so my backyard is my garden.
I am blessed with a patio that goes from one side of my house to the other. At the moment, you can see images of things I’m decluttering. They will be picked up in April.We’re still on our way to the backyard.
Let me put a disclaimer here: I am not a gardener, but I like being in one. I am thankful that I have a couple who are very close to me, like a sister and brother. My brother does the heavy garden work, and his wife helps me at home while I write. I have committed to a few responsibilities that no one else can do, but I and I’m happy that God has sent me dear friends to help lighten my load.
We’re now in the backyard and in the corner is Lydia. She is a plumb tree. The green trees behind her are outside the fence, but they don’t scare Lydia. She gives up beautiful plumbs every year.
My brother, sister, and I looked at my garden last Sunday afternoon when they dropped by and decided it was time to clean it up sometime next week so I could enjoy the glass patio and look at my trees.
This is the bottom half of Moses, the walnut tree I planted myself. It was only a small tiny baby branch. People told me it wouldn’t live but look at him now!I want to show you how tall and stately he is.
Isn’t he a doll? Wait until he blooms. Then, Moses is magnificent.
It has been freezing here, so my cherry, apple, and walnut trees have not started blooming yet.
Here is Daniel, the cherry tree, standing by Moses.
I think they will bloom in April, and they will be gorgeous when that happens.
I gave each of them a name when I planted them and have written a caption with their name, like a name tag you get when you go to a conference. I took the photos this morning.
We’re now on the other side of the garden, and you can see a tree I haven’t named yet. I’m thinking about calling him Joshua.
Finally, we’re leaving my backyard from the other side, where my car is parked. The balcony belongs to my room, where I sometimes lie down and nap.
My backyard is looking forward to spring just as much as I am. I hope you enjoyed the visit.
DAY 18, MARCH 18, 2024, HAPPY NATIONAL AWKWARD MOMENTS DAY!
Strange situations happen where there are no explanations. They are so incomprehensible that you believe you have been in the Twilight Zone.
I experienced such an incident ten years ago when my husband was living; we took a bus tour of fourteen days to the United Kingdom, Scotland, and Ireland. I was looking forward to the trip because I wanted to discover which part of Africa I came from. I thought I could find some records in York.
We decided to go with friends from his Law Enforcement club. We were twenty-five couples, and we met up at Frankfurt Hauptbahnhof (Frankfurt’s Main Train Station) at four o’clock in the morning to get on our tour bus and be driven to Bremerhaven, Germany, where we would take an overnight ferry across the English Channel. I had never been on a ferry before. My very first time. Whenever I went to the UK, I bought a flight ticket and flew with an airplane. I am not a swimmer. I can paddle the water, but a swimmer, I am not.
Thus, I avoid cruises. They are not my cup of tea. I didn’t know that the tour bus would also be loaded on the ferry and that the ferry would arrive at our destination the following day around nine AM. The tour bus would be unloaded, and we would get back on and start our trip.
Being self-employed, I had been working very hard before we left Grosskrotzenburg, and I was looking forward to finally getting on the ferry and then to our cabin.
We had a nice outside cabin. The ship’s kitchen was excellent. The chief cook and his crew served us well for the evening meal as we crossed and for breakfast. After the evening meal, we retired to our cabin, and I went to bed immediately; my husband said he might go to the deck and look around and talk with a few friends, and I mumbled goodnight. According to my husband, I slept like a log.
In the morning, I woke up, stretching my arms out after having a delightful sleep, and my husband was sitting up, already dressed, with a scared look on his face. I asked him what was wrong. I thought I had snored too loud. That was when he looked at me and said, “Now you wake up. Didn’t you hear that the ship was going under? The buses, cars, and trucks parked underground in the belly of the ferry crashed and shoved into each other like someone in the underground terminal was throwing them around.”
Shocked, I said No. The awkwardness of this moment was that everyone heard the alert from the captain over the PA system and was standing by, and I was the only one sleeping. I still laugh about this moment. In fact, I am laughing now. 😊
Let me say the ship wasn’t going under, but someone had forgotten to park his giant truck safely so it wouldn’t roll. Cars and motorbikes were severely damaged, but no one was hurt, and no one slept that night but me.😴
The couples who toured with us kept asking me afterward how I could sleep. All of them thought the ferry was sinking and their lives were over, and I was the only one who had the best sleep of her life going across the English Channel.
The sun is out, and unlike yesterday, when it showed splotches of itself at various times in the sky, it is brightly shining, and for that, I am thankful.
When I compare the sun’s radiance to yesterday’s brightness, the words of Jeremiah, the Prophet, rattle within my soul like a child shaking its baby rattling toy.
Through the LORD’s Mercies, we are not consumed. Because His compassions fail not. They are new every morning. Great is His faithfulness. (Lamentations 3:22-23, NkJV)
A deep flood of gratitude storms into my consciousness, reminding me that I awoke in my right mind; I was able to perform self-care myself, to discern putting one foot before the other when I walked, to go down my stairway without fear of falling,
to see the sunrise and marvel at its beauty, to see and feel the warmth beaming right now through my living room window.
Yes, His mercies are new every morning, and His faithfulness is great. Such thoughts awaken the yearning in my heart for a long, hot summer.
I won’t be bundling myself into a heavy coat today. After finishing this article for the challenge, I will go outside and let the wind caress my face. I have long discovered that it is not the big things in life that make me happy but the little things that I sometimes take for granted, like the soft caresses of the wind and its gentle touch to rejuvenate my face. At the same time, my skin protects my cheekbones, forehead, and chin from debris that could harm me.
Taken from my living room window with my iPhone, I saw the beautiful appearance of the rising sun.
Thankfulness is what uplifts me, and not my emotions. My feelings are fickle. They look at my circumstances. I need someone greater than me and all humanity. Someone who’s got me whether I’m confused or troubled, sad or happy. I need the presence of the invisible Creator and Ruler of the Universe, the source of all moral authority. The one who spoke and things came into being.
Getting to know Him is my pearl of great price, and Truly, I am thankful.
Growth fascinates me. Looking at the trees I planted in my backyard, I am astonished at how they keep moving toward Heaven.
However, that pertains to everything in life. We are on a journey. When I take the time to observe the people around me, revisit the places I have been, or see a cat or dog grow into maturity, I marvel at how quickly people, animals, places, and situations change.
Nina Simone, one of my favorite singers, recorded a song that has followed me so far in my life, and this song makes me aware of how precious life is and how quickly it can change.
On one of the blogging days during this 2nd RRBC Blogging Challenge, I showed you a picture of my baby palm, three. A leaf had not opened up. Yet today, it has opened, and another leaf is coming. I see the changes when I behold the palm tree I named Hadassah.
Most profound are the changes I see within myself and on my body when I look in my mirror. The changes are sometimes like footprints, revealing that time is passing by.
Nina Simone – this is a version in her older years, but I find it great. It is emotion pure!
Everything must change; nothing remains the same.
Learning to live with that reality and remaining true to your purpose is the mark that distinguishes the human being from all else on this earth.
Good Morning, Everyone, I thought long and hard about today’s calendar topic because I always contemplate and ask myself when the world will wake up. I don’t mean that to sound sarcastic, either. When I hear the news on television, read various newspapers, or listen to specific podcasts, when I examine the unrest among the different nations and the wars that are taking place, I can only shake my head at what I see and hear, and I wonder why others don’t see it.
We are at fault for disturbing the circadian rhythms of our internal clocks. It is time we wake up to see that our behavior patterns keep us from sleeping.
A child starving of hunger. Courtesy of Shutterstock
I don’t know of any child who can sleep on an empty stomach or while bombs are bursting all around them.
The sun is coming up, sneaking a peek through my bedroom window.
All the elements needed for a good night’s sleep will be available when we change our way of living and stop bickering and fighting against one another in wars.
DAY 14, MARCH 14, 2024, NATIONAL WRITE YOUR STORY DAY
Good Morning, Everyone,
We are approaching the halfway mark, and today, I will talk about NATIONAL WRITE YOUR STORY DAY, which I think needs to be banned until a person reaches eighty or eighty-five.
We have many books written by writers everywhere who want to tell their stories. The number of authors in the genre called Memoirs is continuing to increase. However, it is my humble opinion that writing a memoir between the ages of thirty and eighty is questionable. What have you experienced in that short time that may help someone else?
Here I am attending the Writer’s Festival in Matera, Italy
I hear you yelling, “At thirty, life is over!” But who told you that? Some school of thought or some adult who may be unhappy at living? When I read the Memoirs of Victor Hugo, Victor Frankl, Corrie Ten Boom, Gail Sheehy, Maya Angelou, Toni Morrison, and many others in my digital library, I found them telling me differently about writing their stories, and they lived worthy lives that told of their overcoming!
Here, I am working in my office, deep in concentration.
Therefore, I am not one of those people who think life is over at thirty. To be honest, I don’t know if I will write an autobiography about myself because my story is still ongoing, and I don’t know if I want to expose myself to an audience where I have to defend the messes that will go in the memoir I would write about myself.
Singing at an International Congress near Cologne
Thus, I won’t be taking advantage of National Write Your Story Day, at least not yet. I will wait until I turn eighty-five or ninety, and maybe then, I will begin writing one.
DAY 13, MARCH 13,2024, HAPPY NATIONAL GOOD SAMARITAN DAY!
Good Morning, Everyone,
I’m using National Good Samaritan Day as a shout-out for all those who refuse to close their eyes to people’s hunger, thirst, nakedness, homelessness, and many other ills of the human condition that we close our eyes to because it’s scary, or we’re afraid that we will have to give or do something to help minder the needs of those people.
Yes, I said, “Those people.” We tend to separate ourselves from the reality of what is happening around us. Good Samaritans don’t.
We ignore a child walking around in winter with strappy sandals or no shoes, placing the responsibility of their need on the parent or parents, but again, Good Samaritans don’t. Instead, they go to the next shoe store and buy shoes that fit and cover their feet.
We watch children shivering with cold, snotty noses and crying for food and fresh water, and some of us are confounded and others overwhelmed, but Good Samaritans aren’t. They usually buy food and clothing and leave it on the doorsteps of the homes to protect the dignity of the ones they are helping out.
Pic courtesy of Shutterstock
Don’t get me wrong. I am not saying that giving to organizations to feed and clothe the needy is wrong. This kind of giving is needed too, but others like Doctors without Borders, Mercy Ships, Charity Water, and many other smaller organizations volunteer in person, giving medical care, building houses, and bringing clean water to people who die because of not having medical care or clean water.
Good Samaritans give not only of their money but also of their time. They use their hands to work on ships and travel to the sick and hurting, binding up wounds, and they use their hands as they go to countries to build water vessels for people who have never tasted a glass of clean water. These people are the Good Samaritans who donate their time freely; this shout-out goes to them. I applaud you.
DAY 12, MARCH 12, 2024, HAPPY NATIONAL ORGANIZE YOUR HOME DAY!
Good Morning, Everyone,
I am smiling about this special day because I have been in the process of organizing my home since February 2024. I decided last year that anything I wasn’t using, regardless of what it was, would be going to a junk house, which in German is called Sperrmüll.
In our communities, one fills out a card and sends it to the people responsible for picking up old furniture, electric items, and small things, like flower vases, chairs, etc, to dispose of. We pay for the privilege to do this through our municipal taxes, which are paid yearly.
Therefore, I am remodeling my home, and the first step I am still doing is packing everything downstairs in a room in my basement so that it can be picked up after I have turned in my card requesting pick-up.
I am downsizing, and I want to. There are only so many glasses you can drink out of, coffee cups you can enjoy coffee in, or chairs you can sit in. Since I know you can’t take it with you, why should I keep it? Thus, I have promised myself to enjoy my home and not clutter it up.
By the way, the picture of my stairway that I showed on my blog on DAY 8 is the first part of my home I uncluttered.
Now, I can sit on my stairway and dream whenever I want to. And that is an incredible feeling.
DAY 11, MARCH 11, 2024, HAPPY NATIONAL NAPPING DAY!
Good Morning, Everyone,
I take naps, and there is nothing I enjoy most other than reading, writing, playing my piano, playing bridge, bid whiz, or chess. However, it was only that way once I stopped trying to make my body take naps when it didn’t need to. In other words, I started listening to my body, paying close attention to my body rhythm, and taking naps when needed. Thus, I am an advocate for taking naps.
I sleep irregularly, so I don’t sleep eight hours at night. I’m a writer, and whenever the creative spirit wants to give me a story or change something I write, I get up and do it.
Also, I have a concert now and then, which means late hours.
I am a voracious reader, too, and when I start reading a book that draws me into the story, I don’t usually go to bed after an hour or two. I read the book until the end.
Therefore, I had to develop my own plan for napping.
I am taking a nap in the late afternoon in my recliner.
Because my creative spirit wakes me up in the middle of the night to write, if there’s a story or an incident concerning my book or an article that it wants me to change, I have to get up and do it because sleep evades me. It may take me three to four hours to incorporate the changes before I can return to bed. Thus, afterward, I drink my coffee, meditate, and have breakfast, and then I sit in my recliner and nap. I am not a heavy coffee drinker. I drink two cups daily, so coffee does not keep me up.
My naps are not structured around time but based on my inner clock. It doesn’t matter what time of the day or night it is. It matters only that I take a nap when my body needs it. Sometimes, I even nap throughout the day in intervals and let my body relax because that is what it wants to do.
Thus, National Napping Day is something everyone needs to do. If we adhere to our inner clocks, we would not have as many accidents, sicknesses, aggravation, or stress as we have today.
I am glad that I finally have the type of career that lets me order my time according to the inner clock within me.
If you can, listen to your inner clock today and nap when your body’s inner clock decides it.
CERTIFICATE OF RECOGNITION, RRBC WARRIOR BLOGGER AWARD 2024
Good Morning, Everyone,
I found this certificate of Recognition in my inbox this morning. I have made it through one-third of the Challenge.
Last year, I complained a little because I didn’t know what to expect. By complaining, I mean the work required to put into blogging sensible posts worth others’ time to engage with me.
I still don’t know what to expect concerning work output, but I now know that blogging imbues me with a sense of strength and reflection. It tickles my brain and my heart.
Therefore, I am thankful that I have made it this far. Thank you, RRBC, for the Recognition Banner. I appreciate it.
My DAY 11 Article will be coming soon. I hope you have a lovely start to the week, just as I had.
I’ve established a tradition since becoming single: eating a pretzel with butter on Saturdays and Sundays. The fresh German pretzels I buy in the bakery are delicious. If you get one fresh out of the oven, that is a heavenly delight.
Known as the bretzel in Germany, the pretzel originally stems from Bavaria. However, the Italians also claimed to be the first to make the pretzel, and they date their findings back to 610 when a Monk created them to use dough that was left over. Whether that is true or not, I don’t know. I had my first pretzel here in Europe, and it was so tasty that my favorite pretzels are made in Germany.
Of course, there are pretzels now in the United States. They have been there for a while. The Germans and Swiss who immigrated to the USA took their recipes with them. Most of them settled in Pennsylvania and became known as the Pennsylvania Dutch.
Nowadays, pretzels in the USA come in all kinds of flavors and toppings like yogurt, strawberry, mustard, chocolate, etc., but I still prefer pretzels with a small scoop of butter on the side.
Thus, if a bakery is near you, go out and buy three or four and enjoy your pretzel time.
It is Sunday, and I am enjoying mine.
I hope you have a lovely day, and I’ll see you tomorrow.
DAY 9, MARCH 9, 2024, HAPPY NATIONAL GET OVER IT DAY!
Good Morning, Everyone,
It’s Happy National Get Over It Day, and it is a day that we must implement worldwide. However, I’m limiting this day to offenses committed against us regardless of whether they deal with our families, friends, or work situations at a county, state, or national level. It is hard for us to get over such offenses, and this day encourages us to get over it and move on. But that is easier said than done.
Just look at what happened in the 2020 Presidential election. It is a pity that we’re still heatedly discussing the past election as if it happened yesterday. Sometimes, I want to shout that we are dealing with 2024, and the 2020 election is over. Whatever happened to the loser conceding and stepping aside or waiting until the next election if they are dissatisfied with the results? The USA will go into history for being a country that argued and fought over the twenty-twenty election until infinity. We might still be fighting over the 2020 election in 2028 or 2032 instead of getting over it. Who knows?
Unfortunately, not getting over it is permeating our entire lives. Sportsmen don’t like to concede when they have lost a title. Here in Germany, at some National Soccer Cup games, sportlers have even refused to wear the medal when they place second in a tournament. Now, that is sad. Instead of getting over it, they downplay the other team’s win, missing a great life lesson.
National Getting Over It Day should also be implemented among our families and friends. How often do we bury an insult in our hearts because somebody injured us, and we carry a grudge instead of getting over it? I suspect that while holding that in our hearts, the person who committed the offense has forgotten about it.
Thus, let’s make the National Getting Over It Day an everyday thing. Let us forgive and move on, no matter how difficult it is. As a Sly and the Family Stone said in their famous hit:
DAY 8, MARCH 8, 2024, HOW I AM DISCOVERING THE MEANING OF MY NAME
It has taken me years to discover what my name means, and I am still searching. Learning the meaning of my name is a lifetime process. Early in life, I found that people who tried to define me and what I was supposed to be did not coincide with what I thought I should be. When I turned eight, I knew I would have to one day leave the land I was born in if I wanted to find my purpose, which means finding out what my name truly means. It might be easier to look it up, but I don’t usually choose the easy way or the way that looks simple. I am a Patricia kind of person who latches on to ideas that fascinate me, and I hang on until I find out why those thoughts find ground to grow within me.
Since the name Patricia has no biblical meaning, I sought to know why the name was so unique in ancient times. Patricia stemmed from Latin and led me to two words that got me looking into directions that would have been, at that time, impossible for me to walk in the deep South. Those two words were honor and noble. According to the content I googled, the name Patricia has deep infinity, and people with that name have power and charisma when expressing themselves, whether in speech or writing. They love to study and do research.
My love of research and study is an integral part of me. I remember discovering that Dwight David Eisenhower and I were born on the same day, October 14. Knowing that threw me in a tizzy, and I researched every book I could find about the man because I wanted to know how he had made it through life. I even contemplated writing him a letter, as he was the President of the United States, to tell him that we had a birthday on the same day, but I never did. I regret that now. However, whenever my birthday came around, it was a pick me up just knowing that we had the same day of birth, although it was not the same year. Knowing this gave Patricia (me) the strength to take steps that kept me going forward
I am always learning something new about my name; when I do, I write it down in my journal.
Finally, I learn about the meaning of what my name means to me by reading about other Patricias like Patricia Hill Collins, Patricia Cornwall, Patricia Highsmith, Patricia Neal, Patricia Scotland, Baroness Scotland of Asthal, Patti Labelle (born_ Patricia Louise Holt), Patricia Hearst and many more and comparing some aspects of them to what I find in myself. Am I happy with my name and what I have found so far? Yes, Patricia is an honorable name, and there are infinite qualities that will propel me to become all I will become.
One last thought about a different topic–– the weather. I woke up to a fantastic, sunshiny day. As I walked down my stairs, I looked at my stairway and saw how the sun shone through the glass on the stairs. I wanted to sit on the stairs all morning and stare out the window, but I didn’t. However, it was worth taking the time to sit there for ten minutes.
This is one day that needs to be taken off the calendar.
The problem is that too many people speak, telling their side of their story, but no one listens. Thus, we have wars between nations, wars on the streets of our neighborhoods, schools, shopping centers, theaters, football fields, marathons, you name it, cause we feel we have a right to be heard. But who decides what is truth? I don’t know of any human being that can do that. Instead, maybe we need a day to be silent, a day to think about what’s coming out of our mouths, a time to remember that the words we speak shape our lives and affect the lives of others around us.
Therefore, I’m all for getting rid of National Be Heard Day. We don’t need it. Let us replace it with a NATIONAL LISTENING DAY where we listen to our sisters or brothers struggling to build a better life for their families, to the women working at the cash registers and barely making enough to support their families.
We need to listen to five, six, seven and eight-year-old kids working in factories and will never have the opportunity to know what real childhood is like; listen to those kids who are recruited for wars at an early age and learn how to kill without learning that life is precious and listen to those children that are malnourished because of lack of food.
Photos courtesy of Shutterstock
When we listen to the world’s heartbeats, our hearts will erupt into a change that brings a different kind of action, and the world will be a better place, and we won’t need to be heard.
That is enough for today. I need to move on. My two projects are calling me. I need to finish my reread, do some shopping, and relax. The European League is playing today. A pic of my palm tree with a new tiny leaf is below to make you smile. The leaf has yet to open, but I’ll let you know when it does.
Take time today to listen to the heartbeats of the world.
HAPPY NATIONAL OREO COOKIE DAY! DAY 6, MARCH 6, 2024
The Oreo cookie is the best-known American cookie. As a child, my sisters and brother loved to eat them. I googled Oreos to find out how significant their influence is on the American public and found it is enormous. I just discovered that nine out of ten households buy Oreos and that 7.5 billion Oreos are sold yearly. Nabisco created Oreos; as of 2015, 450 billion Oreos had been sold. So, it is America’s best-selling cookie. Also, its official National Eat An Oreo Day is held every year on June 19.
You’re probably thinking, we don’t have Oreos here in Europe. That is an American tradition.
Well, I don’t mean to disappoint you, but we have something similar to Oreos, but they aren’t called Oreos.
Ours are called Cookeo. Cookeo is a Vegan product produced in Germany, which is super for flexitarians like me. So, treat yourself today, have a warm cup of milk, and eat three or four Oreos.
Now on to work. I have lots to do, but I wanted to mention my fireplace again because I told you I wanted to go outside and bring in some wood yesterday. Yesterday evening was the Champions League game between Bayern München and Lazio Rome. Bayern had to win to go to the quarterfinals. I know you’re wondering what this has to do with my fireplace. Hold on, I’ll get to the point. 😇 I wanted to sit by the fire as I looked at the game, and I did. So, here is a picture of my living room with the fireplace lit.
Soccer is one of those things that gives me joy.🤩
I won’t tell you who won the game, but it was a great game. A few minutes before midnight, I turned in to get some zzzzzzz😴.
Have a great day, People. I have IWSG Day today, and I’m finishing up the first reading of my novella.
DAY 5, MARCH 5, 2024, HAPPY NATIONAL CHEESE DOODLE DAY!
Good Morning!
I don’t know what cheese doodles are, but I like to eat cheese, especially European cheeses from France, the Netherlands, Italy, and Germany. They are the best I have ever eaten, so I hope Cheese doodles are a food item. As a child, one of my favorite cheese snacks was cheese crackers from Cheez-It. I ate many little boxes of them, especially when I was at the university. Sometimes, they were my breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
That hunger for them continued until I became an expat in Germany. I soon discovered that they did not have cheese crackers, and I broadened my taste by switching over to the different types of cheeses offered in Europe, which was even healthier.
Cheddar CheeseGorgonzola
However, whenever I visit my family in the USA, I slip back into an old desire hidden within me. I go out and buy a box of cheese crackers. They have become precious to me because I don’t eat them daily. They are a unique delicatessen that I delight in.
Now, I must work. We have a cloudy day here, and I want to bring in some wood for my fireplace before it starts raining and read one more chapter of the novella I am writing.
Happy National Grammar Day, National Salt Awareness Day, and World Obesity Day
DAY 4, MARCH 4, 2024
Good Morning To All! First, here’s something to laugh about.😄 The day before yesterday, I had beautiful sunshine. Yesterday too. My co-host of the RNH Show (Raters Not Haters Show) has been visiting my blog posts during the challenge, and I wrote about how sunny the day had been. He commented on my blog post that I must have stolen his sunshine because he had nothing but clouds. I’m laughing because I try to steal all the sunshine I can get. 😂
So, now to my article for today.
I am enjoying the second year of the RRBC Challenge because they have intermingled it with prompts we can write on. Today, I am very interested in the three topics above because I had to incorporate them into my lifestyle.
As a writer, I must use good Grammar in my writing and speaking. The first thing people look at when reading a book is Grammar; believe me, even the poorest person in Grammar can tell when you aren’t grammatically correct. Now that is only my opinion.
I have to admit that my weakness in writing is my Grammar. Therefore, I don’t let any story, fiction or non-fiction, except for this challenge, go out of my office without sending it to my editor. I am picky about who edits my work. I don’t choose a friend or family member. I don’t like having someone who has a problem with being honest with me about my work. I want to hear where the flaws are, and if you can’t tell me that, then you won’t be my editor. Sure, somebody can hurt my feelings, and yes, sometimes I don’t accept the critique quickly, but that is okay because my editor is editing according to the highest quality standards she has. So, what do I do when sentences or paragraphs I have fallen in love with are corrected? Well, I set the story aside and think about it. I read my editor’s point of view over the suggestion I’m mumbling over, or I do a short Zoom meeting with her, and the majority of the time, I come out agreeing with her because I know she has my best interests at heart and she knows what she’s doing. Therefore, when it comes to Grammar, I am thankful that I don’t use AI to edit my stories; I use the flesh and blood human being type who has gained years of experience and doesn’t mind passing it along. Hurrah for human Grammar experts!
Overeating salt is another thing I didn’t take seriously until I arrived in Europe. I noticed many cooks seasoned their food with different herbs and spices and not much salt. I was surprised. The food was delicious but didn’t have a salty taste. Then I came across a non-fiction novel that showed that people who eat salty meals have a high rate of having strokes. That shocked me because I always added extra salt to my food. I changed my eating habits immediately. I no longer ran out to get a hamburger or french fries from a fast food store. I thought twice about buying frozen dinners because I began reading the back of the packages and was astounded at how much sodium is in a frozen meal or a hamburger. Knowing these things brought about a radical change in my eating habits, and I also started cooking. Now I cook fresh food almost every day, and my weight dropped. I still have my curvy hips 🙂 I still have weight, but it is a weight I can live with, and I feel good.
A Fresh German soup with green beans, potatoes, carrots, onions, and sausage
Preparing String Beans the French Way
This brings me to World Obesity Day. I enjoy eating when I cook. Cooking and seasoning my food with herbs and spices stirs my appetite. Oh, and I love chocolate, especially a German chocolate cake with rich dark chocolate. This means that if I don’t do something like making sure I get exercise, such as walking, I gain weight. The good thing for me is that my house is built so that I have to walk up and downstairs when I go to my kitchen, and my office is in my basement, which is 12 stairs down from the hallway entrance to my house. When I go shopping, I park far away from the grocery store or any other store I plan to visit. I hear you asking, readers, why don’t you shop twice a month and save time? We have tiny refrigerators here in Germany, and I usually go shopping three or four times a week, and that is good because I get out of my office, I see people to talk to, I can grab a cappuccino or espresso or Latte Macchiato and watch people. Thus, I have found ways to exercise and not gain weight. As I said above, I have accepted my weight and don’t plan to live on an everlasting diet that doesn’t allow me to enjoy my food.
Standing before the Public Library last year in May with my niece.
Happy National Day of Unplugging (from Social Media) and World Hearing Day!
Good Morning! At the moment, I am writing this article as two squirrels decide to greet me by walking on the glass roof of my patio. The sun is shining brightly, and I look forward to summer. Yes, I know spring comes after winter, but here in the country I have chosen to live in, it seems like we only get two seasons: winter and summer.
We have two choices to write about today—the National Day of Unplugging (from Social Media) and World Hearing Day. I have written a short take on these topics because they interest me.
First, I don’t Unplug on the National Day of Unplugging. If I did, I wouldn’t be sitting here writing this article. I have set times that I go on Social Media, and I am usually there for thirty to sixty minutes twice a week. Sometimes, I have to break that time up into fifteen-minute intervals throughout the day or even ten-minute intervals. I don’t let the time factor and the fact that I have to make exceptions and adjust the time to get things done bother me.
I have not developed the perfect way to deal with social media, but I’m a writer, and social media is one of those things that go with my career. Besides that, I am an expat and want to keep in touch with my family and friends on different continents. Therefore, having a small Social Media network keeps me in the loop with the ones I love.
What I have learned is to use my smartphone to its maximum ability. That means silencing my phone in the mornings and while working. I don’t even receive notices from the different platforms where I have accounts during my time of silence. So, I unplug each day at the times I set up.
Now to World Hearing Day.
I treasure that I know or have known people who cannot hear. They are beautiful people, and I have written a couple of flash fiction stories about them because they learn to sense things on a deeper level than people who can hear. They learn to compensate.
I think of Helen Keller, who lost her sight and hearing at a very young age and had to fight to find herself, and I wish I could be as strong as she was with my hearing, sight, and speech intact. I admire Helen Keller, and her books fascinate me. They still do today. Thus, I have learned not to go out of my way to ignore people who have hearing disabilities. One can learn much from them; the greatest we can learn is to shut our mouths and listen, which reminds me of one of my all-time favorite songs, THE SOUNDS OF SILENCE.
Finally, here’s a shout-out to a woman that I love dearly. Our parents raised us, and she has a birthday today. When I visited the USA last year, I had the privilege of staying at her home for a week, and she and her adorable husband, Claude, and their dog, Colby, spoiled me rotten.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! CHRISTINE ELIZABETH PIERCE-HOLMAN! I love you, Lady! Enjoy your day, and may God bless you in everything you undertake to accomplish!
Enjoying the day in Gatlinburg, Tennesse with my sister, Chris, and Claude, her husbandColby, the Pup wearing his beanie, I knitted for him.
Have a great Sunday, People, and take the time to go out and listen to the sounds of nature.
Today, I’m celebrating National Read Across America and Europe Day. I have expanded this holiday to include Europe. Reading has always played a significant role in my life. It’s funny because I had nothing to read at first but the Bible and the second-class textbooks that we received from caucasian schools when I entered school at five years of age. I discovered we had a library when I was eight, but it was too far away, and we didn’t have a car.
The Wallace Branch Library was built to serve African Americans in 1935. It was located in downtown Augusta in the Augusta section known as the “Colored Section” on Gwinnett Street. That has all changed. The street has been renamed Lucy Craft Laney Boulevard, and the library is now a part of Augusta’s history and is in the historical section of town. To say that I loved that library is an understatement. I remember my parents driving my sisters, brother, and me to the library and leaving us there while they went shopping after we finally got a car. I could stay in that library all day long and never get tired. By the time my parents picked us up, I had loaded myself with books I chose to read. Robert Louis Stevenson, Frank Yerby, and poetry by James Weldon Johnson were among the books I chose, although some of Johnson’s poetry was forbidden in the South.
Therefore, I am a huge promoter of people learning to read and disciplining themselves to read at least four books yearly. I am thankful that I can read today in English and German and a simple, straightforward book in Italian. To read gives me a warm glow within.
This morning, the sun was shining so brightly that I let it entice me to get out and take a mini walk. It is still shining, and I look forward to returning to my office sometime next week or the week after.
I have been working in my dining room because of the extreme energy prices. The prices shot up higher than we expected after Russia attacked Ukraine. I am smiling because my sisters and friends in the United States ask me how I deal with the fluctuating situation with the energy. I usually answer them with a simple sentence: I trust God, and with Him, I got this.
Have a lovely day today. I hope you celebrate today by reading a book you love. It doesn’t matter whether it is a print book or an ebook. Just read! Let yourself drown in a story that makes you feel good. That is what I will do this evening.
Today is SHARE A SMILE DAY, so give someone the gift of receiving one of your smiles.
Enjoying dawn and the first part of the day are my best highlights during a twenty-four-hour day. I look out the window above my bed into my ceiling and smile. Gratitude swells in my heart, and I am thankful I live on a quiet street without traffic and fewer kids. Not that I dislike children, but my tendency to sleep at irregular hours is sometimes disrupted when I hear workers working on the children’s playground behind my yard or the loud voices of the kids. Depending on the time I go to bed and when I wake, most of the adults have gone to work.
My life rhythm has changed since I participated in the first RRBC Blogging challenge. Before, I had a habit of writing in the early morning, but now I write three hours during the day and three to five hours during the night. I usually get seven hours of sleep now instead of six, so that has changed, too. It took me a few weeks to recognize that my inner clock was ticking differently. But as I began to listen to my body, I knew that I would have to get used to a new schedule for living and adapt myself to what my inner clock desired if I wanted to continue smiling through life.
I like smiling at people. Wednesday, I went to my knitting group. It is slowly, and I mean a gradual slow, moving toward nine degrees Celsius, so I walk in with a coat and a beanie cap on my head. One of the ladies asked if I was cold, and I answered, “Of course. It’s wintertime,” and they laughed. It was about 8 degrees Celsius, but for them, it was like spring because the sun was shining. For me, it was winter. Unknowingly, I do many things here in this cold country that make people laugh.
Take care everyone. I have work to do before I enjoy my evening.
Good Morning, Good Afternoon, Good Evening, People,
The second RRBC “A DAY IN MY LIFE” Blogging Challenge begins tomorrow, March 1, and ends March 30, 2024, and I look forward to it. The first RRBC Blogging Challenge tested my endurance greatly. What will happen this time? I don’t know, but I expect to experience many beautiful surprises. There will also be a special gift for some lucky person who follows the Challenge and leaves comments. A randomly selected visitor will win an Amazon Gift Card for $25,00 at the end of the Challenge. So take advantage and drop by the authors participating in the Blogging Challenge. You will enjoy it; who knows, you may be that visitor who wins.
I woke up on this side of life this morning, still walking out my story. This side of life makes me aware that I’m still breathing. Looking out the window built into my roof, I saw rain.
After getting cleaned up and dressed, I gazed out the window again; I saw sunshine. The weather had changed quickly in three-quarters of an hour, and I could perceive this change. I lifted my head toward Heaven and said Thank you!
I was in my right mind. I could think; I wasn’t walking around with a wild look in my eyes. I knew where I was and what I was doing, and I could comprehend and contemplate.
My awareness of my surroundings made me look out of my glassed-in patio doors as I read my Bible, and I smiled and thanked God for His faithfulness to me, one of the sheep of His pasture.
Oh, the joy it brings my heart to say I am in my RIGHT MIND. Yes, and for that, I am truly thankful.
I woke up this morning and began looking back over the year 2023, and unfortunately, February 24, 2022, dipped in, reminding me of the full-scale military invasion launched on Ukraine that had been building up since 2014.
I shook my head in sorrow.
October 7, 2023, stunned me. I wasn’t expecting to see babies, children, women, and men being slaughtered. Again, I saw another full-scale war break out. Some people were dancing on the streets; all I could do was cry at the loss.
I shook my head in sorrow.
Taking life is happening all over the earth, no land exempted. What did you want for Christmas? An automatic rifle or maybe a semi-automatic AR 15 or AK 47?
I shake my head in sorrow.
Nobody seems to be listening, not seeing, nobody seems to care, and no one seems to seek the Giver of Life, who gives the substance we cannot buy. Life. We can’t reproduce it, and it is slowly being snuffed out by us. Babies, children, women, and men, young and old, are being abused and killed all around the world.
I shake my head in sorrow.
Strangely, guns are the most desired toys on Christmas lists. Where is the brotherly love?
I shake my head, and I cry.
I’ve discovered that mercy and grace are not available in the accumulation of things we purchase, or by buying as many weapons as we can afford, or under the governmental rule in the particular country we live in, but on the rock bed of hope. So, I lifted my head and looked toward Heaven.
LORD, WHAT DO I LOOK FOR? MY HOPE IS IN YOU.
I hope you have a safe crossing over into 2024.
Shalom shalom,
Pat Garcia
*Adaptation of Psalm 39:7, NIV 2011, ZONDERVAN By Pat Garcia
I woke up this morning, lay in my bed, and counted the movements of my lungs. I had to smile because, for many, that is foolishness, a waste of time. I call it awareness.
Turned over and left my bed without needing someone to help me, showered, chose what I wanted to wear and dressed, and then went downstairs.
Had what I wanted to eat for breakfast and began planning the tasks I needed to do before they became urgent, and pushed me into a stressful mode that would make my week difficult and me angry.
Yes, my calendar is full. However, a full calendar shows me the necessity of putting God first-–to show gratitude if I want to see any progress in my tasks. Whether cooking, writing, reading a chapter in a good book, listening to good music, or paying attention to what is happening around me and reaching out to help, taking the time to meditate first is necessary for me. It’s my time to look toward Heaven, regardless of whether it is night or day, and to tell God I am truly thankful.
Turned over in bed this morning and noticed the sun had not yet risen. It reminded me that the earth is rotating slowly as it prepares my part of the world for the engulfing winter months ahead. Autumn is here; the more we move out of it, the cooler it gets. The temperature in my bedroom made me aware that winter patiently stood at the door, waiting to enter, and I covered my head and snoozed for fifteen minutes before I got up.
The seasons of the year we humans cannot change, and I’m happy about that. Our man-controlled abusive interference with nature is limited to manipulating the time so that we gain an hour in summer, and the day is longer, but we get that hour back in winter, making the days long, dark, and sometimes dreary.
The environment is a mystery. Its wonders are secrets hidden in the pockets of the Heavens. This morning, I had the opportunity to snooze for fifteen minutes and then the pleasure of seeing the Heavens light up and unfold as the sun rose, and for that, I Am Thankful.
It doesn’t seem like seven years, but it is—many thanks to the administrative team at RRBC and the entire RRBC Organization for your support. It is much appreciated.
Today is Monday, and I asked myself what this week would bring. As a woman who contemplates the elusiveness of time and how difficult it is to grasp, I have long realized the wheel of time doesn’t move by weeks, months, or years but by seconds, minutes, and hours that make a night and a day into twenty-four hours. What we do with our twenty-four hours is up to us. We choose. Knowing that, I have decided to take the seconds that turn into minutes, the minutes that turn into hours, and the hours that sum up the complexity of the earth’s rotation around the sun and see time as a one-day gift to live and enjoy. Each day I awake is a new beginning, and I am thankful for that one night and day.
(7) audible codes for ENIGMA TRACER book (US or UK)
Please leave the authors a comment below for your chance to win one of these awesome prizes!
ENIGMA TRACER
Breakfield and Burkey like lively, believable banter between characters. We took an instance between Gracie and her twin brother JJ to help the reader know they gently tease now and then but genuinely care for each other in this deadly sleuthing game of digital cat and mouse. JJ and Gracie are seasoned pros who know their trade but are new in their leadership roles for CATS and R-Group. They know what they must look for and the next steps of covert detective work. They are uncertain of the end game and the risks. Mentors can’t teach their wards how to handle every threat they will encounter, but they can teach them how to think. Stumbling into new important roles teaches the young heirs how to adapt their thinking and change direction. Gracie’s role is to orchestrate digital covert operations to help people. JJ’s role is to provide operator support at ground level to the problems Gracie needs help with. They must be decisive and calculating because the criminals they are up against are cold and ruthless.Listen to how she and JJ conduct a planning session in this YouTube segment:
BOOK BLURB:The clock is ticking … can Gracie uncover the truth?Phillip Pliant is the wealthy opportunist plastics dealer and CEO of Pliant Industries. He’s also a master thief—creating a pervasive threat to the manufacturing infrastructure in the Caribbean islands markets. With the cartel as his stealth client, the naïve city leaders have been seduced, enabling the production of more than 3-dimentional building materials.
And set the stage for massive chaos and destruction.
Pliant has locked up contracts, assets, and control of any future expansion. His contacts and clients salivate over their probable financial reward—the expected profits are monstrous.
Is the R-Group, now led by Gracie and the family heirs, strong enough to win against this predator? Can JJ’s CATS (Cyber Assassin Technology Services) act on the root-cause analysis in time?
Will the R-Group and CATS sabotage Pliant’s plan before it’s too late?
Can Jeff and Keith use their covert skills to put the bad guys away for good?
Will Gracie be able to squash Pliant and the cartels?
Can the chain of islands survive the underhanded tactics and threats?
Gracie never considered that their lives would hang between winning and losing. Will the devious plot be uncovered in time? The clock is ticking. Five … four … three …
To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the authors’tour pageon the 4WillsPublishing site. If you’d like to schedule your own blog tour and have your book promoted in similar grand fashion, please clickHERE. Thanks for supporting this author and her work!
I’m going to miss this Challenge. It challenged me. Within me, it has removed reservations that I had pushed deep within the dark corners of my soul. After the first week, I thought I was going to buckle under. The possibility of facing weaknesses and being drowned in recriminations brought up good old Vincent Lombardi, who sits at my imaginary round table as one of my advisors.
He said two simple statements. “Adversity is the first path to truth. Prosperity is a great teacher: adversity is greater.” For me, the adversity was the distress of having to change.
I like quotes from people who talk from experience. Lombardi built a winning football team, and they were the very first to win the Super Bowl.
So, I moved into the second week prepared to face myself.
Joy rose as I read the blogs from the rest of the participants. With some of their postings, I laughed, and with others, I was amazed, and then there were some posts where tears flowed and others that brought me into deep contrition, contemplation, and repentance. The articles were all that good and inspiring.
If you have read my postings during the 30-Day Challenge, you know I had doubts, frustration, and regrets. Yet through all of what I felt, I am delighted to have stuck with it. Vince was right. Facing my adversity is more remarkable than never having done it at all.
Would I do it again? YES! Undoubtedly. Not this year, but whenever I see it offered again.
Does this mean I am going to blog every week to prepare myself? NO! However, I have decided to blog on my author’s website once every two months to release some new SNIPPETS. 🙂
Therefore, on this last day of the Challenge, I leave you with another quote by Vince: I do my best to walk with this quote every waking day of my life.
“When we place our dependence in God, we are unencumbered, and we have no fear. In fact, we may even be reckless insofar as our part in the production is concerned. This confidence, this sureness of action, is both contagious and an aid to the perfect action. The rest is in the hands of God–––and this is the same God who has won all His battles up to now.” (By Vincent Lombardi)
My list of new and open items for this week includes the following:
Revising the first 10K of my new novel. It usually takes me at least four to six days to fix 10K. I like to send her my final draft so that she understands the direction I’m moving in.
Answering emails and text messages, Daily
Finishing the last revision of my first novel.
Co-hosting the IWSG on Wednesday
Releasing my new short story. (Na-Doo is still jumping for joy, and I’m laughing. She’s a sassy woman, but I love her the way she is.)
Yes, it is evening here, and I have just ended my sabbath day. I enjoyed the rest.
I’m in my office now. Even with the change in my Sabbath day and time, I start slowly getting in gear to work. As I’ve said before,I don’t like hectic. I never have.
I kick off my work week after envisioning how I want my week to run. I don’t order what I plan to do, but I write down what I want to do in no particular order.
Today has been a pretty cool day for me. I meditated, had breakfast, and read up until dinner time. After dinner, I read again.
Reading is medicine for my soul. I am finishing up a book entitled Soulful Spirituality by David G. Benner, a Christian Canadian Psychologist. I have almost every one of his books, and they have enriched my life.
My list of new and open items for this week includes the following:
Revising the first 10K of my new novel. It usually takes me at least four to six days to fix 10K. I like to send her my final draft so that she understands the direction I’m moving in.
Answering emails and text messages, Daily
Finishing the last revision of my first novel.
Co-hosting the IWSG on Wednesday
Releasing my new short story. (Na-Doo has just jumped for joy, and I’m laughing. Even though she’s pretty sassy, at times, she has a big heart.)
I am ready for this Challenge to end. It has demanded more of my time than I expected. My characters are asking me if I ever will return. Especially Na-Doo, the main female character in my upcoming short story that is not yet released, keeps accusing me of forgetting her. When I told her I didn’t realize the burden the Challenge would have on her story, she advised me to think before I leap the next time, and she tapped her toes on the floor.
She is patiently waiting for the last story that will go out on Tuesday. To keep her happy, I applaud her patience every day and thank her for being so kind to me.
I am laughing. If you think that my characters are my muse, then you’re wrong. My characters are facets of me and would feel insulted if I thought of them as muses.
It’s Sunday, and my Sabbath starts at 6 pm. Typically, at this time of the morning, I am in church. However, I changed my Sabbath’s beginning and end so that I could continue participating in the Challenge and have 24 hours of rest, which I wholeheartedly admit I need.
Since I was up late last night attending a writing seminar on Using Character Emotion to Wow Reader by Becca Puglisi on Zoom, I’m dragging today. But I still have a few more things I want to accomplish before I call it quits at 5:45 pm.
Revising the first 10K of my new novel. It usually takes me at least four to six days to fix 10K. I like to send her my final draft so that she understands the direction I’m moving in.
This morning, after my contemplation, I read Nonnie Jules’ blog posting for Day 26. After reading her poem, I went to the blog posting of Shirley Harris-Slaughter and read her Day 26 posting.
Shirley’s article is entitled How Do You Say Goodbye? Her question, along with Nonnie’s poem, threw me into contemplativeness again.
John Donne and his Meditation 17 rose within me. Especially the line that says, “any man’s death diminishes me because I am involved in mankind and therefore never send to know for whom the bell toll; it tolls for thee.”
We are all a part of humanity, whether we accept that or not. No one can guarantee they will make it through the day or wake up the next morning. Yet, we treat life as something we dictate, which is sad.
How do I say goodbye is the question that Shirley asked.
I don’t have an answer to that question. Living on another continent, far away from my family and extended family, I do everything within my power to love them in the now with phone calls, text messages, video calls, and visits when I am in the USA.
I tell and show them that I love them every chance I get. Who knows if I will have the opportunity to say or show that tomorrow?
I want to know that whenever one of them leaves this world, if they go before me, and step into eternity, I will have given them the most precious gift I possess, which is to love.
Knowing I have loved them doesn’t take away the sadness or the pain, but it comforts me.
9 “As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love. 10 If you keep my commands, you will remain in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commands and remain in his love. 11 I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete. 12 My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. 13 Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”* (New International Version 2011, Zondevan, The Gospel According To John John 15:9-13)
(NONNIE JULES’ POSTING is linked to this posting, and Shirley’s article is linked. You are welcome to read both postings. The links will take you directly to their blog articles.)
My list of open items includes the following:
Revising the first 10K of my new novel. It usually takes me at least four to six days to fix 10K. I like to send her my final draft so that she understands the direction I’m moving in.
Before my morning block of time could end(usually, it ends at 11:30 a.m.), but since I am optimizing my schedule, I changed it to 11:00 a.m. I got in my beetle and was on the road by 10 a.m. I am smiling because I went to one of my favorite bakeries in our village. They are all my favorites, but each bakery has delicious tarts different from the others.
As I lay in bed looking out of my bedroom window, which is a sky window, I thought having pretzels and pastry for breakfast would be a scrumptious idea. It only took me about fifteen minutes. The pastries smelled so good. I would be big as a house if I went there every day, so I have a hard limit of twice a week to visit them.
Baking is still a work of art here. Fresh bread tastes heavenly. The cakes and pastries are not sweet and are excellently made. You can’t compare buying a cake from a real baker to a store-bought cake from Kroger. There is a difference, or maybe I have just fallen in love with the European Style of life. So, my breakfast was yummy, and I am still smiling.
Since I’ve been in my office, I’ve taken care of an invoice and conducted a telephone call with the people installing new communication cables in our village that will increase internet speed.
At one p.m. my time, I have a Zoom meeting. People on the East Coast conduct the forum, so I am very thankful for their consideration of me so that they get up early for our meetings.
After my forum, I will work on my excerpt for my developmental coach and then bring wood in from where it is sheltered into the house for the fireplace.
It is Friday, and I will enjoy a hot cup of gluhwein while I read a book or look at a movie that fascinates me and engages my mind.
My list of open items includes the following:
Revising the first 10K of my new novel. It usually takes me at least four to six days to fix 10K. I like to send her my final draft so that she understands the direction I’m moving in.
Any writer that writes to improve the human condition and bring people into relationships that respect the otherness of others will get caught on their blindside. It happens not just once but many times, and you will always be surprised or in a state of shock because it throws you outside of your perimeters. Confronted with a new situation, you must redefine your boundaries, change or not redefine them, and stunt your growth. Choosing the latter can make you sick or even become deadly.
So it was on the morning of February 24, 2022. I went downstairs with a heavy heart. After almost seventy-seven years of peace, there was war in Europe.
Disastrous news kept coming. People were fleeing. Children dying, Women and young females raped, and older people mishandled.
Caught on my blindside, I didn’t know that such barbarian behavior existed, especially in Western Culture, but it does. And I had to learn how to deal with it emotionally.
I now knew what it felt like to wake up while an airplane flew over your house and to be thankful that your home was still standing and no one was running to a bomb shelter.
I could point out other situations, but today that is not my purpose. I want to remind us that we should never take advantage of the ability to write. As writers, we are the eyes of the world regardless of whether we write poetry, fiction, or non-fiction. We are the world’s conscience, and what we say or don’t say will affect the coming generations.
So here’s my open agenda. I will write that letter as soon as I put up my post. Therefore, I have taken it off the list.
Revising the first 10K of my new novel. It usually takes me at least four to six days to fix 10K. I like to send her my final draft so that she understands the direction I’m moving in.
Today, I am working on finishing the revision of my first novel. I am very thankful I have a publisher who is patient with me. I am a hybrid author and am grateful to have found people from both spectrums of the independent/traditional publishing world who care about me. They listen to what I say, and at the same time, I listen to what they are saying. It is a two-sided coin.
It is not always easy getting me to see the tiny fragments that make up a story that might need to be clarified or come too soon for the reader. But I move further when they leave me alone to see it myself. I am smiling right now because usually, when they get to the point of living with my decision, my eyes open, and I see what they mean. This is why my editors are crucial for my writing, and I take writing classes, attend writing conferences, and meet up with other writers wherever possible.
I have said once or twice during this Challenge that no man is an island. I believe that wholeheartedly. This phrase comes from one of my favorite readings by John Donne. Most people think it is a poem, but it is a Meditation, contemplative words (here I go again with contemplation) that Donne wrote at an appropriate time in his life that fits exceptionally well in our lifetime.
“No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend’s or of thine own were: any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee.”* (taken from Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions Together with Death’s Duel by John Donne and is recorded as he originally wrote it)
I ended yesterday before my fireplace with a tasty cup of Sanddorn Tea. I wanted to show you how beautifully my fireplace burned as I daydreamed before it.
My list for this week includes the following:
Revising the first 10K of my new novel. It usually takes me at least four to six days to fix 10K. I like to send her my final draft so that she understands the direction I’m moving in.
A letter to write. I had decided to wait until after the Challenge, but my gut is telling me to do it now, which is what I will do.
Tuesdays are sometimes the most challenging days for me to get through. I express my thanks for waking up, and I clean myself up. By the time I get downstairs, I am looking forward to going into my office. But internally, I am contemplating. The things I cannot see have absorbed me, and I would like to sit and let my inner world have its way.
Depending on what is on my plate, I usually take the time to sit still and let the images form and the bits and pieces of word sentences have their way. I use contemplation not only to understand my purpose and place in this world but also to understand others.
Thus, I am slowly moving into my day because I have been contemplating. There are things to do. I have a Zoom meeting in an hour and a half and many other things that I need to plug into so that my February is more relaxed than my January.
My list for this week includes the following:
Revising the first 10K of my new novel. It usually takes me at least four to six days to fix 10K. I like to send her my final draft so that she understands the direction I’m moving in.
A letter to write. I had decided to wait until after the Challenge, but my gut is telling me to do it now, which is what I will do.
I have a still, joyful stream running through me tonight. I’m doing some things differently, and it has been a challenge. However, I love to see what I can do, or better said, see how I can overcome the limitations I sometimes place on myself.
I’ve learned that before I blame others for what I cannot do, I should try to do it. If I fail, I need to examine why I couldn’t do it, or I will never advance the way I want.
That means I can only do the things I have been gifted to do. I can’t do everything. I know I have limits. For example, I know I can’t be a medical doctor because I don’t have that gift. There are so many other things that I can’t do, and I am okay with that. I’m not in the world to copy someone else. I’m here to discover the original Pat I was born to be.
So my day was a day of learning new things that I won’t discuss here. They are my secrets. But it was a day of reaching out to others and intensively listening. If there is anything I enjoy better than writing, it is listening. I can sit and listen and observe for hours.
My list for this week includes the following:
Revising the first 10K of my new novel. It usually takes me at least four to six days to fix 10K. I like to send her my final draft so that she understands the direction I’m moving in.
A letter to write. I had decided to wait until after the Challenge, but my gut is telling me to do it now, which is what I will do.
We have just entered Day 21 of the Blogging Challenge. Each day from now on will bring us close to the finishing line.
Today, I will start my Sabbath Day at 6 p.m. I have learned that I needed to rearrange my Sabbath by competing in the Challenge. I get more out of it now, and that makes me happy. I wouldn’t have recognized that there was a better way if I hadn’t participated in the Blogging Challenge.
I am checking out all of my routines. Sometimes they can be killers of new possibilities that are better ways of doing things.
I have decided to keep my agenda planning calendar. I thought about changing to something else. But I saw that what I already have fulfills two essential functions: I write my lists in my agenda app; the days and appointments I have booked go straight to my calendar.
Finally, I will close the office at 6 p.m. and sit back to a movie and a glass (maybe two glasses) of dry Italian red wine.
Congratulations to all who are participating in the Challenge. We’ve made it to Day 21. YEAH! We Are Champions! at least, in this Blogging Challenge.
My List for the starting week:
I’m revising the first 10K of my new novel. It usually takes me at least four to six days to fix 10K. I like to send her my final draft so that she understands the direction I’m moving in.
I have a letter to write. I had decided to wait until after the Challenge, but my gut is telling me to do it now, which is what I will do.
I discovered some time ago that people who change history are not fearless. They are fearful, but they go ahead and move in the direction of their dreams anyway.
They give me the courage to walk the truths I have discovered and do it afraid.
That is why I admire artists like Van Gogh, Rembrandt, and Henri Matisse. Or writers like Charles Dickens, Charlotte and Emily Bronte, Georgette Heyers, Phillis Wheatley, Sarah E, Farro, and Lorraine Hansberry, who made her mark by becoming the first African American to have a play performed on broadway.
Many of these artists have made an imprint on my life; some sit around my invisible mentor’s table. Some received very little recognition, and some died impoverished.
I am still determining where I will end up, but I will keep moving forward until time as we know it is no more.
So, that’s my takeaway for today. If you have a dream deep down inside you, a desire that you think will benefit others and yourself, and you fear what others will think, let it bother you if you want, but don’t stop being what you were destined to be. You’ll only see change once you learn to do it, afraid.
My list for the week
I’m revising the first 10K of my new novel. It usually takes me at least four to six days to fix 10K. I like to send her what I call my final draft so that she understands the direction I’m moving in.
I have a letter to write. I had decided to wait until after the Challenge, but my gut is telling me to do it now, which is what I will do.
Living your life fully doesn’t mean being busy. There are many busy people, but if you look at their faces, they are miserable. Their eyes aren’t glowing. Happiness has eluded them. If you get the chance, look into their eyes, that is, if they will let you.
Busyness disrupts the soul and the spirituality of any person. It breaks the contact with the heart, and we disconnect from our core selves. That’s my belief.
So as I started out with the A DAY IN MY LIFE…SUBTITLE: SNIPPETS OF ME CHALLENGE, I wanted to measure my soulful spirituality to see if I was just being busy to be busy or if I was still on my journey, seeking to evolve into all that I am supposed to be on my journey.
I’m not going to tell you what I have found out, but I will say that I like who I am and who I am becoming.
Being and Becoming are separate processes that continually grow until you are dead. When you have totally become, you are no longer here.
Life is a journey that leads you to be fully alive (I’ve used the word ‘alive’ here to better define ‘Being’); fully becoming and what holds these two concepts together is LOVE. You can’t choose to be or to become as a single element without the other. If you’re all about being, your egocentricity stands out, and you walk over people. Living only a becoming life makes you otherworldly; your head is in the clouds, and you’re ignoring people.
Only through living a fully alive, fully becoming life do we find our significance and are thereby prepared in our hearts to reach out to others.
Jan Masuhr on Guitar, Pat Garcia, Soloist
Reach out and touch Somebody’s hand Make this world a better place, if you can.
Take a little time out your busy day To give encouragement To someone who’s lost the way Or would I be talking to a stone If I asked you To share a problem that’s not your own
We can change things if we start giving Why don’t you Reach out and touch Somebody’s hand Make this world a better place If you can.
If you see an old friend on the street And he’s down Remember, his shoes could fit your feet Try a little kindness, and you’ll see It’s something that comes Very naturally.
We can change things if we start giving Why don’t you Reach out and touch Somebody’s hand Make this world a better place If you can.
*Lyrics are taken from Nickolas Ashford and Valerie Simpson; Initially sung by Diana Ross.
Now, the way I’ve said this might not be grammatically correct, but it’s my belief, and it springs from my heart.
My List is getting smaller.
I’m revising the first 10K of my new novel. It usually takes me at least four to six days to fix 10K. I like to send her what I call my final draft so that she understands the direction I’m moving in.
I have a letter to write. I had decided to wait until after the Challenge, but my gut is telling me to do it now, which is what I will do.
Answering emails and text messages, Daily
Attend my writing classes and do my homework,
Catch up on blogs (I caught up on visiting all the blogs, Yeah, Yeah, YEAH!)
Send one of my stories to the person who will do the critique I won for winning the WEP.
RWF Board Meeting via Zoom (Completed. There’s a story behind my being on the board. I’ll tell it before the Challenge is over.)
This morning, I woke up to rain mixed with snow. However, it stopped. As I came off my first break, I looked out the window in my office; the sun was peeking through, and tiny snowflakes were coming down from the sky. I hope it doesn’t stay.
I have been catching up on my comments. I don’t like being behind, but my accounting for the writing group I belong to had to be done. I have about three or four more blogs to comment on, so if you have yet to see a comment from me, you will. I have been taking each person and commenting on their outstanding blog posts before I move on to comment on another writer’s blog.
After my zoom board meeting, I will do my best to finish the others.
So far, I have enjoyed reading all of the posts. Whenever I go to a new blog, I am reminded of how different we are.
Thanks to all of you who have visited my blog posts so far. I appreciate it greatly.
In closing, my Knitting Group at the Post Office was joyful. My ladies were very comical yesterday. I’ve not laughed so hard in a long time.
My list for this week is below.
I’m revising the first 10K of my new novel. It usually takes me at least four to six days to fix 10K. I like to send her what I call my final draft so that she understands the direction I’m moving in.
I have a letter to write. I had decided to wait until after the Challenge, but my gut is telling me to do it now, which is what I will do.
Answering emails and text messages, Daily
Attend my writing classes and do my homework,
Catch up on blog comments,
Send one of my stories to the person who will do the critique I won for winning the WEP.
I finished my yearly treasury reports for 2022 and am relieved and happy today. Our board meeting is tomorrow via Zoom. I usually have them complete and sent out by the first week of the month, but adjusting to the Challenge has caused me to slow down and readjust to the pressure, and some of my typical responsibilities are behind.
I’m not a person who has nothing to do. I have already made people I want to work with this year aware of my new plans for 2023. I take my time and succeed most of the time.
For example, in this year’s second half, I plan to go back on stage and do five or seven concerts with my band. For a woman like me, five or seven gigs are a lot.
We will start rehearsals sometime in June and then take the autumn months to be on the road on the weekends. I look forward to it. When I sing, I connect with my audience; these are the times that I am pleased that I am fluent in German.
My audiences are a mix of all cultures, and because they live here, they speak German. If I want to connect with them, I must communicate in their language. That’s one of the things I learned from the German Professor who was so strict with me. I have seen too many Americans fail to connect in Europe because they refused to learn the language of the country where they live.
I am blessed to be able to travel to Italy, France, and the french speaking parts of Belgium and communicate, even though my French and Italian could be better.
I will take a break in a few minutes and will close now.
I have an hour of knitting today with my little old ladies. One of them has already texted me on WhatsApp and asked if I would come. I quickly arranged my calendar for today, so I could be with them for an hour. I so look forward to being there.
The open items from my list for this week to include new items are below.
I’m revising the first 10K of my new novel. It usually takes me at least four to six days to fix 10K. I like to send her what I call my final draft so that she understands the direction I’m moving in.
I have a letter to write. I had decided to wait until after the Challenge, but my gut is telling me to do it now, which is what I will do.
Answering emails and text messages, Daily
Attend my writing classes and do my homework,
Catch up on blog comments,
Knitting Group at the Post Office
Send one of my stories to the person who will do the critique I won for winning the WEP.
DAY 16, JANUARY 17, 2023, Housecleaning and Writing
As a writer, I measure my writing time like sand flowing through an hourglass. The phrase, like sand flowing through an hourglass, comes from the soap opera Days Of Our Lives, which premiered on television on November 8, 1965. I watched that show religiously until…, but that’s another story.
Let’s get back to housecleaning. I used to feel guilty because my house was not spic and span, with everything in order and windows so clean that you could see into your neighbor’s living room.
Then, a few years ago, I took an intensive writing class similar to this Challenge. The instructor came into our online course the day before it started and left a suggestion report that she said was essential that we read before we got started. In that three-page report, she advised us that if we were planning on sticking with her class until the ending date, we would have to decide if we would be actual writers or live in a spic and span house and not give all our attention to writing. She went on and then told us how she managed housecleaning and writing. Her central premise was that you’re not superwoman, and you’re not supposed to be that, so figure out your budget and find someone you trust to help you keep your house clean once a week or once every two weeks. It’s up to you.
I would have never thought about hiring someone to keep my house clean because my pride demanded that I do everything. I quickly realized that I had a problem with pride, which stemmed from my overrated view of myself. Once I dealt with that hideous woman hiding behind the superwoman cloak and got help, guilt concerning my house became a thing of the past.
Since then, I’ve had someone who comes in twice a month and cleans. The only exception was during COVID. I’m now looking at an agency that can fulfill my need for help twice a month since the trustworthy lady I had, stopped working. If that agency meets my conditions, I’ll be smiling.
My list to complete this week:
I’m revising the first 10K of my new novel. It usually takes me at least four to six days to fix 10K. I like to send her what I call my final draft so that she understands the direction I’m moving in.
I have a letter to write. I had decided to wait until after the Challenge, but my gut is telling me to do it now, which is what I will do.
Answering emails and text messages, Daily
Attend my writing classes and do my homework,
Catch up on blog comments,
Do the accounting books for the Romantic Women Fiction Chapter of the RWA.
Drove to Aschaffenburg to pick up my prescription. (completed this morning)
Took my dirty clothes to my washroom to be washed. (completed this morning)
I let myself slip slowly into Mondays. I didn’t think I could do that by participating in this Challenge. This morning, I discovered that I’m adjusting. Falling into the week by starting slow on Mondays is still there for me and I’m smiling.
I prefer to avoid being hectic or rushing, especially on Mondays. So, I’ve meditated, had breakfast, read the preface and first chapter of a new book, and taken a forty minutes nap before I came to my office. I admit that I avoid people who start their week with hectic and a million demands they must do immediately.
I’ve learned that avoiding such people prevents me from having headaches and stomach ulcers. Was I always this way? Definitely not! It took searching within myself as I read books that gave me the strength to change. That’s why I like good non-fiction books. They cause you to do a soul check on yourself.
My list for this week will grow. There are items that I still need to add. So, I’m starting with what I have.
I’m revising the first 10K of my new novel. It usually takes me at least four to six days to fix 10K. I like to send her what I call my final draft so that she understands the direction I’m moving in.
I have a letter to write. I had decided to wait until after the Challenge, but my gut is telling me to do it now, which is what I will do.
Answering emails and text messages, Daily
Attend my writing classes and do my homework,
Catch up on blog comments,
Do the accounting books for the Romantic Women Fiction Chapter of the RWA.
My day has been full of joy. I like my Sabbath Sunday because it gives me time to retrospect on who I am becoming. That has nothing to do with vanity but a desire to be authentic with me. If I refuse to face my vulnerabilities, I become a falsity and would tumble at first sight of a storm. Like the man who built his house on sand, when the rain came, his house collapsed, so is it by anyone who refuses to face their true selves.
Thus, I started my Sunday off with my church family, and afterward, I had coffee in our cafe and sat and listened to the people around me. I also made it a point to greet new people attending our church for the first time.
Today was special. One of my besties had a birthday last week, and I took her out to dinner after we left the church. We are both extremely busy women. She is a city councilwoman/tax consultant, and I am a writer. To say that we enjoyed our time together is an understatement. We took the time to be authentic with each other. Here are two pictures of us at the restaurant The East.
I have a letter to write. I had decided to wait until after the Challenge, but my gut is telling me to do it now, which is what I will do.
Answering emails and text messages, Daily
Attend my writing classes and do my homework,
Catch up on blog comments,
Do the accounting books for the Romantic Women Fiction Chapter of the RWA.
I wouldn’t say I like cold weather. Neither does the liquid sunshine that regularly falls here in my part of the country please me, and let me not wake up in the winter and see beautiful dandruff covering my windows.
Dandruff, the snowflakes relaxing on window, vex me, especially. That was until I learned how to Alpine Ski in Austria. If someone had told me that I would have fallen in love with the sport after the first week of a ski trip, I would have said, “you’re crazy.”
I looked to see if I still had my photo with me in my yellow ski suit. Unfortunately, I don’t. My office flooded twice in one year a few years ago, and some of my pictures did not outlive the flood.
I stopped skiing after my husband, and some of our friends went skiing on a very high mountain, and Hans, my husband, returned with six broken ribs. They had wanted me to come with them and give the mountain a try. But I said no because I knew my skills were not advanced enough to go down those slopes. Like I said before in one of my posts, I’ve learned to choose my battles regardless of what kind of battles they may be.
People get insulted and speak words that will hurt you when you do that, but I stick to what I’ve said. Thus, I’m thankful I always have takeaways from my past mistakes.
After his accident, Hans didn’t want to ski anymore. I found that out the following year when planning our ski trip.
Still, I’m not too fond of snow, but I have a heart for those in Europe who look forward to skiing.
It has been a long morning for me. After my routine, I have already completed two new items I have put on my list.
Therefore, my list for today is as follows:
I am revising the first 10K of my new novel. It usually takes me at least four to six days to fix 10K. I like to send her what I call my final draft so that she understands the direction I’m moving in.
I have a letter to write. I had decided to wait until after the Challenge, but my gut is telling me to do it now, which is what I will do.
Answering emails and text messages, Daily
Attend my writing classes and do my homework,
Updated Microsoft Word and Microsoft Excel on my Mac. (Completed)
Schedule a Zoom meeting for later. (Completed)
Do the accounting books for the Romantic Women Fiction Chapter of the RWA.
Let’s go back and examine a pivotal point in my life.
After being academically expelled from my university, I discovered that my area’s African American community had counted on me to make a difference for their boys and girls. In other words, they were pointing at me, encouraging them to do what I was supposed to be doing.
My mom and dad were greatly disappointed, and I sank into a deep hole of desolation. I found out that skipping classes to play cards and not concentrating on what I knew I could do, brought unnecessary pain to others and myself. I got a job working for Gracewood State School and Hospital for the mentally ill. There, I slowly found my way back to God by doing things God’s way and not my own.
A year later, I was back at the university. In the very first quarter, after returning, I started making the Dean’s List, which is a recognition of those students who maintain an A average throughout the quarter. You might wonder what happened.
I discovered the speeches of the former coach of the Green Bay Packers, Vincent Lombardi, a Christian that lived what he preached on the field with his team and off the field with his family.
One of his quotes kicked me hard in my gut, and I changed it so that it would fit me, and I practically learned it by memory. Here is his quote that I altered to fit myself.
In order to succeed, I will need a singleness of purpose, a dedication, and I will have to convince all of the people I encounter that can help me along the way of my willingness to sacrifice.
With that quote buried in my heart, I was always on Dean’s list during my last two years of college. And I have lived to see some kids who know me make a difference in their lives.
I am still working on my list. The two most significant projects I plan to complete between today and Monday.
My Continuing List consists of the following:
I am revising the first 10K of my new novel. It usually takes me at least four to six days to fix 10K. I like to send her what I call my final draft so that she understands the direction I’m moving in.
I have a letter to write. I had decided to wait until after the Challenge, but my gut is telling me to do it now, which is what I will do.
Answering emails and text messages, Daily
Attend my writing classes and do my homework,
Go to the bakery (Completed this morning before I went to my office.)
Pick up fresh fruits (Completed this morning)
Do the accounting books for the Romantic Women Fiction Chapter of the RWA.
My morning started with bangs! I woke up to rain. While dressing, I heard the waste disposal workers picking up the yellow bags we use to dispose of our plastic trash. They come once every two weeks and usually come around eight a.m. The fact that they arrived early had a consequence for me. I packed my bag the evening before but decided to wash my dishes before taking my yellow bag out to the sidewalk to be picked up. I decided to do it when I went downstairs in the early morning. Well, surprise! the workers came early, and now I have to store my plastic trash bag away and wait for the next pick-up in two weeks.
It was still very dark when I went downstairs, but I could see a tiny bit of light breaking through clouds. One of my high points is watching the daylight peek into full daybreak. I can feel the earth turning.
An hour later, I reached into my fridge for the butter that sat on one of my favorite glass dishes I keep in the refrigerator to use whenever I need to store something. Pang!!! It went as it fell to the floor. Broken glass and splitters everywhere. I said thank you that it didn’t fall on my feet, and I got my broom to sweep up the chaos.
I got my coffee, ate breakfast, and read three chapters of an audiobook I am reading. I read non-fiction when I have breakfast. It is incredible to me how writers of non-fiction catch my mind and bring me into their world. Like being in a classroom, I absorb what they are saying and learn much.
Now I’m sitting at my Mac, and I’m chuckling. I look forward to the rest of my day. Do you remember me mentioning that my hairdresser was ill and had to postpone my appointment? It was on my to-do list from the first week of the Challenge. Yesterday, I got a WhatsApp message that I could come today. So, where will I be in the afternoon? I will be spoiling myself, YEAH!
Congratulations to all of you participating in the Challenge, A DAY IN MY LIFE! We made the ten-day mark yesterday. HURRAH!!! I’m cheering for us all to make it to the finish line. Here’s my certificate. I know you received yours.
I’m going to follow Ms. Nonnie’s leading, the woman responsible for this Challenge, and close with one of my favorite quotes on my whiteboard, right next to my desk, by one of my mentors, Vincent Lombardi, who passed away some years ago.
THE DESIRE FOR THE REWARD OVERWHELMS THE HUMAN INSTINCT TO QUIT AND COMPROMISE, TO TAKE THE SAFE ROUTE.
It was raining when I woke up this morning. The clouds were in a cluster formation but were darker than they usually are.
After going through my morning routine, I came downstairs to make coffee.
Today is my knitting day. Yes, I have been learning how to knit for four years, and I do mean learning. I discovered a knitting group in the post office right in my village that consists of little old ladies that knit like professionals. I asked if a beginner who knew nothing about knitting could join them and learn, and they welcomed me. Since then, it has taken me over four years to learn how to knit beanies and two scarves. I also started on a pair of socks four years ago, but socks are way over my head. You knit socks with four needles, and I have my problems with two needles. So one-fourth of a knitted sock is still in my knitting basket.
What I like about these women is that they know I am a writer, and sometimes I can’t attend because of things that come up; yet, I’m a welcome part of the group and feel at home.
None of them speak English, so I had to learn how to knit in German. Sure, I make mistakes, but I have learned to take the stitches out and start back over. The ladies I knit with insist that I know how to knit correctly.
I had planned to start on a sweater this month. I have the material already, and you can believe me when I say the ladies’ eyes are sparkling because they look forward to passing on what they know to me. Unfortunately, I had to postpone it this morning until February.
They’re a highly talented group of ladies who knit, crochet, and make all kinds of puppets and curiosities that you have to buy in stores for a lot of money.
I have completed some items on my list, and removed them, and included my knitting group.
Revise the first 10K of my new novel. It usually takes me at least four to six days to revise 10K. I like to send her what I call my final draft so that she understands the direction I’m moving in.
I have a letter to write. I had decided to wait until after the Challenge, but my gut is telling me to do it now, which is what I will do.
Answering emails and text messages, Daily
Attend my writing classes and do my homework,
Do the accounting books for the Romantic Women Fiction Chapter of the RWA,
Visit each blog in the Days 8 and 9 Challenge of A DAY IN MY LIFE.
I do my best not to get involved in other peoples’ affairs. If I do, I find myself going down a dark rabbit hole that is mostly not good. That doesn’t mean that I close my eyes to the world, but I choose very carefully the battles I want to fight, even though I may feel justified to say something, especially when someone treats me unjustly. I have learned and am still learning how to talk it out with the Silent Guide that walks beside me.
Thus, by not saying anything, I have saved myself lots of energy that I can invest into people that give me much joy. I confess this was a hard lesson to learn.
Yesterday, I listed the things I want to accomplish this week. My list is ongoing. It isn’t written in stone because new things come up each day when I wake up and open myself to the still inner voice within me, like two of my besties’ birthdays and a lovely Sanddorn tea and a Holunder tea that I picked up before going to my office. Drinking a hot cup of one of those teas makes my day when I take a break. So my list has grown.
This week, I will do the following:
Revise the first 10K of my new novel. It usually takes me at least four to six days to revise 10K. I like to send her what I call my final draft so that she understands the direction I’m moving in.
I have a letter to write. I had decided to wait until after the Challenge, but my gut is telling me to do it now, which is what I will do.
Answering emails and text messages, Daily
Attend my writing classes and do my homework,
Go to the bakery,
Pick up fresh fruits,
Do the accounting books for the Romantic Women Fiction Chapter of the RWA,
Visit each blog in the Day 8 Challenge of A DAY IN MY LIFE.
I woke up this morning to baby birds chirping outside my skylight window, and I sat on the side of my bed and listened to them. Smiling, I thanked God for the ability to hear such sounds early in the morning.
The first week of the year has never ended. Although, in my mind, I know it has. I’m missing my Sunday off.
My week is full, and I have already started making decisions that will determine my outcome at the end of the week. I learned this when I read The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People and First Things First by Stephen Covey, an author who wrote many planning books. I have read both books several times, and based on what I have read, I developed the organization of my life according to what I consider essential.
So I will look in my journal, assess what I didn’t do, and make a note, not about a new time to do it but a note about why I didn’t do it. That’s important for me. It could be that it was not the right time to do it or to say something because it would have come across as heartless. I make mistakes when I react to situations too quickly. I am not infallible. I thank God that I am not perfect or even semi-perfect. I am VULNERABLE because I want to relate to people and not be found self-righteous.
This week, I will do the following:
Revise the first 10K of my new novel. It usually takes me at least four to six days to revise 10K. I like to send her what I call my final draft so that she understands the direction I’m moving in.
I have a letter to write. I had decided to wait until after the Challenge, but my gut is telling me to do it now, which is what I will do.
Get in touch with the person who donated the prize I won for my WEP win.
Answering emails and text messages,
Attend my writing classes and do my homework,
Go to the bakery,
Pick up fresh fruits,
Do the accounting books for the Romantic Women Fiction Chapter of the RWA,
Today is the Sabbath. However, I have learned from the Spirit that lives within me that I am the Lord of the Sabbath.
That the Sabbath doesn’t keep me from keeping my word or prohibit me from doing good is something I processed some time ago. But processes won at one point in life come back to be modified and strengthened at another level.
Thus, I am sitting at my computer typing out an article. The fact that I’d rather be in my home instead of downstairs in my office was quite evident by how I entered it. It was a struggle, a challenge to a rule I had established that had to be re-examined.
I searched for rigidity. Sure, I have routines that are precious to me, but (and here is the crux of the matter) I don’t want these routines to rule me. I am the Lord over them and not them over me.
My list for today is short:
To read the blog posts from Day 6. I read the posts the day after. I am in Europe, and there is a time difference between us, depending on where you live in the USA and Canada. For some, it could be eight or nine hours. So far, I have commented on every blog where I can post. If I could not post, I have started leaving the comment in the Members’ Chat. If you see that I have tweeted your post and you don’t see a comment from me, something needs to be fixed because I only tweet your post if I have read it and left a comment. So, please let me know if you need one in the members’ chat box.
When I have completed task number one, I will go into my much loved Sabbath and enjoy it.
It is 1:17 in the afternoon, and I’m satisfied with my morning. Groceries are in the house, water too, wood is in the wood carrier, and I even managed to get by the two pharmacies and pick up my vitamins.
This year I’m on a new level and must reestablish my routine. Some things and people may have to go. Not because I don’t like them but because I’ve taken a turn in the bend, and we are no longer walking on the same path.
Everything must change; nothing remains the same. That’s a song by Nina Simone, and it is one of my favorites.
When I finished my three-year contract with the United States Army, I took a European out and decided to stay in Europe, specifically Germany. I realized I learned only about the PX and the commissaries in the different locations in Germany where the Americans lived. I wanted to know more, so I decided to get a job here. I had a Bachelor’s degree with a major and a double minor and was completing my Master’s degree and thought I could get a job with the Americans. But that was not so. My status had changed; according to NATO (North American Treaty Organization), I was a tourist traveling in the country. After four months of hearing, “Yes, we would love to hire you, but…” I knew I had to decide: either learn German and get a job in the German economy or go back to America. I made the decision and decided to stay, and that is when doors started opening. German is a complex language, but I learned it thoroughly because of a German Professor that hung over my shoulders.
I used to think the man hated me. I had all kinds of excuses for him treating me as he did; the first one was that I was Black. We had to read two weekly newspapers, in German, of course. And each week, he would single me first. He always spoke to the class in German, and we had to answer him in German. He was also an ex-soldier in the German army, and I hated that man. I had five German courses, and he was my instructor in each class. It was him against me and me against him. I tried to drop out of my fifth German course because I saw him sitting at the instructor’s desk when I walked into the class on the first evening.
I told myself, “I’m not going through this a fifth time.” I waited until our evening class ended and told him I would be dropping his course. He said, “No, you’re not. I won’t approve it.” I remember shaking my head as I asked him why. He looked at me as if he were looking through me and told me, “Pat, you are a black American woman living in a country that will be hostile toward you. I have seen this happen to other females from other countries, and they are lost. That’s why they don’t go anywhere alone. They move around in groups. I am hard on you because I want to see you go anywhere you want to go and read everything, whether it’s government policies or whatever, so that you comprehend the system and move forward. I have nothing against you being a black woman. I’m proud to be able to help you. I want you to excel; to excel means comprehending the language of the country where you live.”
This man, whom I hated, I learned to love because of his strictness. He took me under his arms, and I learned to write, speak, and read German fluently, and I am thankful.
The rest of my day:
Two Zoom meetings – one at three pm and one at six pm
I will eat something between those two meetings.
The grocery store I went to had alcohol-free champagne. I love to pour it over frozen fruit and sit back and watch the fire.
I ended my day well yesterday. I’m always happy when I can break a mold of rigidity that has secretly formed in my life and is unknowingly keeping me from who I am. Vulnerability is a trait I desire. It is not something you acquire only once because it consists of different processes. Once you open yourself to vulnerability, you have committed to change whenever you feel stagnation in your routine.
I smiled as I looked at my list of things to do this morning. I have two more important things to do, and I put them at the top of my list.
Get in touch with the person who donated the prize I won for my WEP win.
Do my grocery shopping and go to the bakery.
I’ve changed my journal back to DAY One, and I want to transfer my journal notes from Evernote to DAY One.
Bring in enough wood that will last me until Tuesday for my fireplace.
I’ve already communicated with my developmental coach and will send her the first 10K for the second novel in my series. She is a godsend because I get wild in my writing. I first met her in a class. She was instructing a writing class on Deep Point of View. My first assignment was one I’ll always remember. Oh, did I come away with hurt feelings and pained feet. She had stepped on my toes, but I forced myself to stay in the class. Little did I know that this woman would become a dear friend. Nor did I know then that she was responding to me from a bank as I stood in the middle of a river trying to find my true self in my writing. I see it now, but I didn’t see it then. She was standing there saying let me help you get to where you want to go with your writing. She’s a tough person but has a big heart, and as I look back, I’m thankful I stayed in her class. Thus, today, I’m going to pop two or three bowls of popcorn and continue writing the first draft of my second novel.
Close my day out with some gooseberries and a glass (maybe even two glasses) of dry, red wine from Southern Italy, and look at my fire as my mind roam freely, putting this past week in containers so I can close up shop Saturday evening.
One or two people (possibly more) have asked me questions. I noticed them on my blog but have yet to respond, but I will. I started the week running down the soccer field like a soccer player. It has been a long hard week because the first Wednesday of every month is my blogging cycle for my support group. We have about 140 bloggers that participate, and each member posts a blog article about how they’re doing in the writing world, and we encourage and help where we can. I have been in this group for over ten years. I started at number 179 or 180 on the list. Yesterday, I found out I’d moved up to number 49. The rules are simple. You have to post. If you miss two months of publishing an article, you’re deleted from the group, and the writers move up a step. I have only missed one month of posting in the group, and that was when my husband died. The group leader and the group itself overwhelmed me with love.
Thus, I am juggling a ball between the Challenge and maintaining my commitment to my support group. They depend on me to be there.
I awoke this morning, lay a few minutes longer enjoying my warm bed, and daydreamed. I love my bed. When I crawl between the downy feathered comforter, it doesn’t take me long to fall asleep.
While lying, my list floated across my mind, and I remembered that my grocery shopping and bakery still needed to be done, and I had only one egg in the house. That’s typical of me. If I am working, I don’t usually stop to go grocery shopping. Eating is the last thing on my mind. So it is common for me to have nothing in the house to eat. I cook enough three times a week to eat leftovers the next day after each day of cooking. On Sundays, my best friend and I usually go out to eat. So, I got up, washed up, went to REWE, and bought enough food for breakfast until I cross those two items off my list Saturday.
I’m going to end the article now. I need the time for other things. I visited about 12 or 15 support blogs yesterday, but I usually visit at least 25 blogs, and these people are expecting me.
And I want to visit the blogs of the writers from yesterday who participated in the Challenge.
My list of things to do today includes the following:
Taking the time to daydream and take a nap,
Answering emails and text messages, and,
Sitting before my fireplace.
Maybe, I’ll play my piano, but I’m not sure. I’m working on some blues songs, and I like the discord that I’ve put in the songs, and I need to let this dissonance settle in my gut.
My life flows like a river; that, I believe. I had the privilege of reading a book by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi entitled Flow when I attended university. This book has influenced my life ever since. He talks about discovering your flow and how time flies when you move in flow. I began using myself as a trial specimen to determine if his observations were accurate. I am happy to say that they are. I watch the river within me every day, searching for my flow.
I don’t make a year’s plan because I don’t follow them. A month’s plan takes me out of my flow, and believe me when I say there are a lot of events, people, groups, and things that try to distract me. I usually write down a series of things I plan to do during the week, where I can add stuff as I will and put a line through things I have accomplished.
What does this have to do with today?
Well, I had an appointment today with the hairdresser. My hair has been screaming that it needed a hair treatment. My hairdresser is a German woman whom I met four years ago. She was going through a difficult time when I met her. We were in a group in the church study we attended. I felt her desperation and couldn’t ignore it, so I reached out to her. A year later, I chose her to be my hairdresser because I want her to discover the same peace I have and how to protect it by being true to herself.
This morning, after I entered my office, I received a text that she had to postpone the appointment because she had the flu and didn’t want to pass it on to me. I wrote back immediately, letting her know it was no problem. I didn’t mention my hair, but I wrote a prayer for her in the text message and wrote that she should drink thyme tea and peppermint tea and eat tomato soup or chicken noodle soup.
Afterward, I didn’t regret not being able to go to her. Not because she was sick but because I saw clearly that my schedule had been arranged differently than what I had planned, and as I started moving in the way that had opened, I began moving in my flow, and time began to fly.
So today, one of the two groups I have been with for ten years or more has our blogging day. I enjoy this group because they are so different from me, and almost ninety-five percent of the participants are not Romance Novelists. I learned so much by visiting their blogs and leaving comments.
I plan to visit the blogs for the Challenge, leave comments wherever I can, and send out tweets too.
This morning, I awoke. Around 6:30 a.m. I looked at the sky and noticed it was getting brighter. It was no longer the same dark tone hanging over my village, and I said thank you. The days are getting longer second by second, minute by minute, hour by hour.
As it was getting closer to me moving more into my day, my telephone rang at 11:00. I hadn’t reached my cut-off time of 11:30 a.m. so I didn’t answer my phone. I suspected twenty minutes after my phone had rung that it was someone who knew my habits and knew that I would return her call.
I did. This person lost her best friend two weeks before Christmas and needed to talk. Over a year, she has lost her two besties. The first died in 2021; now, her second best friend has left her. I listened. It’s hard to cut someone off when they need something I can give. Even though I am protective of my time, I willingly give it when someone needs help.
This morning has been stressful. Since I have been in my office, I have lost my internet connection four times on my computer and three times upstairs while listening to my ebook during breakfast. In other words, interference is taking place. Most of the time, we get a note written on our screen that the internet connections are unstable. That our Communication Networks have not been stable since May of 2021 bothers me. It used to upset me so much more until I learned how to flow with it.
I’m learning to be more appreciative of all those computer and internet specialists that are walking on this earth.
By the way, the sun is shining here, and I mean brightly shining. It is soooo good to see the sun. We have had some freezing days in Germany. If someone had told me that I would learn to shower and get dressed in a cold bathroom, I would have said no way. But I’ve learned, and it has made me wiser about myself.
I have a lot to do today.
a. Prepare for two writing classes I am taking,
b. Begin a new short story that will complete one I have already written but have yet to be published,
c. Finish up my novel,
d. Answer emails and text messages,
e. Go to the bakery and
f. Write in my diary.
It will probably be 11 p.m. when I have finished, and then I will be ready to crawl into my bed and sleep. So, until tomorrow, I say thank you and good morning or good night in whatever part of the world you’re in.
A DAY IN MY LIFE…
SNIPPETS OF ME By Pat Garcia,
2023 #RRBC 30-Day blogging Challenge
JANUARY 2, 2023
I don’t usually blog about my life. It’s too personal, so I’ve added a subtitle, Snippets of Me, to give you some idea of who I am. As I said on the first page of this website, I’m still discovering myself, and therefore find it presumptuous to talk about who I am when I am unsure.
My day usually starts at 5:30 in the morning. Normally, I’m awake at 5 a.m. and sometimes earlier when I receive parts of a story and start writing at 1 or 2 a.m.
However, sometimes I struggle with unexpected circumstances like crises in the world, and my mind gets bogged. Like a roadblock, these situations hinder me. I start getting up later and have to fight my way back to my routine.
I write and read every single day except Sundays. I have belonged to two organizations since 2012 and 2014, respectively, and I blog with one group once a month and with the other once every two months. That’s enough blogging for me.
For me, it is crucial to start my day off in quietness. I don’t run to WhatsApp, Messenger, or my emails. I answer my phone at 11:30 a.m. Out of respect, I look at my WordPress app to see if a visitor has left a comment on one of my blogs and approve it. But I draw the line after doing that.
JANIE B WINS FIRST EVER MICRO READ CONTEST HELD BY RAVE REVIEWS BOOK CLUB
Hello, Everyone,
This has been a tough year for me. Writers are often affected by what is going on around them. As a writer and an Expatriate living in Europe, the war in Ukraine affected me greatly. Then, the floods came in Ahrtal, and I was devastated by what happened to many Germans. It was heartbreaking. Along with COVID, which had become a household word since 2020, I watched crisis after crisis, sometimes lamed my ability to get words on paper. Yet the creative spirit within me wanted to write, and I kept writing, regardless of the hour. So, I thank you for buying my books and reading what I write. Some of you have left reviews on Amazon and, since November 10th, on other online bookstores where JANIE B is profiled. Your support is much appreciated. Most of all, I praise God, who shows his faithfulness to me as a person He has called to be a writer/author. Without His Spirit, the things that have been accomplished in 2022 would not have happened
So, take care, and I wish all of you a safe crossover into 2023. I personally hope to see you there.
Still, looking for an engaging book for a friend or family member? Please drop into the 2022 RRBC BOOKS &BUDZ HOLIDAY POP-UP BOOKSHOP and check out some of the books for their authors.
Check out FIGS, VINES, and ROSES by Joy M. Lilley, or start reading the Carl Prescott series by Karl J. Morgan.
Or you would like a meaningful story that will teach young people to be careful with the people they trust. In that case, check out Yvette Calleiro and her book, Hype.
What about a book that lifts you or gives you a swift kick to keep going? Check out UNTITLED BY NONNIE JULES.
I hear someone saying they would like to read a good Memoir. Then you’re in the right place, Shirley Harris Slaughter’s new release JOYCE WINIFRED HARRIS BURKES: HOW I REMEMBER MY MAMA or Marian Beamen’s MENNONITE DAUGHTER.
And there are more, Lisa Kirazian, Maura Beth Brennen, Karen Black, John Podlaski, Linnea Tanner, Wanda Fisher, Bette A Stevens, Susanne Leist, Phil Stephens, Patty Perrin, Harriet Hodgson, Gregory Doering, Pamela Schloesser Canepa, and Pat Garcia.
There is a book at this excellent Holiday Pop-UP Bookshop for everyone, and the only thing you have to do is pull up your internet and drop in at 5th ANNUAL HOLIDAY POP-UP.
When you buy a book, remember to mention that you found out about this beautiful Holiday Pop-Up Bookshop on Pat Garcia’s blog posting. Even I might win a prize.
GIVEAWAYS: (3) $10 Amazon gift cardsPlease leave Linda a comment below or anywhere along the tour, for your chance to win one of her awesome giveaways!
BOOK BLURB
What would you do if you were the daughter of a cult hero who boasted a past life full of exciting, colorful exploits? Suppose the thing that made your mother a cult hero was also inside you. Now, imagine spending your whole life trying to hide it—until you shared the heart stopping death of someone close to you. Supposed that death brought you face to face with the gift of the neon houses.
New Chicago and its neighboring town, The Southland, are vastly different worlds in circa 2087, but Dr. Noel Kennedy is an expert at navigating both worlds. As the Deputy Chief of Schools in The Southland, Noel has perfected being a solid, middle-class citizen. Not even her husband, Fredrick Kennedy, truly understands what she is.
When Zarah Fisher, Noel’s young protégé, is murdered on a deserted street in The Southland, Noel knows the exact moment Zarah takes her last breath. Though miles away, Noel feels the girl’s terror, and hears her anguished screams inside her own head because of an inheritance that has left her with extraordinary gifts.
Can Noel find justice for Zarah without risking it all? Murder, mayhem, and suspense abound in this action-packed page-turner. More than a mystery, The Neon Houses thrills the reader with scenes of a futuristic 2087. Autoplanes, body planes, and flying buses are the norm. Robots and androids cook, clean, and serve the affluent, while dystopia lurks just around the corner.
How My Bad Guy Stole the Show
Beta-readers wanted more of my bad guy. These crazy people even suggested that my heroine fall for him in a sick triangle where he’d take her away from her husband. I had to explain romance formula rules. The heroine always, always remains faithful.
I couldn’t have him be more popular than my heroine’s beloved. So, I purposely made the bad guy unattractive. I gave him a large forehead that protruded well over his cosmetically changed, blue eyes—eyes that appeared almost neon against his dark skin color. Even his muscled physique was medically enhanced by body sculpting and not actually working out. Despite that, they loved him.
How did I make him so popular
Before the readers even met him, I had other characters talk about him, setting the stage with ominous anticipation of what he’d be. Characters described him as obnoxious, but not forthright. They neither sympathized nor admired him. He was a heartless, manipulative guy who always acted in his best interest.
I gave him conflicting character traits. He wasn’t honest, but he wasn’t dishonest. He wasn’t murderous, yet he’d kill when he had to or was provoked. He had reasons for who he was, which I buried in a scene that allowed the readers to glimpse his troubled childhood and reveal that childhood to the heroine.
I Had to Become a Bad Guy
Though I patterned my bad guy after actual criminals I’d read about or seen on television, that wasn’t enough. I really got inside his head. I wrote as if I had not been raised by decent parents who’d taught me better.
I asked myself, if I were a criminal, how would I do it? I let my mind go there and the process was interesting. It helped me create a bad guy who was multi-faceted, and I put him right out front because I understood what drove him.
When creating your own bad guy, make sure:
He’s a worthy adversary and smart enough to make your protagonist work
He’s worthy of every scene he’s in. In fact, make him a scene-stealer.
Readers empathize with him, even if they can’t sympathize or condone.
There’s a motivating factor for his bad actions? Revenge and restitution are powerful reasons for taking the law into your own hands.
Excerpt: It was too late for Noel to do anything except fight, and the two men coming toward her were about to get stunned to hell. She knew from practice to wait until she saw the whites of their eyes, but as they approached, she recognized one of them. It was Warren Simpson, and he was smiling.
“Hey, Boss Lady,” he shouted and waved. “I just saved your tail. Now I need you to return the favor.”
Things were getting weird. Noel wanted to aim her stunner at Warren Simpson, but her cousin Charlize was in her head saying, It’s okay, Auntie Joy. He’s safe.
Okay, Charlize, she thought, use your new superpowers, because I’m a little worried.
Noel wasn’t getting out of her car, and she was also keeping her stunner right where it was—inside her pocket, with her finger on the trigger.
“You gonna make me stand out here in this stiff wind?” Warren asked.
He walked around to the passenger side and motioned for Noel to unlock the door. “You’re not scared I’m gonna hurt you, are you?” Warren said as he climbed in beside her.
“I’ve lived a pretty full life,” she said.
Warren laughed. “That’s why I like you, Boss Lady.”
Despite her fear, Noel rolled her eyes at him.
“Noel, Noel, Noel,” Warren said with a shake of his head. “We”—he pointed between the two of them—“are in some serious trouble.”
“What do you mean we?” Noel asked.
“Somebody wants to pin Earl Gibbs’s murder on me, and you put yourself in it when you brought him to my home.”
She could see why he thought she had a part in this, but he did too. “For all I know, you sent your nephew to me. Maybe you had him provoke Earl into declaring his candidacy too soon so you could find out his intentions and kill him,” she said.
They sat in silence for a minute.
Finally, he asked, “Why are you riding around like this is well-to-do Sheridan Road? Gang Territory is dangerous after hours. This isn’t your Reading Night at the Park with all your New Chicago cops to protect you.”
“My kids know me,” she said.
“In the daytime, but not at night. Go home, Noel. You don’t belong here. I’ll leave my guys on you until you’re safe. If anybody trails you tomorrow, I’ll take care of ’em and you won’t even know it.” He flashed a row of gleaming, square white teeth and rolled his genetically modified blue eyes. “Now relax and take your hand off your stunner.”
Noel smiled because she couldn’t think of anything to say.
Simpson chuckled as he opened the car door and climbed from her transpo. His coat flapped in the wind as he saluted her and sauntered away.
AUTHOR BIO
Linda Mims is a writer, a dreamer, and an educator, who hails from a quiet village just south of Chicago. Her stories are mainly about urban characters who are engaged in mystery and mysticism. Her hope is that while entertaining and informing, she’s also sending the message that humans aren’t that different and all each of us want is a better world.
To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the AUTHOR’S TOUR PAGE on the 4WillsPublishing site. If you’d like to book your own blog tour and have your book promoted in similar grand fashion, please click HERE. Thanks for supporting this author and her work!
I have taken the WEP Blog Post from their blog that announced my winning the August WEP and posted it here on my blog because I desire to spread the word about this excellent platform for unpublished or published authors.
Below is not only my winner’s post but also the announcement for the upcoming October Challenge.
I sincerely hope I will see you there.
#WEP August 2022 Challenge Moonlight Sonata #Winner Pat Garcia writes her #guestpost – Writing With WEP.
Hi everyone, Denise here!
Pat Garcia won our August Challenge Moonlight Sonata with her stunning #flashfiction, Power of Touch. Those of you who read this amazing story will agree that it was unbeatable.
Badge courtesy of Olga Godim
Our judge Nick Wilford said, Nick said – “Achingly romantic and a testament to the healing power of music. As important to the soul as to the ears.”
Here is an excerpt from the ending:
Abruptly, she slowed the tempo, intentionally allowing herself to hold specific notes sustained, and closed her eyes to enjoy the timbre herself, and she felt Gianluca’s fingers walk across her waistline in beat with the piece as if he were playing the piano himself. She was happy he heard what she heard, albeit with his soul. Thankful that she’d taught him to treasure the power of hearing, not by listening but by perceiving it through touch, she smiled.
~~***~~
WRITING with the WEP
Writing with the WEP is one of my classic writing tools for strengthening my voice, helping me to profile my characters and define my settings. When I started writing with the WEP, I was a passable writer and far from being an author. Although my voice was feeble, I had vision, emotions, and voice. I read craft books, but craft books neglect to tell you that writing is a process, and you won’t get it overnight. Writing is a journey.
It took me walking into a multi-colored diverse world of writers who are excellent at what they write to discover that, and the WEP has become one of the most essential tools I need to grow in my writing. This is one of the reasons I do my best to get around to every story submitted. I learn from the excellence of the author’s Flash. They have already achieved something that I benefit from, whether it is a strong voice, magnificent settings, or outstanding characters. I study how they give their characters life, sink into their locations, and let their stories move me from a surface reading to an in-depth reading of their Flash. When I look back at some of the flashes I submitted in the beginning, I say, O ye… Pat, you have come a long way from your first Flash.
The WEP is competitive. The competition is stiff. However, if you never put yourself out there and compare yourself with some of the best authors/writers around the globe, you will never hone the techniques you have read in the craft books you have, and you’ll never become intimate with the depth of the voice that makes you stand out.
I believe I am one of a tiny minority of Romance writers who participate in the WEP. I don’t know. But what I do know is that my participation in this event has helped me develop characters and settings and strengthen my voice on my writer’s journey, and for that, I am thankful to be a part of this group.
Shalom aleichem,
Pat Garcia
Thank you, Pat Garcia. We are thankful to have you, too.
And a shout-out for Pat. You can buy Pat’s delightful award-winning short story, Turn the Light On HERE.
THE BLURB:
Meet Della Cartwright. A superstar at what she does professionally, but when the tall, mysterious, Italian stranger, Alessio Terracina, enters her world, she begins to question her judgment and everything about her.
A writer, singer, and musician, Pat Garcia, lives as an Expatriate on the European Continent. She is a voracious reader of literature from all genres and loves knitting, playing chess, playing her piano, and watching Hercule Poirot and Sherlock Holmes films.
A multicultural writer, she writes stories that encapsulate Romance with a mainstream touch, a sense of suspense, and fantasy.
~~***~~
Thank you so much, Pat, for your heartfelt post, and congratulations once again for your winning flash!
Please tweet this post or share it to Facebook or your favorite social media site.
Our next challenge will be here before we know it! We hope many of you will consider joining us for our OCTOBER Halloween Challenge: Thriller.
We remind you: This is the Fear fest Challenge in which we ramp up the spook factor, welcoming your creepiest compositions, your most haunting and haunted tales running the gamut of paranormal, speculative, crime, and horror genres. However, as always, there are no rigid rules. Feel free to write to any genre if those mentioned are not your thing.
And, STOP PRESS! In October, there will be Amazon Gift Cards for the winners.
Here is an early TWEET! Help us promote Creepy October!
Write…Edit…Publish — Online Writing Community: #WEP #October2022 #Thriller challenge. #Prizes for #three #winners. Get your creepy on! #1,000words or less! #flashfiction, #nonfiction #poetry #poetrycommunity Get #feedback from professionals and peers.(Include Thriller badge!)
Marina Antonovna, a Soviet spy, and Mateo Arcusa, an American homicide lieutenant first meet in Cambodia during the Vietnam War as enemies. Fearful that the most powerful man in the Soviet Union, KGB Chairman Vladimir Kurenkov, has ordered her death, Marina risks everything to defect to the United States.
She promises Mateo that her days as an assassin are over. Vladimir is determined to do whatever it takes to bring her back and, by threatening Mateo’s life, forces Marina to break her promise.
Meet the Author: Joylene Nowell Butler
Joylene Butler lives with her husband in the tiny village of Cluculz Lake in central B.C… She is the author of three suspense novels and a contributor to one anthology.
Joy M Lilley is a faithful member of RRBC. She is also an engaging writer who doesn’t mind sharing what is on her heart. It is a pleasure to have her on my blog today.
Drop in and say hello.
Shalom aleichem
Chapter 4 Snippet:
Rose was a married woman who had given birth to eight children, of whom only six had survived; the other two had died soon after they were born. She tried to wear the trousers in the family, which was unusual, as the men were the ones to be obeyed. Hard as she tried, she was not successful in that endeavour, even though her husband stayed out of her way most of the time.
Rose would not be bullied. One day at work, a man came along to give her a hand, and made the mistake of insulting her size. ‘You’re built more like a man than a woman and that is the only reason you got this job in the first place,’ he taunted. She rose to her full height of five feet seven inches and knocked him clean off his feet. As he fell, his head hit the ground and he ended up with a six-inch gash across the back of it.
News of what had happened travelled fast through the factory, and no man ever crossed her again. Most of them were afraid of her after the events of that day and treated her with much respect.When Ralph heard of the incident, he called her into his office, asking what had gotten into her.
JOY M. LILLEY
My pen name is Joy M. Lilley (aka Joy Gerken). I am a writer and have been writing seriously since 2011 with seven books published to date. My previous career was as a trained nurse [R.G.N.] which I loved but it offered little time for me to write until my retirement.
I joined Rave Reviews Book Club(RRBC) almost 6 years ago and have been amazed by the friendship and support offered by all.
FIGS, VINES & ROSES was the first novel produced by me. I paid a considerable sum to have it edited at the time. This proved not to be adequate for a number of reasons. Several folks in RRBC commented about the need for further editing, and when that number reached three people, I felt it necessary to do something about it.
It was recently re-edited by 4WillsPublishing. Nonnie kindly offered to help me with the extra work at zero cost. It’s been re-released on Amazon in Kindle and paperback formats. If you took a stab at the first version, I would appreciate it if you would reach out to Amazon for the updated version and give it another go.
I promote my work via Twitter, Facebook and Instagram. I also pay for promotion. I am ever grateful for the amazing support given by the members of RRBC. I enjoy audio recording short stories on my advanced home equipment, and I now offer voice-over work through Fiverr.
I first met Jan Sikes when she was a member of the RRBC. To say that she is a fantastic writer is an understatement. What I like about her stories is the intrigue which she breaks down into tiny pieces and feeds to her readers, bit by bit, as if they were pieces of chocolate.
So, welcome, Jan. It is a pleasure to have you here.
Shalom aleichem
Thank you, Pat, for inviting me to your blog site today to talk about my new book, JAGGED FEATHERS! I appreciate your support.
I love playing word games. I have played Words With Friends on my phone since 2014. Creating words out of random letters is fun and exciting to me. But there is another type of word game that’s often used by therapists as a way of getting to know their patients better and by people who simply want to know more about each other while keeping it fun and light.
So in my book, I set a scene where Vann and Nakina played this kind of word game to pass the time but also to learn more about each other.
EXCERPT:
Vann sipped the coffee he’d brought with him from the restaurant, and Nakina stared out the window lost in her thoughts, all the what-ifs, and whys.
She glanced at Vann and wondered if he was doing the same.
“How much longer do you think it will be?”
“No way to know. Once the wreckers get here, they’ll clear the roadway pretty quick.”
“I’m anxious to get there.”
“That makes two of us.” He faced her. “When I was a kid and took road trips with my parents, we’d play games to pass the time. Wanna play?”
She grinned. “Sure. What game?”
“I say a word, and you say whatever comes in your mind first, without thinking. Then you do the same.”
“Okay.”
“Loyal.”
“Champion.”
He laughed. “Your turn.”
“Peace.”
“Nature.”
“Very good,” she said.
They continued tossing words back and forth, and before long a police officer motioned for them and the long line of cars behind them to move into one narrow open lane.
Nakina breathed a sigh of relief. Now maybe there wouldn’t be any more delays. But the word game had served to give her a more intimate look into the man behind Vann Noble.
The unknown lay ahead. But one thing she knew with certainty. Vann would face it with her. She was not alone. That thought brought a blanket of comfort. Somehow, everything had to turn out okay. It just had to.
***Now, it’s your turn. Do you like to play word games? Have you ever played any of the games with your friends such as Cards Against Humanity? They can certainly give you insight into a person’s head. Do you play Words with Friends? Find me. Let’s play!
BOOK TRAILER
BLURB:
Vann Noble did his duty. He served his country and returned a shell of a man, wounded inside and out. With a missing limb and battling PTSD, he seeks healing in an isolated cabin outside a small Texas town with a stray dog that sees beyond his master’s scars. If only the white rune’s magic can bring a happily ever after to a man as broken as Vann.
On the run from hired killers and struggling to make sense of her unexplained deadly mission, Nakina Bird seeks refuge in Vann’s cabin. She has secrets. Secrets that can get them all killed.
A ticking clock and long odds of living or dying, create jarring risks.
Will these two not only survive, but find an unexpected love along the way? Or, will evil forces win and destroy them both?
The Grandma Force is an informal, global, multi-cultural network of grandmothers working singly and together to better the lives of grandchildren.Are you a member of The Grandma Force?
GIVEAWAY: (2) $5 Amazon gift cards
Harriet Hodgson
Author Bio:
Harriet Hodgson has been making books since she was eight years old. In her 43-year career as a freelancer, she has written 44 books and thousands of print/internet articles. Major publishers, such as Warner Books, John Wiley & Sons, and Hazelden, have published her work. Harriet loves writing so much she writes in her sleep.
Becoming the grandmother of twins changed Harriet Hodgson and altered her life course. According to Hodgson, we live in a fast-paced, complex time, a time when too many grandchildren are victims of bullying, Internet scams, and sexual abuse. Hodgson believes that grandmothers are needed today more than any other time in history.
“Grandmas can’t be passive,” she declares. “Every grandma has the power to protect and guide her grandchildren and needs to tap this power.”
This narrative weaves Hodgson’s personal story with research findings. It’s packed with ideas for helping grandchildren. Hodgson’s age, child development degree, life experience, teaching experience, witness to history, and extensive research converge to make this an inspiring read. Working individually and together, grandmas are changing the world.“The Grandma Force is about the power of love and the power of one,” Hodgson says. “One-by-one, grandmas are standing up for grandchildren and creating a hopeful future for them.”
To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the author’s tour page on the 4WillsPublishing site. If you’d like to book your own blog tour and have your book promoted in similar grand fashion, please click HERE. Thanks for supporting this author and her work!
I am privileged to be a part of the RAVE WRITERS INTERNATIONAL SOCIETY OF AUTHORS. I say privilege because that is exactly how I perceive this opportunity.
Some of the best Indie writers I know are a part of RWISA, and we have joined together to contribute to this anthology. What make us so different from others?
Our desire to create stories that touch hearts and challenge the perceptions of people who read what we have to say through the written word.
Watch RWISA Write has some magnificent stories within it. I thank you in advance for your purchase.
If you have ever heard of RWISA, then you know that they are exceptional writers; writers who care deeply about the quality of the work they share with the world, and writers who polish before they publish. That’s RWISA!RWISA writers have the artistic ability to convey information in a flowing and compelling manner that keeps readers engaged and wanting more and more.
In this anthology, you will find a variety of writings from poetry to flash fiction, authored by some of the best writers in the industry. You will bear witness to their talent and also their courage, as they open their hearts and share their most intimate thoughts via the written word.
There is something for everyone in this short collection, and we hope that each piece resonates with that part of your soul receptive to being blindly transported to a private island, where excellence in writing is the law of the sand.
Started out in two thousand and twenty-one with the same dream hovering over me,
A dream that has been gliding above me since I was three years of age.
The dream keeps me…
changing
reflecting
bending
walking
running
and sometimes
stopping,
as I wait at a red light that screams STOP!
Until it turns green again,
So that I may sail or fly to my next destination.
The dream digs out the uneven dark edges of
envy
hatred
jealousy
and pride,
Clothed in
disappointments
setbacks
misunderstandings
failures
defeats
and obstacles.
It removes poisonous arrows, I pointed at others, so that they don’t pivot and bounce back at me.
The dream replaces those poisonous arrows with
humility
kindness
grace
mercy
and love.
It reminds me that nothing grows overnight,
That life is a process,
That maturity comes only through being pressed,
And feeling the pains of growth, not denying them.
Didn’t know in the beginning that dreams deferred don’t die.
They hover in an irresolute state, fluttering over burners waiting to spring into life.
Had no idea that they rose according to my maturity in HIM.
Like beautiful yellow corn, covered in green husks on stalks,
dreams bloom one at a time – at the appointed time.
Never knew that taking one step would lead to another… and another… and another…
As I let the dream wrap me in the swaddling light of its presence.
Never knew that answers lay within my grasp,
That a person’s greatness is determined by their heart attitude,
That self-acceptance brings peace,
That recognition of who you are lies within the faith of knowing who HE is.
Therefore, as we move toward Christmas and afterward toward laying down the mantel of 2021 to put on the coat of 2022, I, Patricia Anne Pierce-garcia Schaack, say thank you. You have followed me on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and my blogs, and sent me much encouragement, and I am eternally grateful for your support.
And to my family, which is colorful and multi-international with different languages, and spread-out all-over Europe, the UK, Canada, South Africa, and the United States of America, thanks for hanging in there and being patient with me. It’s meant a lot to me.
Merry Christmas to you all and have a safe crossover into 2022.
Take care, be safe, and I hope to see you next year.
Love y’all.
Shalom aleichem
Pat Garcia
Translation: Wahrlich, ich bin dankbar – Ein Psalm der Dankbarkeit von Pat Garcia
Ich begann das Jahr 2021 mit demselben Traum, der über mir schwebte,
Einem Traum, der über mir schwebte, seit ich drei Jahre alt war.
Der Traum …
… verändert mich
… lässt mich nachdenken
… fordert mich heraus
… lässt mich gehen
… lässt mich laufen
und manchmal hält er mich auf,
während ich auf eine rote Ampel warte, die STOP schreit!
Bis sie wieder grün wird,
Damit ich zu meinem nächsten Ziel fliegen kann.
Der Traum bringt die unebenen dunklen Seiten von
Neid
Hass
Eifersucht
und Stolz hervor.
Eingekleidet in
Enttäuschungen
Rückschlägen
Missverständnissen
Misserfolgen
Niederlagen
und Hindernissen.
Der Traum entfernt giftige Pfeile, die ich auf andere gerichtet habe, bevor sie sich drehen und auf mich zurückprallen.
Der Traum ersetzt diese giftigen Pfeile durch
Demut
Freundlichkeit
Gnade
Barmherzigkeit
und Liebe.
Er erinnert mich daran, dass nichts über Nacht wächst,
dass das Leben ein Prozess ist,
dass man nur reift, wenn man unter Druck geformt wird
und die Schmerzen des Wachstums spürt, anstatt sie zu verleugnen.
Ich wusste anfangs nicht, dass aufgeschobene Träume nicht sterben.
Sie schweben im Ungewissen, sie köcheln auf kleiner Flamme und warten darauf, lebendig zu werden.
Ich hatte keine Ahnung, dass sie umso lebendiger werden, je reifer ich in IHM werde.
Wie schöner gelber Mais, bedeckt mit grünen Spelzen an den Stängeln,
blühen die Träume einer nach dem anderen – zur bestimmten Zeit.
Ich wusste nicht, dass ein Schritt zum nächsten führen würde… und zum nächsten… und zum nächsten…
Während ich zuließ, dass der Traum mich in das Licht Seiner Gegenwart einhüllte.
Ich hätte nie gedacht, dass Antworten in greifbarer Nähe liegen,
Dass die Größe eines Menschen von seiner Herzenshaltung bestimmt wird,
Dass Selbstakzeptanz Frieden bringt,
Dass man erkennt, wer man ist, wenn man weiß, wer ER ist.
Während wir uns also auf Weihnachten zubewegen und danach den Mantel des Jahres 2021 ablegen, um den Mantel des Jahres 2022 anzuziehen, sage ich, Patricia Anne Pierce-Garcia Schaack, danke. Ihr seid mir auf Facebook, Instagram, Twitter und in meinen Blogs gefolgt, habt mir viel Zuspruch gegeben und ich bin euch unendlich dankbar für eure Unterstützung.
Und meiner bunten multinationalen Familie, die viele Sprachen spricht und über ganz Europa, Großbritannien, Kanada, Südafrika und die Vereinigten Staaten von Amerika verstreut ist, danke ich dafür, dass ihr durchgehalten habt und geduldig mit mir wart. Das hat mir sehr viel bedeutet.
Ich wünsche euch allen frohe Weihnachten und einen sicheren Jahreswechsel.
Passt auf euch auf, seid vorsichtig, und ich hoffe, wir sehen uns nächstes Jahr wieder.
When TURN THE LIGHT ON first came out, I had no idea it would cause a stir in the literary world. I had worked on that short story for several years, seven to be exact, and I sent it off to be edited.
After the edited manuscript returned to me, I went about self-publishing it. This brings me to my second short story, A SHARED DREAM. I didn’t heed to one of my own principles. I didn’t send it off to be edited. If I had, I would have saved myself the heartache and not have had to backtrack by having the book edited and collaborating over what kind of book cover I desired.
It took one review from a reader, who I am very thankful to, to open my eyes to the fact that the cover did not coincide with the content. I am grateful for her honesty, and after I compared the book cover with the content and stepped outside of the realm of my little world, I saw exactly what she meant. It was then my desire to bring A SHARED DREAM, which has now been renamed to LET HIS BANNER OVER ME BE LOVE, up on the same level as TURN THE LIGHT ON.
If I can’t read my own work without flinching, there is a problem. I want to give the people who read my books a quality read with moments of enjoyment, although they might not always agree with the topics I’ve woven into a story.
Therefore, I announce today that LET HIS BANNER OVER ME BE LOVE, which was previously, A SHARED DREAM, is now newly edited and has a new book cover on AMAZON. It is a book I highly recommend reading.
The story is offered world-wide on all Amazon Outlets. I have supplied the USA link below.
I am a proud member of the RAVE REVIEWS BOOK CLUB and for the next 48 hours (11/15 through 11/17) there is a $25 discount on any membership tier when you join the club!
We aren’t just an organization where you add your name to our roster, and then you disappear. We are the club that supports our members in numerous ways! Here are just a few…
-We purchase, read, and review our fellow member books that are listed in the catalog.
-We promote our fellow members and their books on social media, just as hard as we promote ourselves.
-We promote our members with interviews via our RAVE WAVES Talk Radio Shows for RRBCmembers only. Books are always being purchased during those interviews!
-We keep our fellow members lifted and promoted even when they can’t promote themselves (in the event of personal emergencies, illness, etc.)
-We have a hard-working Tweet Support Team, promoting our members and their books daily.
-At RRBC, we believe that “each one should teach one,” therefore, we don’t compete against each other. We lift as we climb.
There are so many more awesome ways that being a member of RRBC has benefitted me and I would love to share them all with you. Have questions? Just ask me!
RRBC is fun place to belong! We’re not just about books. We’re also about making beneficial connections and lifelong friendships!
Today, Monday, 11/15 through Wednesday, 11/17 are our Recruitment Days and when you join, please list my name on your membership application as the person who referred you, as I’ll get a special prize! You can join here > RaveReviewsBookClub.wordpress.com/rrbc-join-renew
If you have specific questions regarding membership, please reach out to Paula, our Club Personal Asst! She’s awesome!
I hope to see you on the other side of membership soon and your books in the catalog!
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GIVEAWAY: $25 Amazon Gift Card & 1 e-book or paperback copy of one book in the Haunted Shores series (Winner’s choice). Simply leave a comment below for your chance to win!
WORDS STILL MATTER
Words still matter. Perhaps, now more than ever.
What we say and what we write carries weight, makes a difference. A few words from a president can set off alarm bells. A phrase from the fed chairman can make the stock market soar or ignite a selling spree. And it’s not just the words of major players. Dangerous misinformation shared on social media platforms actually cost lives.
Our words can wound or heal, can obscure or reveal. We’ve learned long ago the saying, sticks and stones can break out bones, but words can never hurt us, is clearly not true.
Words matter, still.
So when I set off to write my novels, I pay special attention to my words…and what I choose to write about. I’m not naïve. I realize readers pick up my Haunted Shores Mysteries looking for puzzling whodunits or perhaps hoping to get away to one of my incredible locations or even to experience a little “who-hoo.”
But my novels are about more than cold case murders, a ghost or two, a thread of romance or even breathtakingly beautiful resorts. I’m also careful to structure my narrative to tell a larger truth. A truth about us, about our society, about how we treat each other. In the first two entries, my plots entwined with the issues of racial injustice (BLOOD ON THE CHESAPEAKE) and human trafficking (CRIMSON AT CAPE MAY).
In the third installment, SCARLET AT CRYSTAL RIVER, I have my sights set on an equally compelling social issue, one not very well understood by most Americans. As Darrell tries to unravel the mystery behind the disappearance of two young Latino children, he is thrust in the middle of our “immigrant problem,” as they might say on the news. As I completed my research for this novel, which takes place more than twenty years earlier, I was amazed how little has changed on this issue. As a nation we’re still struggling today much the same way we were in 2000 with how we deal with “the hungry, the poor, yearning to be free” as is inscribed on the Statue of Liberty.
My words are not intended to persuade anyone. Rather, like my efforts in CRIMSON about human trafficking, I’m hoping my writing may cause readers to pause and want to learn more, this time about the plight of migrant workers—and not simply accept the soundbites about the issues on TV or social media.
I hope my words matter.
“One thing that is particularly special about Overbeck’s books is that they unabashedly tackle social issues within their plots. Already having discussed racism and human trafficking in his first two books, “Scarlet at Crystal River” once again forces readers to confront a particularly pervasive and dangerous social issue. This book, in particular, touches upon the dangers of racism and xenophobia, as well as emphasize the often-ignored plights of the hundreds of thousands of migrant workers who are the reason we are able to have such a variety of fruits, vegetables and other resources in our daily lives.”—ReaderViews
Bio
Dr. Randy Overbeck is an award-winning educator, author and speaker. As an educator, he served children for four decades in a range of roles captured in his novels, from teacher and coach to principal and superintendent. His thriller, Leave No Child Behind (2012) and his recent mysteries, the Amazon No. 1 Best Seller, Blood on the Chesapeake,Crimson at Cape May and Scarlet at Crystal River have earned five star reviews and garnered national awards including “Thriller of the Year–ReadersFavorite.com, “Gold Award”—Literary Titan, “Mystery of the Year”—ReadersView.com and “Crowned Heart of Excellence”—InD’Tale Magazine. As a member of the Mystery Writers of America, Dr. Overbeck is an active member of the literary community, contributing to a writers’ critique group, serving as a mentor to emerging writers and participating in writing conferences such as Sleuthfest, Killer Nashville and the Midwest Writers Workshop. When he’s not writing or researching his next exciting novel or sharing his presentation, “Things Still Go Bump in the Night,” he’s spending time with his incredible family of wife, three children (and their spouses) and seven wonderful grandchildren.
All Darrell Henshaw wanted was to enjoy his honeymoon with his beautiful wife, Erin, in the charming town of Crystal River on the sunny Gulf Coast of Florida. Only a pair of ghosts decide to intrude on their celebration. And not just any ghosts, the spirits of two young Latino children. Unwilling at first to derail the honeymoon for yet another ghost hunt, Darrell finally concedes when a painting of the kids comes alive, weeping and pleading for his help.
When he and Erin track down the artist, they discover the children’s family were migrant workers the next county over. But when they travel there, their questions about the kids gets their car shot up and Erin hospitalized. Torn between fear and rage, Darrell must decide how far he will go to get justice for two young children he never even knew.
Tagline
Darrell and Erin thought they were heading to Florida for a carefree honeymoon, but the ghosts of two immigrants children haunt them, pleading for help.
Trailer
Review Blurbs
“Scarlet at Crystal River is an eerie paranormal mystery I couldn’t stop reading. Randy Overbeck is a masterful writer of the paranormal, drawing the reader in before instilling shivers down the spine. 5+ stars.” –N. N. Light’s Book Heaven
“A rollercoaster of a mystery, hurtling up and down hills and sharp corners until the very end, when the reader is left slightly breathless, waiting for their hearts to beat back to a normal rhythm.★★★★★—ReadersView
“Scarlet at Crystal River is a suspenseful paranormal novel with compelling characters and an enigmatic mystery that drives the story to a riveting conclusion. Overbeck is a master at building tension–-this is easily a one-sitting read.”★★★★★—Literary Titan
“This is another masterpiece from Randy Overbeck. His excellent writing style has left me speechless for one more time. He writes in a way that makes you feel what the characters feel and you have no choice but to partake in the journey with them.” ★★★★★—Ioanna’s Reviews, Greece
My main intention with A Gost and His Gold was to describe the events and circumstances of the Second Anglo Boer War which resulted in the anger and resentment that remained among the different cultures and populations after the war and set the stage for the future of South Africa.
Gold, and people’s desire for wealth, is a repeated theme of this book and is included in the title, together with ghost as this book is historical but has a strong supernatural thread.
I had the general themes for A Ghost and His Gold in place prior to starting the writing of this book and I expanded them as it progressed. The main themes are as follows:
The impact of greed and corruption on countries and people;
Bad decision making and their effect on soldiers and civilians;
Evil perpetuating the development of hatred and evil;
The effect of war on the political and social development of a country;
The individual mindset versus the group mentality including pro-war propaganda;
Death; and
The reality of war
This is an extract from one of the war scenes during the siege of Mafeking which illustrates some of these themes:
“The stench of sweat and tension hung in the air as the camp waited silently and watchfully in the cold. My taut nerves made me certain that vengeful eyes were watching us from the cover of the surrounding vegetation. I twisted my head this way and that, looking for any signs of movement in the heavy darkness. I saw nothing. The only sounds were the heavy breathing of my comrades and the crunch of hard ground as they shuffled their feet.
At 4.30 a.m. the bark of the first gun rent the cold early morning air. It was still dark, and the flash shone brightly, momentarily dazzling us. Shells from the 7-pounders followed, soaring through the air and exploding around the target in brilliant flaming balls.
“The railway line’s been pulled up about half a mile from here.”
The news travelled along the lines of men, just as C Squadron prepared to charge forward.
“The armoured train isn’t coming.”
I watched C Squadron surge forward as a mass, each man focusing on his own steps, knowing that if he fell, he would be trampled by those coming afterwards.
This is it, I thought as my men readied themselves to follow. There is no flight option left. Now we must fight to win or be slaughtered like pigs.
I ran, legs pumping and bayonet held at the ready, to the discordant notes of the supporting artillery guns and the Maxim which intensified the din and swirled around me like an insane orchestra. I was conscious of the men of my squadron around me, as well as those of C Squadron about three hundred yards ahead of me.
A great surge of comradery surged through me as these men, my brotherhood, charged forward through the smoke, directly into a hail of bullets from the Boer musketry. Death seemed certain, but, at this precise moment, this did not matter to me; a cloud of red anger and lust for blood having descended over my mind.
The anger prevented fear and grew in its intensity as the occasional figure, including that of Captain Fitzclarence, dropped around me in small explosions of red.
C Squadron reached the fort, which was hidden by bushes, and the guns roared; the sound of the discordant orchestra growing and swelling. My men and I slowed our forward momentum as we watched more ghostly forms falling, to lie in ghastly bleeding piles on the ground.
The few men still standing started to fall back, shouting at my squadron to follow suit.
“The walls are too high … Impossible to mount without scaling ladders.”
Their shouts filled the air, mingling with the gunfire and moans, groans and cries of the wounded.
One of my men, William, and I picked up Captain Fitzclarence as we slowly and deliberately retraced our steps. The blood lust had faded from the men’s eyes and their moods had turned sullen. Expressions of dejection had settled on some faces.
The Boers stopped their fire as soon as the retreat commenced, and the resultant silence felt heavy on me, like a shroud. This behaviour by the Boers reinforced my belief that they are decent men. They could have picked a lot more of us off during this retreat if they’d kept shooting.
Moving backwards, lugging the heavy body, was immeasurably hard. My overtaxed leg and back muscles trembled, and my sweat slicked hands slipped and slid under the captain’s arms. I expelled a huge sigh of relief when William and I were finally able to lay our burden down at a designated spot near to the stranded armoured train. My legs refused to hold me up any longer and I sank to my knees.
That was when I noticed the blood. A bullet had grazed my chest and I hadn’t even noticed. Blood had stained my shirt and was running down into my trousers. It was strange how the moment I saw the blood immense pain seared the right hand side of my chest. It was like being slammed with a club.”
GIVEAWAYS: (4) e-book copies of A GHOST AND HIS GOLD
BOOK BLURB:
After Tom and Michelle Cleveland move into their recently built, modern townhouse, their housewarming party is disrupted when a drunken game with an Ouija board goes wrong and summons a sinister poltergeist, Estelle, who died in 1904.
Estelle makes her presence known in a series of terrifying events, culminating in her attacking Tom in his sleep with a knife. But, Estelle isn’t alone. Who are the shadows lurking in the background – one in an old-fashioned slouch hat and the other, a soldier, carrying a rifle?After discovering their house has been built on the site of one of the original farms in Irene, Michelle becomes convinced that the answer to her horrifying visions lie in the past. She must unravel the stories of the three phantoms’ lives, and the circumstances surrounding their untimely deaths during the Second Anglo Boer War, in order to understand how they are tied together and why they are trapped in the world of ghosts between life and death. As the reasons behind Estelle’s malevolent behaviour towards Tom unfold, Michelle’s marriage comes under severe pressure and both their lives are threatened.
AUTHOR BIO:
Roberta Eaton Cheadle
Roberta Eaton Cheadle is a South African writer and poet specialising in historical, paranormal, and horror novels and short stories. She is an avid reader in these genres and her writing has been influenced by famous authors including Bram Stoker, Edgar Allan Poe, Amor Towles, Stephen Crane, Enrich Maria Remarque, George Orwell, Stephen King, and Colleen McCullough.
Roberta has short stories and poems in several anthologies and has 2 published novels, Through the Nethergate, a historical supernatural fantasy, and A Ghost and His Gold, a historical paranormal novel set in South Africa.
Roberta has 9 children’s books published under the name Robbie Cheadle.
Roberta was educated at the University of South Africa where she achieved a Bachelor of Accounting Science in 1996 and a Honours Bachelor of Accounting Science in 1997. She was admitted as a member of The South African Institute of Chartered Accountants in 2000.
Roberta has worked in corporate finance from 2001 until the present date and has written 7 publications relating to investing in Africa. She has won several awards over her 20-year career in the category of Transactional Support Services.
“Overbeck enchants readers with his picturesque details about a remarkable old town and keeps them on the edge of their seats with unpredictable plot twists.”–ReadersView
My series is called the Haunted Shores Mysteries for good reason. For my stories, the setting ranks up there in importance with interesting characters and a twisty whodunit puzzle. In some ways the setting comes first and defines each tale. I work hard to craft a narrative and choose a social issue that exudes organically from this specific setting of my books.
BLOOD ON THE CHESAPEAKE, the first entry in the series, takes place on the beautiful, scenic Eastern Shore, home to memorizing sunsets and some of the best sailing around.
Amidst this natural grandeur, the area and the people struggle with a dual personality, part New England culture and part still stuck in a southern (as in Confederate) past. This dichotomy is one of the aspects that makes the Eastern Shore so interesting and made it the perfect location for my mystery about a young man who is murdered as a result of bigotry and prejudice.
The setting for my second novel in the series, CRIMSON AT CAPE MAY, was chosen with just as great a care. I found Cape May to be the perfect locale for my tale of a bride slain on her wedding night, her murder tied to an even more heinous crime, human trafficking. With its prime location near the New Jersey and Pennsylvania turnpikes, Cape May has easy access to major shipping routes in the Northeast for all kinds of commerce—including the illicit varieties. And it is one incredible resort. On the Shore side, the town boasts one of the most beautiful beaches on the East Coast, the most impressive collection of Victorian architecture this side of the country and a storied, one-hundred-fifty-year old history as a go-to resort.
And for the pièce de résistance, that is, the Haunted part, Cape May is recognized as the most haunted seaport on the East Coast.
All in all, I believe, a perfect setting for my ghost story/mystery. But readers are the best judge.
Here are a few of their comments.
“Sooo atmospheric. Cape May, with its history and Victorian mansions, has no end of ghostly stories. And the Haunted Bride is a doozy.”—V. Williams, an Amazon reader
“I enjoyed Mr. Overbeck writing style, and I could easily visualize the scenes through his detailed descriptions. I definitely recommend this book. Five stars!”—another Amazon reader
“The hauntings were very descriptive, and I thoroughly enjoyed reading these scenes. There’s immense research involved here which I appreciate. Randy Overbeck’s writing style is stark yet descriptive.”—N.N. Light, an Amazon reader and reviewer
“Henshaw’s character is immediately interesting, and his surroundings are so well described that the story is for me, completely believable.”—Goodreads reader and reviewer
INCREDIBLE SALE!
There is an unbelievable but true sale on the entire Haunted Shores Mysteries series! BLOOD ON THE CHESAPEAKE-$.99, CRIMSON AT CAPE MAY–$1.99, SCARLET AT CRYSTAL RIVER (pre-publication price)—$2.99.
For all of you who don’t know him, here is a lovely bio of Author Randy Overbeck, along with a excellent Blurb over his book, CRIMSON AT CAPE MAY
Dr. Randy Overbeck is an award-winning educator, author and speaker. As an educator, he served children for more than three decades in a range of roles captured in his novels, from teacher and coach to principal and superintendent. His thriller, Leave No Child Behind (2012) and his recent mysteries, the Amazon and B & N No. 1 Best Seller, Blood on the Chesapeake and Crimson at Cape May have earned five star reviews and garnered national awards including “Thriller of the Year–ReadersFavorite.com, “Gold Award”—Literary Titan, “Mystery of the Year”—ReadersView.com and “Crowned Heart of Excellence”—InD’Tale Magazine. As a member of the Mystery Writers of America, Dr. Overbeck is an active member of the literary community, contributing to a writers’ critique group, serving as a mentor to emerging writers and participating in writing conferences such as Sleuthfest, Killer Nashville and the Midwest Writers Workshop. When he’s not writing or researching his next exciting novel or sharing his presentation “Things Still Go Bump in the Night,” he’s spending time with his incredible family of wife, three children (and their spouses) and seven wonderful grandchildren.
BLURB—CRIMSON AT CAPE MAY
No matter how far you run, you can never really escape a haunted past.
Darrell Henshaw—teacher, coach, and paranormal sensitive—learned this lesson the hard way. With his job gone and few options, he heads for Cape May to coach a summer football camp. The resort town, with gorgeous beaches, rich history and famous Victorian mansions, might just be the getaway he needs. Only, no one told him Cape May is the most haunted seaport on the East Coast. One resident ghost, the Haunted Bride, stalks Darrell, begging for his help.
He can’t refuse. Joining forces with Cassie, a street-wise teen and another sensitive, he investigates the bride’s death and discovers her murder is connected to a far greater horror. But can Darrell and Cassie expose those behind the crimes before they end up being the killer’s next victims?
To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit theauthors’ tour pageon the 4WillsPublishing site. If you’d like to book your own blog tour and have your book promoted in similar grand fashion, please clickHERE. Thanks for supporting this author and hiswork!
Hello Everyone, I am attending the RRBC’s 6th Annual Writers’ Conference and Book Expo. I am having a blast. Drop-in or come-in and join in on the fun. I hope to see you there. Shalom aleichem,
There are so many benefits to attending Writers’ conferences. They offer writers the opportunity to get to know and relate to others, and the RRBC’s 6th Annual Writers’ Conference & Book Expo, is no exception. Here you will meet new people, greet old friends, and get acquainted with the latest works by authors you know and love to read.
There will be games, prizes, surprises, and other goodies, so be sure to visit each Author Booth, take a look around, then leave a comment for your chance to win each Author Booth’s door prize!
There is a Scavenger Hunt Game to play, a 2 Truths & a Lie Game to play, and more! In each Author Booth, you will find a clue, and if you find the correct answer to all the clues and are the first to submit your answers, you could be the winner of an awesome prize!
Of course, we’ll have our READING ROOM open, and one of our members is going to blow you away showcasing their talent!
If you’re into BINGO, purchase your BINGO cards and join us for a game or two!
And what we all wait for every year – our RAFFLE! Yes, each year, we raffle off (7) $100 Amazon gift cards, and this is open to the public, so go on and snag your tickets today! Raffle tickets are only $5! How awesome would that prize be? Some of them also include additional goodies like other gift certificates, ebooks, and more! Enter for your chance to win one or more of these $100 Amazon gift card gift baskets. The more tickets you buy, the greater your chances of winning. (Please do not purchase more than 7 tickets).
This year for the first time ever, we’ve added our BEST BOOK COVER CONTEST! This contest is open to the general public, so go ahead and enter your book cover(s) now! Share your comments with us, and let us know which one you think is best!
Don’t forget the venue opens at 5 PM(CST) TODAY. We hope to see you there! In the event of minor time delays, please check the sidebar of the RRBC website for updates.
As they say in the Deep South, I’ll see y’all there!
Sir Chocolate Books – Sir Chocolate and the baby cookie monster story and cookbook
(7) Paperback copies / 1 of ea book in the series(2) 15 Amazon gift cards Please leave Robbie a comment anywhere along the tour for your chance to win one of these awesome prizes.
This is my favourite of the Sir Chocolate books to date because I think it is the most imaginative. I love the idea of a runaway toddler who needs help finding his mother. The baby cookie monster has a body made from a wedge of shortbread and long nose with a serrated edge that he uses to cut chunks out of the houses in Chocolateville.
“His body was shaped like a shortbread wedge, He had a long nose with a jagged edge, For cutting food into bite sized squares, He looked like something out of nightmares.”
Of course, the villages are devastated to wake up one morning and find their grass flattened and their houses and walls damaged by the baby cookie monster, but Sir Chocolate and Lady Sweet know his is just a baby who needs his mother. With the help of the vanilla fudge bird, Mother Cookie Monster is found, and to her great joy, her baby is returned to her.
How to make a fondant and Easter egg panda bear
You will find the step-by-step instructions on Youtube here:
OR
You can download a PDF of the step-by-step instructions here:
Sir Chocolate and Lady Sweet find a lost baby cookie monster. Join them on an adventure to return the baby to its mother and learn how to make some of their delicious recipes at the same time.
AUTHOR BIO:
Robbie Cheadle is a children’s author and poet.
The Sir Chocolate children’s picture books, co-authored by Robbie and Michael Cheadle, are written in sweet, short rhymes which are easy for young children to follow and are illustrated with pictures of delicious cakes and cake decorations. Each book also includes simple recipes or biscuit art directions which children can make under adult supervision.
Robbie has also published books for older children which incorporate recipes that are relevant to the storylines.
To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the author’s tour page on the 4WillsPublishing site. If you’d like to schedule your own blog tour and have your book promoted in similar grand fashion, please click HERE. Thanks for supporting this author and her work!
Thank you for dropping by. Robbie appreciates it, and so do I.
Hello Everyone, I am being featured at the Writer’s Treasure Chest by Aurora J Alexander.
A.J. and I got to know one another when she was living in Switzerland. We had many opportunities to get together and discuss the craft of writing. She lives on the Pacific Coast now, and I, for one, miss her. A.J., thank you for inviting me. Shalom aleichem,
Pat Garcia
P.S. I have closed the comments on this post and have put the link to the blog post on Writers Treasure Chest below. Thank you for dropping by her blog.
At the age of eight, I wrote and established my first newspaper in our dinky little neighborhood. Staff members-one person. Me.
Being without a typewriter, I wrote it by hand. Personal computers were a thing of the future. I didn’t tell my parents about it. I desired to spotlight the positive changes in my community and give what I used to call the other people a different light on how they perceived black people. It was a fact that when we made the news, that meant we had done something wrong and was going to jail.
To get writing materials, I went door to door selling the paper to my neighbors. I charged twenty-five cents a piece for each edition.
When my parents finally found out about it through a neighbor who was bragging to them about my inquisitiveness and my ideas, needless to say, they were furious, and I received a spanking that I haven’t forgotten until this day. But, on the other hand, my parents were concerned and worried about what would happen to me if I kept thinking about things that I wasn’t supposed to think about.
Let us fast forward to two thousand and twenty-one. The dream deferred at eight has awoken. It has taken some years. I’ve had to slow my pace when I didn’t want to and quicken the pace when I had found something I like and had no desire to move on. But, the dream was still there. It was deferred but incubating.
Today, I am happy to say I have the privilege to work with THE PIPELINE Magazine and with the woman who has made this magazine what it is today, Nonnie Jules. Beside her is her very talented Editor, Karen Black, and a lady we all admire whom we call Lady Harriet, Harriet Hodgson, with her own personal column. To work with these three has opened doors that fascinate me and extend my writing ability.
I thank God that my deferred dream of writing for a magazine has exploded into something beautiful years later. THE PIPELINE is an RRBC Monthly Publication and can be read by all. The link for the June issue is posted below.
I seem to have disappeared after my book release, but I haven’t. I have been taking classes, writing feverishly on five submissions for writing contests, and preparing my marketing plan for Turn The Light On so that I could get it into motion. There were many things that I had to learn also about YouTube, Instagram, and Facebook that I hadn’t known before the book was published, and I have had fun learning these things most of the time.
Today, I am revealing the book trailer for Turn The Light On. Many thanks to 4WillsPublishing. They have been marvelous in setting my desires into the type of book trailer I wanted to have.
I am smiling because I know how customer desires can frustrate a creative department. My wishes were on a very long list of what I wanted to happen, and each one was taken very seriously by 4WillsPublishing. They jumped right in the boat with me. It reminded me of the concerts I give here. My musicians jump in the boat with me, which is one reason my stage appearances are successful. And so it was with 4WillsPublishing. They stepped in the boat with me. For that, I am grateful.
I hope you have enjoyed the above Book Trailer Clip. It is my first one, and it is very special to me.
Nicole Souza has released her new book, Sins of Our Mothers and I have the privilege of interviewing her. Join me as Nicole talks about how she approaches her writing.
Welcome Nicole. It is indeed an honour to have you on my blog. First, tell us,
Why did you select to write about babies that were disabled, handicapped or had some kind of debilitating disease?
In the novel, the notion that the children at the Defect Research Center are defective, which in this world suggests they didn’t develop correctly or fully in the pod (artificial womb), is actually a coverup for the truth that the children being researched are male. In the world of Sins of Our Mothers, only women exist. They know nothing of any other sex or type of human within their species. They’re taught in school that Mother Earth (the deity in the story) creates the “seeds of life” that bequeath posterity to all living things, including humans/women.
Between now and fifteen hundred years in the future when the story takes place, women seized control of the government, all scientific research, and education. In order to establish world peace, they had to erase the existence of men who ruled unjustly from the beginning of time. They accomplished this by removing them from society, keeping them contained in remote settlements around the globe, and harvesting their sperm for IVF-style pod impregnation. They created a fictional story around this to convince future women the seeds that fertilized their eggs simply came from special plants in the earth.
Of course, to maintain this façade, they still needed women’s pods to bear male children for sperm production. Part of the lie they created is that any child born with a male body simply didn’t develop correctly in the pod and needs to be sent into research where they can be raised and controlled by the government. Instead of being labeled male, those children are labeled defective.
How long did it take you to create a world around your protagonist and antagonist?
From the first draft to publication was around eight years. It was especially tricky to get the antagonist just right. In this particular story, the antagonist is not only the mighty military general, Sarah Love, and other women in power, it’s also a concept, a theory, a political philosophy.
The protagonist, Lyratelle Faith, is a hyper-observant woman with a particular appreciation for, and devotion to, truth and agency. Her enemies are anyone forcing onto her and those she loves beliefs contrary to those she most cherishes, as well as any philosophy that preaches something other than truth and agency as the primary pillars of excellence.
In past drafts, Lyratelle faced a variety of antagonists. Those portrayed in the final version of the book are the ones I felt best balanced the need for both human and theoretical antagonists. But, man, did it take time for me to get it right!
3. Does any of the book relate to your own life experiences?
In college, I made an astounding observation: nearly all my straight, married girlfriends, and those with a live-in boyfriend, were the sole providers in their relationships. This alone wasn’t all that strange. What was strange was that every single friend in this situation told me their husband or boyfriend was profoundly unhappy and had developed at least one addiction that was affecting their relationship. Though all relatively close to my age, these weren’t just friends here in the states. These were women of multiple ethnicities and cultures.
Some spoke English, some didn’t. Some had children, some didn’t. Some were students, some had mortgages, some were renting. Some lived with parents or in-laws. The one thing they all had in common was an unemployed adult man depending on their salary. The most bizarre detail was that not one of the women with children depended on her partner for childcare, even though he was home all day. They either relied on relatives or paid for professional childcare. They all blamed their partner’s addictions.
The men’s addictions ranged from simple things like alternate realities to more intense things like pornography and even detrimental things like alcohol and destructive drugs. Some of the men were students. Some were college graduates, some high school graduates. All had essentially disappeared from their families, their communities, and society—a trend I began to notice extended far outside my circle of contacts.
While several of these couples split or divorced, many pulled through and have progressed together. The fact that so many people precious to me—wonderful, intelligent people—intersected in this weird place all at once felt significant. I remember thinking, “These women literally do everything. They could just remove the men and their lives would remain the same, but without the stress of supporting a grown man and his addictions. All women really need from men is their sperm, right? Aside from that, are men even necessary?”
Settlement 1163 in the novel represents the struggles of these men and others I’ve met since. Lilac City, where the women live, represents those and all women who bear and raise their children, as well as support their families, alone. While the burden of supporting men in their homes is gone, they still, unknowingly, support the men in the settlements through taxes. But the emotional burden of feeling like they do everything alone doesn’t exist in the book because the only world the characters know is a completely female one.
The first draft of Sins of Our Mothers sent me on an arduous journey where I discovered for myself that, not only are men necessary, but masculinity is infinitely more valuable than those currently in power would have us believe. There’s a lot of talk nowadays about toxic masculinity. What’s not being talked about is how essential masculinity is to a free, successful, harmonious society. If we’re to live truly free, achieve our potential as the twenty-first century generation of the human family, and ensure future generations can liberally pursue happiness, we need good men.The final draft of the book is, I hope, a depiction of what I learned along that journey
Nicole, you have mentioned so many things that has created within me a desire to read your book. It sounds very engaging. I thank you also for the excerpt that I will post at the end of our discussion. Let’s take a few minutes to talk about your writing habits.
Book Cover
Some writers write in the morning, others at night, and then others in the afternoon. When do you take the time to write?
I wish I could say I get up early, go for a jog, and get my writing done in the morning. Alas, I’m a sluggish, lifelong insomniac, so I write most productively in the evening or at night. I typically collect my thoughts throughout the day, making a mental outline of what I’ll work on. Finally, when my body and mind are fully awake several hours in, I sit and focus on getting those thoughts written down. This usually lasts well into the night. In fact, the only times I do write in the morning are when I notice the sunrise lighting my window and tell myself it’s time to stop and go to bed.
Is it important for you to write every day? And if it is, why is it important?
Writing every day is a lofty goal. While I do try to dedicate time each day to honing the craft, resetting my mind and eyes is essential to completing any project. Sometimes, after distancing myself from a project for a few days, I’m able to see much better where it’s lacking. If I’m truly dedicated to telling a story, a day or two of rest doesn’t set me back. I’ve found rest actually propels me forward.
I strive to always have a side project to work on. That way, I can write a little without the pressure of getting it just right and simply enjoy the practice. I’ve written a few one-draft short stories with a specific reader in mind. When finished, I send the story to the muse knowing they’ll get some enjoyment out of it. Et voila! I’ve met my goal for the day.
I never beat myself up for missing a day. Writing can’t become a chore. If it starts to weigh me down, I step back, and reevaluate where I’ve got it wrong. Often, the answer is to give it a few days, work on myself for a bit, and dive back in when the time is right.
Let’s talk about your writer’s voice. How did you develop it? Did it matter to you to find your own voice?
Having my own writer’s voice is important to me. I don’t want to sound like another author. Though being able to imitate the greats would be an accomplishment of sorts, it wouldn’t be my accomplishment. Writing, for me, isn’t like being a classical concert pianist. I don’t want my recitals to be the same songs, played with the same techniques, audiences have been listening to for centuries. Yes, they can still enjoy and be moved by those songs, but the performer has to produce the joy the audience feels. And I find more joy in creating something completely new than trying to redo what others have done.
That’s not to say I’m not often tripped up by clichés and lazy writing. I do occasionally find myself using expressions past writers popularized. It’s challenging to freshly express a common feeling or reaction. It’s also not to say I don’t recognize and appreciate those who blazed the trail for stories to be told so easily nowadays. All writers today stand on the shoulders of giants.
I’m still developing my writer’s voice. As I engage in projects of varying genres and points of view, I typically struggle to hear myself at the start. As I get going, I discover ways to showcase the unique qualities of my writing. It’s such an awesome moment when you see both story and storytelling becoming completely yours.
I’ve learned to patiently allow myself as many failures as it takes to get it right, and inch along. There’s a critic around every corner, ready and anxious to tell us where we got it wrong. It’s up to us, individually, to track how far we’ve come, to remind ourselves how far back we started, and how much we can still improve. Maximum potential is never reached without growing pains.
How do you get to know your own characters? Do you write out a character profile or do you just start writing?
For me, character development is the most fun, yet daunting, aspect of storytelling. In the beginning, I just started writing. As the first draft of the novel developed, I learned I needed a system to help me get to know the characters better. I often didn’t know how one would react in a scene, what they would say, or what they even believed. To assist my chaotic brain, I developed a system I call SPEMPARFS, an acronym for: spiritual, physical, emotional, mental, psychological, artistic, romantic, financial, and social.
This is in order of importance as I like to get to know my characters in a certain way. That doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes know a character’s physical traits or financial status first, it just means when fleshing out a character, this works great for me.
I begin with a character’s spirituality because it will tell me more about them than anything else and inform other attributes. I end with their social life because that’s when I’m ready to have them interact with other characters. Knowing their social status and personality helps a ton with dialogue! Most importantly, I can establish how that character is viewed by other characters, and how she views them.
Here are a few questions I ask myself in each category when developing a character:
Spiritual: What are the character’s fundamental beliefs? Is she steady in them or figuring them out? Is her spirituality relevant to the story? What aspects of her belief system need to be included? How do her beliefs inform her behavior? What’s her inner drive? Does that change throughout the story? What deities exist in her world? What’s her relationship to them?
Physical: What does she look like? How tall is she? What is she physically capable of? Does she struggle with her health? What scenes will showcase her physical abilities or lack thereof? Does she have a healthy relationship to food? Does her physical health inform any talents? What are her physical goals? What color are her eyes and hair? Does she have any scars? How did she get them? What’s her lineage and ethnicity? Do her reproductive organs function well? How does her menstrual cycle affect her?
Emotional: Establish a default emotional state. What sets her off? What excites her? What makes her cry? Does she cry often? Does she struggle to express emotion? Does emotion drive most of her choices? Does she have control of herself? Is she balanced? Temperate? Which are her most common emotions? What’s her typical daily mood and what most often changes it?
Mental: Is she formally educated? What did she study? Is she street smart? Does she speak more than one language? Is she a good teacher? Does she thirst for knowledge? Does she care how the world works? Is technology important to her? If the story is fantasy, and school as we know it doesn’t exist, what programs helped her gain knowledge and experience? Is she a master in those? Did she fall below average?
Psychological: Is this character straightforward? Manipulative? What mental illnesses run in her family? What about her past informs her psyche? Is she stable in relationships? Confident? What comforts her when scared or alone? Can she be trusted with the tasks required to reach the story’s end goal? Could her psychological struggles become strengths used to achieve her goals? What terrifies her?
Artistic: Everyone is an artist. Everyone creates something, even if just a concept. How is this character artistic? Is she an architect? Painter? Songwriter? Does she play an instrument? Does she express herself through dance? Does she want to change the world somehow? Which of her talents could help? What are her dreams? What keeps her up at night?
Romantic: What is her romantic status? What characteristics does she look for in a mate? Is she in a stable marriage? Does marriage as we know it exist in her world? What bothers her about her current romantic situation? Is she afraid of romance? How does her body react to attractive potential partners? Is she driven by sexual desire? Is she a virgin? Is sex sacred to her?
Financial: How does she make a living? What’s her home like? Her neighborhood? Does she rent? Are there new forms of currency in the story? What’s her status in her society? Is she comfortable where she’s at? Is she ashamed of her poverty? Prideful about her wealth? Embarrassed of how she’s made money in the past? Is she honest in her financial dealings?
Social: Who’s in her inner circle? Is she outgoing? Shy? Where does she meet up with friends? Does she trust them? Does she hang around shady people? How do her friends influence her decisions? Does peer pressure sway her? Does she get along with her coworkers? Boss? Neighbors? Family? Is she important in society? Is she respected? Is she a nobody? How does this change throughout the story?
Even after completing the SPEMPARFS, I refer to them often throughout the revision process.
5. I’ve heard some writers say that reading is not important to them or they don’t have the time to read. Is reading important to you and do you read other authors or only authors in your genre?
I love to read. It definitely makes me a better writer. When I see how other authors set up heartbreaking moments or compile little details into a mind-blowing reveal, I’m inspired to discover ways to give my readers similar experiences.
I love dystopian novels, the genre Sins of Our Mothers fits into. The Giver by Lois Lowry was one of the first full novels I read, and it captivated me in ways nothing else ever has. The idea that I could make an argument by illustrating through storytelling what the world would look like if the opposite of my argument came true was inexplicably beautiful to my young mind.
I do, however, venture out of this genre often. I enjoy romance, horror, mystery, psychological twists that move me in unexpected ways, really anything that keeps my attention until the end. I’ve even been profoundly inspired by manga, which is about as different of a storytelling artform as you can get from Sins of Our Mothers. To me, the ultimate success as a writer would be to create a character as impactful as Levi Ackerman from Attack on Titan by Hajime Isayama, my favorite fictional character of all time. From his backstory in the underground to his later encounters with the beast titan, his entire character arc is just phenomenal.
I think reading for a writer is a lot like eating for a chef; you improve the more you experiment. Just because someone specializes in Italian cuisine doesn’t mean they can’t enjoy, and be inspired by, excellent Thai food. There’s no way every possible combination of seasonings will ever be achieved, which just means there’s no limit to a person’s capacity for creation.
Beautiful! Thank you for taking the time to be specific about your writing habits. By the way, I too believe that writers must read. We can learn so much from another author.
Thanks for dropping by, Nicole and for my readers, an excerpt of Sins of Our Mothers is posted below.
Shalom aleiche,
Pat Garcia
Excerpt
Chapter 2 Juley 17, 1513 P.C.
6:00 a.m.
“Oh, glorious Mother Earth.”
Grace’s mother, Faye Angels, who diligently served as Prophetess to the northeast region of Lilac City, fell to her knees with a theatrical sigh. “How generous You are to Your creatures. We’re unworthy to touch Your soil.” She dug her fingertips in the dirt. “Yet we do so that we may be filled with Your goodness.”
Lyratelle grimaced across the circle at Grace, who responded with a shrewd grin. The most dedicated worshipers in the circle, the true believers, wore ceremonial sackcloth dresses wrapped twice around their bodies, secured by a half-inch rope, homemade from twelve lines of twine. They decorated their untamed hair with wildflowers every morning before service and formed a circle around Faye, who led them in a verse of “How Great You Are” before regular citizens arrived to recite the ceremonial prayer.
Lyratelle attended worship once a month—the minimum requirement before being fined for shirking her duties as an inhabitant of Mother Earth. She couldn’t stomach more than that.
Faye looked to the pale sky, raised fistfuls of dirt over her head, and hummed as it rained down upon her. “I bathe in Your magnificent soil that yields the seeds of life. Let it cleanse me.” The dirt and wildflowers clinging to her hair created the illusion that a garden grew from her head. The remaining dirt on her hands she rubbed over her shoulders and arms.
The women surrounding her, including Lyratelle and Grace, fell to their knees. The dirt was soft and cool on Lyratelle’s ankles and the tops of her feet. They gathered handfuls of dirt and sprinkled them over their heads while repeating in unison, “I bathe in Your magnificent soil that yields the seeds of life. Let it cleanse me.” Lyratelle, of course, only mouthed the words, refusing to participate in the ways she could control.
She did, however, appreciate the beauty of the Chapel Garden, the “holiest” room in the church. It was essentially an enclosed sandbox filled with soft, fresh dirt. Flowers in decorative pots were placed along the walls. Smaller pots hung in every corner. The ceiling was convertible. When closed, it was a tented tarp guiding rain or snow to the gutter. When open, it revealed the morning sky. Lyratelle loved the orange and purple stripes remaining from sunrise.
“We thank You,” Faye trembled with passion, “on behalf of all Your creatures, for the seeds Your miraculous being produces, graciously given, which bequeath posterity.”
“We thank You,” the women sang, rubbing the excess dirt on their shoulders and arms.
“We thank You on behalf of plants and insects.”
The women echoed, “We thank You on behalf of plants and insects.”
“On behalf of fishes and fouls.”
“On behalf of fishes and fouls.”
“On behalf of beasts and women.”
“On behalf of beasts and women.”
“We ask that You continue producing the seeds of life. Help our brave sisters, the Harvesters, to find and gather them safely. Oh, Mother Earth, lead them to healthy seeds, that they may avoid defectives.” She cupped both hands around her face and inhaled the scent of the soil. “Today, we include a special prayer for the Harvesters injured in the explosion yesterday. Heal them. Bless them. Ease their pain.”
The women repeated, “Heal them. Bless them. Ease their pain.”
“This is our prayer,” Faye concluded. “Amen.”
While the others chorused “Amen,” Lyratelle breathed a sigh of relief.
Author, Shirley Harris Slaughter is a guest on my blog today. She is one of many authors who made the ’20 Writers Conference & Book Expo a huge success in 2020. Thanks, Shirley, for your contribution! Below are some interesting tidbits about Shirley.
CRAZY! HOT! AND LIVING ON THE EDGE By Shirley Harris-Slaughter
Book Blurb:
Crazy! Hot! And Living On The Edge!! Kindle Edition
Imagine experiencing emotions that have you questioning your sanity. Your body gets overheated at the least bit of excitement and you scramble to find a fan or some air. Or you find yourself in the throes of a panic attack and can’t understand how to shut it off, so you are filled with anxiety wondering when the next one is coming. What if every time you take a drug you experience side-affects that you are warned about on the label? The title was conceived in my mind after I thought over all the situations, I had found myself in, how I got out of them, and the affect all of this had on my overall physical and mental well-being. Crazy! Hot! And Living On The Edge!! Is the True Story of My Upside Down Life!
Author Bio:
Shirley Harris-Slaughter is the author of Our Lady of Victory, the Saga of an African-American Catholic Community which was written to address a need to preserve Catholic history in her local community. She mentored four freshman girls at the local middle school. She is active in her church and https://ravereviewsbookclub.wordpress.com/virtual book club community where she has added another biography and fiction to her repertoire. She is married to Langston and is a Michigan Native.
A BIT MORE ABOUT ME:
During my graduate studies I prepared an Applied Research Project to address the deplorable condition of our train station, in downtown Detroit, MI. It was certified and accepted by the faculty of Cleary University in August 1993. I was able to galvanize the entire community around this issue which was videotaped and featured on broadcast news. I utilized college interns and the city of Detroit to find some answers in order to provide a template for saving this historic station. Here is the Title…
“THE IMPLEMENTATION APPROACH TO RESTORING THE MICHIGAN CENTRAL DEPOT”
They ran through the streets, shouting, Hosanna, Hosanna! Sounds reverberated like an echo.
Hilarious, crazed laughter over what they thought was coming. And why not? Their king was riding on a donkey, Ready to free them from slavery and oppression And the yoke that had drugged them down, Since they had been subjugated into serfdom
Hosanna, they cried out! Hosanna! Too caught up in the delirium to care about the soldiers. Free at last!
They were ready to kill To regain their rightful status. Their bloodthirst knew no bounds. Free, free, free at last!
By noon, Friday The song had changed. No more Hosanna, Hosanna. One by one, each had sneaked away to his own home. Candles snuffed out quickly. Although it was the Passover Association quickly became disassociation.
Doors locked, Darkness blackened the day like midnight. They hadn’t wanted a cross. No whipping, No nails, Not for him. He was supposed to lead them to war. But not a crucifixion!
Streets emptied. People cowered in their homes with their heads bowed. Fearing to be known as His follower.
On the third day, The sun rose. Something inexplicable had happened. Baffled by the news, two men talked about it on the way to their village. Downcast, they didn’t know what to think. A stranger joined them and listened in. They paid no attention to Him as they wallowed in their sorrow. “What are you discussing?” He asked. They shook their heads in disbelief that the Stranger hadn’t heard. So dreary seemed their days ahead, but they informed him.
Reaching their village, they offered the Stranger their hospitality. The Stranger accepted and took over as host. As the Stranger broke the bread, they recognized him. The greatest miracle of all stood right before them. And they rushed back to Jerusalem to tell the others, “He that was dead is now alive.”
“Yes,” said Cleopas. “That what went into the ground has risen.” .
“Hallelujah,” said the other, “He’s triumphant over all!”
“Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?”
JESUS IS RISEN!
GERMAN TRANSLATION BY JULIANE EPPENDAHL
DIE AUFERSTEHUNG VON Pat Garcia
Sie liefen durch die Straßen und riefen “Hosianna, Hosianna!” Die Rufe hallten wie ein Echo wider.
Ausgelassen lachten sie über das, was da zu kommen schien. Und warum auch nicht? Ihr König ritt auf einem Esel, bereit, sie von Sklaverei und Unterdrückung zu befreien und von dem Joch, das sie niedergedrückt hatte. seit sie in die Knechtschaft gezwungen worden waren.
“Hosianna”, riefen sie, “Hosianna!” Zu sehr im Rausch gefangen, um sich noch um die Soldaten zu scheren. Endlich frei!
Sie waren bereit zu töten, um ihren rechtmäßigen Stand wiederzuerlangen. Ihr Blutdurst kannte keine Grenzen. Frei, frei, endlich frei!
Am Freitagmittag hatte sich das Lied geändert. Kein “Hosianna, Hosianna” mehr. Einer nach dem anderen hatte sich nach Hause geschlichen. Die Kerzen waren schnell erloschen. Obwohl es das Passahfest war, wurde aus der Assoziation schnell eine Dissoziation.
Türen wurden verschlossen, Dunkelheit verdüsterte den Tag wie Mitternacht. Ein Kreuz hatten sie nicht gewollt. Keine Auspeitschung, keine Nägel, nicht für ihn. Er sollte sie in den Krieg führen. Aber nicht in eine Kreuzigung!
Die Straßen leerten sich. Die Menschen kauerten mit gesenktem Kopf in ihren Häusern. Sie fürchteten, als seine Anhänger erkannt zu werden.
Am dritten Tag, ging die Sonne auf. Etwas Unerklärliches war geschehen. Verblüfft von der Nachricht unterhielten sich zwei Männer auf dem Weg in ihr Dorf darüber. In ihrer Bedrückung wussten sie nicht, was sie denken sollten. Ein Fremder gesellte sich zu ihnen und hörte zu. Versunken in ihrer Trauer, schenkten sie ihm keine Beachtung. “Wovon redet ihr?” fragte er. Sie schüttelten ungläubig den Kopf, dass der Fremde es nicht gehört hatte. Ihre kommenden Tage versprachen trostlos zu werden, aber dennoch erzählten sie es ihm.
Als sie ihr Dorf erreichten, boten sie dem Fremden ihre Gastfreundschaft an. Er willigte ein und übernahm die Rolle des Gastgebers. Als der Fremde das Brot brach, erkannten sie ihn. Das größte Wunder von allen stand direkt vor ihnen. Und sie eilten zurück nach Jerusalem, um es den anderen zu erzählen. Er, der tot war, ist jetzt lebendig.
“Ja”, sagte Kleopas. Das, was in die Erde einging, ist auferstanden. .
“Halleluja”, sagten die anderen, “Er hat über alles gesiegt!”
“Tod, wo ist dein Sieg? Tod, wo ist dein Stachel?”
JESUS IST AUFERSTANDEN!
Shalom aleichem,
Pat Garcia
*Bible Verse taken from the New International Version of 1984, First Corinthians 15:55
*Bibelverse wurden zitiert aus der Lutherbibel 2017, 1. Korinther 15,55).
The Silver Lining, A poem by Robbie Cheadle – YouTubeAbout Press Copyright Contact us Creators Advertise Developers Terms Privacy Policy & Safety How YouTube works Test new features Press Copyright Contact us Creators …
It is a pleasure to have you here. You are currently on a Virtual Tour with MC Book Tour, so let’s dig deep and talk about your writing journey.
How did it start?
I have always loved writing and I suppose it may be something that comes somewhat naturally to me. I was an English major so I certainly had a fair amount of writing in undergraduate school, although it was more from a standpoint of analyzing literature that had come before me, and not so much about finding my own creative voice. It wasn’t until my son was about to turn ten, and my youngest had started kindergarten, and I thought I would somehow have more time on my hands but in actuality it didn’t really seem to be the case, it was just delegated a bit differently. Anyway, I had the realization that time was moving fast and I wanted to remember things and thought, it was time to make time, and so I started to write.
2. When did you develop your writer’s voice?
Being mostly a memoir, my writer’s voice was my own. In fact, many of my friends that have read my book have told me they could almost picture me telling the story, it was just so me. So, for the memoir piece it was quite easy to find my writer’s voice. For the transcendental fiction piece, I just imagined myself in the various scenarios I was trying to explain, being sure to include all of the details that I was experiencing in that moment of time, and tried to explain it as best I could from my point of view. When I was capturing Lark’s voice, it was a bit more complicated, as he was just ten, albeit a rather advanced and wise ten year old. His voice was not your typical ten year old but I did not want it to be. He is based on my son, who was ten at the time I started writing it, and I would say he was not your typical ten year old either. In some ways he was, and is, wise beyond his years. In other ways, he still maintains the innocence of a child and that perspective was essential to the heart of the story. I wanted the memoir piece to be completely fact based, even if there is a visit to a fantastical journey sprinkled throughout. I think that is life, really, right? We experience truths but we still escape in our imagination to process them and make sense of it all and then ultimately come back to the facts with a little perspective under our belts. We live and we learn and we love and at the end of the day, that’s what it’s all about.
What about Research?
Being mostly a memoir, I must admit there was very limited research involved in writing Lark and the Loon. It was just written based on my experiences and perspectives and pre-existing knowledge, so the research was simply through experience!
Pantser or Plotter– which one are you?
100% pantser. I completely flew by the seat of my pants on the writing of the book. I had a few key points I wanted to touch on, such as my memories from the time of my daughter’s illness and some of my experiences from my time in Africa. I had a group of vignettes of random moments in time that had struck me in some way and shifted my perspective. Some moments were big, some small, but all had an impact. I was unsure how to string them together in any coherent way which is when I got the idea to blend genres. The memoir characters are based on my family so,that was already established, but my characters in the fictional piece evolved chapter to chapter, surprising me as I wrote about them as much as they will probably surprise the reader. Through Lark traveling amongst my memories in the memoir piece, in a Dicken’s-like Scroogey (but not grumpy) fashion, reliving moments from the past but being privy to my inner thoughts and feelings, Lark was able to then return to the fictional piece and process it and make some sense of it all. The fictional piece finds him within a symbolic tree, in which he must ascend in order to find his way out and hopefully home. As he ascends physically, his inner self ascends on many other levels. The tree itself incorporates subtle notions of the chakras and Lark climbs through each level gaining insight into the various elements attached to each. So, I had the rough plot of traveling through them, with various experiences tied into that. Again, this piece is subtle but if one is familiar with them at all, they would be noted. So, each time Lark returns to the tree, he is experiencing a different level, represented by different colors, and the book travels back and forth between the two in a personal ascension. If Lark can find his way out of the tree, he can find his way home, and ultimately himself
Do you write every day and when do you write morning or evening?
I have to be honest. Right now I do not write every day. Covid has thrown me for a loop but I do hope to get back to it. I was writing morning and evening when the kids were asleep or sometimes while they were in school. With the children at home so much over the past year, I have put it on the back burner for a bit. My kids are also staying up later now that they are a bit older (ages 8-14), so I am finding that we often are all going to bed at the same time on most nights, with no extra time for writing in the evening. I do plan on scheduling in set times for writing during the day, when they are in school, as they are all now back at school, at least on a hybrid schedule. I am not a very big scheduled person but Gosh I love making a ‘to do list,’ even if I usually only tackle the first thing on that list. So, I think what I need to do is schedule a set time to write each day and stick to it. In addition, I think a set start and stop time would be good, because when I get going with something creative, it can be hard to stop. That is one skill parenthood has taught me, although still tough at times, I have learned to stop things mid-stride and focus on what is most important. Attention to those you love is the most impactful time spent so balancing it all in an efficient manner is a dance I am still perfecting. So, long story short, on the top of my next to-do-list will be to make more time for writing! Thanks for asking that question and making me think about it. As I said earlier, time has a habit of slipping by quickly if we don’t take the time to make time!
Thank you, Rhiannon for dropping by and revealing pertinent information that may help some writers on their journey.
I wish you all the best.
This is a two part tour and there is a grand prize at the end.
Kathie Mae sat and stared at her surroundings; everything was in place just like he liked it.
The cream coloured sofa just at the right angle, three meters away but right in front of the large floor to ceiling window that faced the street before their house. The window sparkled. The brightness from the sun shining heftily through it. The mahogany wood piano, opened, displaying its ivory black and white keys, and a portrait of her hanging over it, singing.
Kathie Mae looked at the portrait and examined the eyes of the woman she no longer knew. Yes, the eyes in the picture were brighter, livelier, and mischievous filled with hope and the desire to conquer the world. Where had all that gone?
The clock ticked away the minutes; her heartbeat quickened with every passing minute.
Soon he would be home. In an hour or two, Kathie Mae would have to stop her wandering mind from going back to the past.
Whoever thought that having everything that money could buy meant fulfilment had to be gravely disturbed she thought and heard Louisa knock softly on the living room door.
“Come in, Louisa.”
“I don’t mean to disturb you, but I’ll be leaving soon. Is there anything else you want me to do?”
“No,” Kathie Mae said and gave her a hollow smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “What are you going to do this weekend, Louisa?”
“I’m going to do what I do here every day,” Louisa said. “I’m going to clean my house.”
Kathie Mae chuckled. She’d talked to Cesare about reducing Louisa’s days to three times a week, but he’d insisted that she had to come every day except Sunday. When he returned home, he wanted to see an orderly, well-kept house without any clutter. That when she’d begun to notice that well-kept meant everything including her.
“Well, take some time to enjoy your Sunday, Louisa. Everybody needs rest.”
“I will. If I had a husband like yours, I’d be in Heaven,” Louisa said. “It would be so nice to wake up and not have to do anything.”
Kathie Mae shuddered at Louisa’s words. The woman didn’t know what she was asking for.
Would she really like living in a cage? The changes Kathie Mae had had to undergo bombarded her mind.
Black men love long hair, white men love afros, but what about what women like. Were there no women in the world outside of the Stepford Wives?
Cesare had told her to get rid of her coils. Why were they so distasteful and unruly for him? Afro, he’d shouted, Afro! An Afro was what Cesare expected her to wear. Little by little, he’d whittled away at her until she’d become the pretty hull that he wanted her to be.
Soon, she didn’t recognise who she was. When she looked into her mirror, she saw Cesare’s creation. The one he wanted to come home too. She’d managed to save only a tiny small piece of who she was hidden deep inside her and would visit whenever she could.
“Are you alright, Ms. Kathie Mae?” Louisa asked, frowning.
She had drifted so deep into the small piece of herself that she’d forgotten that Louisa was standing before her.
“Yes…Louisa. I’m sorry…No need to tell Mr. Domenico…about this. I…was just thinking about what you said,” Kathie Mae said.
“Okay, I won’t mention it this time, but I don’t want you to slip away like that. You scared me. Mr. Domenico said it’s dangerous when you slip away.”
“I’m alright, Louisa. I didn’t slip away. I was just thinking about what you said, ”Kathie Mae repeated even though she didn’t remember what Louisa had said.
“Good, then I would like to leave early if it is alright with you,” Louisa said.
“Sure, why don’t you do that,” Kathie Mae said, “I’m waiting on Cesare to come home just as he wants me too.”
“When are you going to sing again?” Louisa asked.
“Sing? Oh yes…I did sing once, didn’t I.”
“Why don’t you know, Ms. Kathie Mae?” Louisa asked. “You sing so beautifully, with heart and soul.”
“One day…Louisa…one day, I’ll tell you all about it,” Kathie Mae said. “Now go home.”
Kathie Mae heard the front door close and listened as Louisa turned the key in the lock.
She walked to the living room window and stood so Louisa could see that she was in the house. A fake smile on her face, Kathie Mae waved at Louisa. “
“Caged birds don’t sing, Louisa. They dress as puppets without souls,” Kathie Mae murmured while waving to Louisa.
Kathie Mae went back to the sofa to sit before the window, so Cesare could see her when he came and looked at the window from the sidewalk. He would wave. She would wave back. He would walk up the steps and open the door to the cage and say ‘darling ‘before he locked the cage for the weekend.
Welcome to Day 9 and the conclusion of the RWISA “REVOLUTION” Blog Tour! We’d like to introduce you to an amazingly supportive RWISA member, Author, Nonnie Jules, who is also the Founder of RRBC & RWISA. Take a peek at her writing below…
A LIFE ISN’T WORTH LIVING IF NOT IN SERVICE TO OTHERS
I’d like to begin by thanking two of my fellow RWISA Authors who were also on this tour, Joy Nwosu Lo-Bamijoko and Linnea Tanner, who both had the courage to write about, or reference the ills of our world, that many would like to keep deeply hidden. I speak of hatred and systemic racism. Again, thank you both for your courage to write with such substance and I hope that it is still resonating with all who read both of your pieces. I am honored that your words are a continual ring in my ears.
The theme of this year’s REVOLUTION tour is A NEW YEAR – A FRESH START, and with that theme in mind, I’d like to share my thoughts on what a fresh start in this new year looks like for, and, to me.
My quote above, “A life isn’t worth living if not in service to others,” is what gives my life meaning and purpose. RRBC and RWISA came to be because I didn’t see enough service being spread around the web when I came aboard. I noticed a ton of selfish behavior, “me, me, and more me” attitudes, and a strong indifference to lending a hand to help the next person climbing after you, also reach the top. I felt myself drowning in an ocean of “gimme,” and surrounded by a nation of takers. In my mind, I had to do something.
With the inception of RRBC, the rules of the land were (and still are) that members support members. Some came aboard and quickly embraced the concept, either because it was inherently part of their makeup, or because they realized it was the fastest route to gaining support for their own agendas.
And then, there were the others – the takers and the ones from the land of “gimme.” They came aboard in droves – taking all that they could, and once they realized we were on to them, they quickly abandoned their squatter positions. By the way, we do so appreciate their exits as they made room for the uber-supportive members I’ll reference below.
The members on our roster who are constantly being profiled, promoted, pushed, and honored, are the members who show, by their actions, that they are living in service to others. They don’t make excuses, they make a way.They don’t see a tweet and merely re-tweet it, they click the link first to see how they can support their fellow members even more and even better. They don’t re-tweet only tweets with their Twitter handle included. They don’t show up only when they are the ones being profiled, interviewed or whose book is being discussed. And their social media feeds? Well, they are clogged with promotion of others!
Their support doesn’t stop there. These members consistently show up to support in a myriad of ways, including the following…
following along member blog tours, leaving comments and sharing the posts on social media
hosting fellow members on their blog tours, such as our “SPOTLIGHT” Authors
sitting in the audience of member interviews on our RAVE WAVES shows,
showing up to our book club discussions to support BOOK OF THE MONTHAuthors
purchasing, reading and reviewing fellow member books from the RRBC &RWISA catalogs
sharing members’ books directly from Amazon, along with the purchase links and book covers
visiting members’ book trailers on YouTube, leaving comments and sharing to social media
following members’ blogs and websites and ensuring that they are active in these blogging communities
and even showing up to participate in club activities, to ensure that our organizations remain fluid and not stagnant and boring.
These are but a few ways that the supportive and active members of RRBC/RWISA ensure that they are exhibiting a life of service to others, especially on social media. We are not an organization interested in supporting those who don’t support others. If you show me that I’m not that important to you, then why would I go out of my way to place you on my special pedestal of support? If you’re not purchasing, reading and reviewing member books here, then guess what, you will never find yourself in the BOOK OF THE MONTH hot seat. Why would we tell others to run out and support you, when you don’t bother to show up to support them? And by the way, showing up is more than just sending out tweets and re-tweets. It takes so much more than that to create success.
2020 was a hard year for all of us, but 2021 rolled right in, giving us a clean slate to write new, more positive chapters in our life stories. Lucky for us all, this new year opened the door wide for us to make positive changes.
So, today, I ask you, what kind of life are you living? When we drop by to support you and we peruse your Twitter feed, will we see that you are in love with you, OR, will we smile when we see how hard you’re pushing someone else? When we look out into the gallery of our RAVE WAVES shows and our monthly book club discussions, will we see your pretty smiley face, OR, will we see only the beautiful faces of those who typically show up with their amazing support? Will you be counted among the many (who do nothing to support others) OR, will you be proudly counted among the few (who do more than their share to push others to the top?) Where will you stand when the roll is counted? With the givers or the takers?
Yes, it’s a new year, and also the most perfect opportunity for a fresh start! If you have been straddling the fence, finding it hard to get down, take that leap of faith and jump right in … somewhere … anywhere you can make a positive difference in the life of someone else. When you support others, you are supported ten-fold within RRBC/RWISA.
Did you make a New Year’s Resolution on December 31, 2020? I didn’t. I made an Intention, and that is, I intend to continue sharing and educating as many as I can on the importance of living a life of service. Less selfishness and more selflessness will continue to be my mission’s slogan.
I’ll ask once more, which road will you take?
Did you enjoy Nonnie’s writing? Then please, help us support her and her work along this REVOLUTION tour! We ask that you click on the author’s RWISA Profile below and visit all of her profile pages – some offering more insight into the member and others showcasing the author’s talent.
Lastly, we ask that you support this member as well as the host of this blog, by sharing this page and the author’s profile pages across all your social media platforms.
Now, we’d like to give you a chance at some of this awesome promotion for yourself!
Have you written that book or short story you want the whole world to know about? Are you looking for a great way to promote your creative endeavors? Perhaps you’re seeking to add some prestige to your body of work! If this sounds like you, we invite you to come on over to RAVE WRITERS – INT’L SOCIETY OF AUTHORS, otherwise known as RWISA.
At RWISA, we invite and accept into membership only the very best writers the Indie community has to offer.
If your work is exemplary and speaks for itself, stop by the RWISA website today at RaveWriters.wordpress.com and find out how you can submit your sample of writing for consideration.
We’re an exclusive bunch but we’d love to have you join us!
NOTE: If you’re looking to improve your writing while taking another route to membership into RWISA, while you’re at the site, visit RWISA UNIVERSITY!
Thanks for dropping by and don’t forget to leave the author a comment below! To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the tour’s home page!
Welcome to Day 8 of the RWISA “REVOLUTION” Blog Tour! We’d like to introduce you to an amazingly supportive RWISA member and the 2nd graduate of RWISAUniversity,Author, Karen Black. Take a peek at her writing below…
THOUGHTS ON TWO THOUSAND TWENTY
Who could have imagined the changes that last year brought to us all? Like so many, I’ve read more than one book that told a tale of life during a pandemic. Scary stuff to be sure, I never expected that fiction would describe so much of that which became reality.
New Year’s Eve is my favorite holiday celebration; the end of a chapter and the start of the next one. It is the time to get over mistakes, mishaps, or misfortune that might have littered the past year, and plan for a positive future, with fresh energy and new goals. On December 31, 2020, I looked forward to putting the past year behind.
Like the dealer in a poker game, the universe has a deck of cards. Life deals us each a set of circumstances different from those of everyone else. Some of us are happy with what we face, and some of us aren’t. In 2020, we were all in the game, but against the odds, everyone got cards from the same suit, the pandemic. No one was happy about those cards, but we didn’t fold. Each of us is playing the hand to the best of our ability, with all of us pursuing a different goal on the road to individual victory.
As the new year got underway, and life as we knew it became more difficult, I thought about what two generations before me endured just to get through day-to-day living. From 1914 through 1919, World War I was being fought. As if the war wasn’t enough, the Spanish Flu arrived in 1918, and added to the misery. Back then, the recommendations were much the same as today: wear a mask, avoid crowds, stay home if you exhibit any symptoms, don’t get close to others, adhere to quarantines, etc.
Can you imagine going through the past year with limited medical treatment available, and without takeout, home delivery, curbside service, internet access and twenty-four-hour video entertainment? I can’t. Last year was difficult, but the conditions in 1918 were devastating.
The quarantines and shutdowns affected each of us differently, and we are all aware of the myriad of negative effects. But some good things have resulted, too. Hiking, bird watching, fishing or feeding ducks and squirrels are a few pastimes that took the place of a social network that was substantially diminished. Away from the office and into the outdoors, people found a new appreciation for parks and game lands and the overall benefits of being closer to nature.
With people spending more time at home, often alone, the pet adoption rate has risen. Many are experiencing the companionship of a furry buddy for the first time. They not only discovered the delight of a four-legged roommate, but provided homes for thousands of animals who might otherwise have died.
For some, socializing has been limited to those living in the same household, which means there is more interaction among family members. Rather than telling each other how you spent the day, you spend the day doing something together. Relationships are being rediscovered and people are getting to know each other a little differently.
What scientists learned about COVID and ways to protect against it will help in future research against a variety of diseases that find their way into our lives. Vaccines are becoming available, and before long will be easily accessible. The pandemic will pass, but I will remember that there was some good with the bad.
Looking forward to the new year, my goal is to dwell on the positive. I’ll keep looking for silver linings, even those that might be a bit tarnished. In the game of life, I think that’s all I’ll need for a winning hand.
***
Did you enjoy Karen’s writing? Then please, help us support her and her work along this REVOLUTION tour! We ask that you click on the author’s RWISA Profile below and visit all of her profile pages – some offering more insight into the member and others showcasing the author’s talent.
Lastly, we ask that you support this member as well as the host of this blog, by sharing this page and the author’s profile pages across all your social media platforms.
Now, we’d like to give you a chance at some of this awesome promotion for yourself!
Have you written that book or short story you want the whole world to know about? Are you looking for a great way to promote your creative endeavors? Perhaps you’re seeking to add some prestige to your body of work! If this sounds like you, we invite you to come on over to RAVE WRITERS – INT’L SOCIETY OF AUTHORS, otherwise known as RWISA.
At RWISA, we invite and accept into membership only the very best writers the Indie community has to offer.
If your work is exemplary and speaks for itself, stop by the RWISA website today at RaveWriters.wordpress.com and find out how you can submit your sample of writing for consideration.
We’re an exclusive bunch but we’d love to have you join us!
NOTE: If you’re looking to improve your writing while taking another route to membership into RWISA, while you’re at the site, visit RWISA UNIVERSITY!
Thanks for dropping by and don’t forget to leave the author a comment below! To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the tour’s home page!
Welcome to Day 7 of the RWISA “REVOLUTION” Blog Tour! We’d like to introduce you to an amazingly supportive RWISA member, Author, Pat Garcia. Take a peek at her writing below…
THE GOAL, THE PURPOSE, THE CONTRIBUTION, AND COVID19
Among the books that I have placed in collection boxes on my iPad, Don Quixote by Miquel de Cervantes is sitting in my favorite collection box. I read it for the first time in the print version of my first year at University. It impacted my belief system, turned my way of thinking upside down, and challenged me to get my act together and do what I had been called to do.
Later, the song To Dream The Impossible Dream that is so widely well-known from the musical Man of La Mancha, based on the Don Quixote, had me believing that I could take my experiences and reach what I saw them as the impossible star after I had failed at that particular moment in my studies and had been put on academic suspension for a year after my sophomore year.
During the year of my expulsion, Don Quixote worked on my imagination. I saw windmills in the form of words pouring into stories even though I had entered the dark night of the soul––the unknowing of not knowing where I was headed. I got a job working for Gracewood State School and Hospital for the mentally and physically disabled. The children at Gracewood awoke that lively, precocious, impish, and headstrong child I had buried deep within me. Today, that child in me is still living. A year later, after my academic suspension, I returned to the University and completed my first college degree with honors.
My father asked me, after I had graduated, what took me so long? I never answered him because I didn’t know then, and I still don’t know.
I thought of this incident when RWISA extended to me an invitation to become a fellow member among such an elite group of writers.
My goal has always been to be the very best writer that I can be. To write all the books, I am carrying within me and leave behind a legacy for others brought up in environments like mine. To give them the courage to step out there and try to reach his or her impossible dream.
This is a long-term goal. It ends when I die. My purpose will be fulfilled, and the legacy must stand on its own. The plan I have keeps me faithful to myself. It can’t be broken down into one year, five years, or even ten years. It is active until I expire.
The long-term goal influences my daily interactions with people. Having been blessed to write fiction, non-fiction, poetry, and sing, I can help others. I’m not looking to get rich, but I want to be able to help children and women in war-torn regions. I wish I could sponsor them all, but that is probably unrealistic. So, I do what I can and support as many as I can. The sponsorships will grow as I grow.
As COVID19 started last year, the organization that I sponsor through expected me to stop the donations until COVID19 has passed over. I didn’t think that was the best solution and continued my sponsoring. Each month I get a kick out of knowing that I am making a difference even though it is small.
Another important thing for me is getting people to open their eyes to see what is real and not accurate. Especially in these times, we need to recognize in our hearts that the world is not black and white. It is multi-colored, and it was created that way. This is the generator behind my purpose. I write Romance, Romantic Suspense, and Women’s Fiction with a tad bit of fantasy. My characters are flawed, hurt, sometimes disillusioned, but they always find the connection to love and acceptance. They learn to cope with their idiosyncrasies and the idiosyncrasies of others without trying to change people.
Through COVID19, my characters are teaching me lessons that I am storing up for new books.
My two friends from my allegory, The Child and The Prophet, will tell you in their own words below.
The Child lay on the lily pad singing a song as the ocean waves quietly moved her further on her destination. She’d forgotten how long she had been trying to get to the white house where her car was park.
“Prophet?” she called out to the figure that had suddenly reappeared again. He was preparing her a delicious seaweed lunch.
“Yes, Child?”
“How long now?”
The Prophet glanced up at the sky. Dark, blue, the cumulus clouds were moving quickly above them. “Why do you want to know that, Child? Any particular reason?”
The Child frowned. “I just think it’s taking a mighty long time.”
The Prophet snorted. “Don’t worry, Child, you’ll make it. That’s undoubtable.”
Now, we’d like to give you a chance at some of this awesome promotion for yourself!
Have you written that book or short story you want the whole world to know about? Are you looking for a great way to promote your creative endeavors? Perhaps you’re seeking to add some prestige to your body of work! If this sounds like you, we invite you to come on over to RAVE WRITERS – INT’L SOCIETY OF AUTHORS, otherwise known as RWISA.
At RWISA, we invite and accept into membership only the very best writers the Indie community has to offer.
If your work is exemplary and speaks for itself, stop by the RWISA website today at RaveWriters.wordpress.com and find out how you can submit your sample of writing for consideration.
We’re an exclusive bunch but we’d love to have you join us!
NOTE: If you’re looking to improve your writing while taking another route to membership into RWISA, while you’re at the site, visit RWISA UNIVERSITY!
Thanks for dropping by and don’t forget to leave the author a comment below! To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the tour’s home page!
Welcome to Day 6 of the RWISA “REVOLUTION” Blog Tour! We’d like to introduce you to an amazingly supportive RWISA member, Author, Jan Sikes, who is also RWISA Vice-President. Take a peek at her writing below…
HOW BLOGGING KEEPS ME SANE
As with each new year that rolls around, I view it as an opportunity to start with a fresh perspective and clean slate.
When I looked back on my goals for 2020, I found with some sense of satisfaction, I had accomplished almost all of them, despite the pandemic.
Some goals remain the same from year to year, such as clean eating, exercising, practicing meditation, being kind, and gentle with myself and others. I classify those as my permanent or ongoing goals. They never change.
Setting expanded goals for 2021 was quite different. COVID19 has affected us all. Not only in the way we socialize, but also in every other aspect of life, from how we shop to the way we promote our books.
The necessity for self-preservation has catapulted us into a virtual world. We order groceries online and have curbside pickup. We now visit with family via Zoom calls, and so much for getting out and attending book festivals to promote our books. That simply isn’t going to happen.
So, when I took an elemental look at how to market my books in 2021, I realized I needed to harness social media’s power.
The most powerful tool I have for marketing my work is, hands-down, my blog. I am fortunate to have built a substantial following over the years, which works to my advantage now.
I want to share with you some of the nuts and bolts of this fabulous tool, as well as some of the things I’ve learned about the art of blogging. Hopefully, you will benefit from them as well.
One of the greatest joys in my life is promoting and uplifting others. Because of this, I am always happy to offer my blog platform to support others, whether they be authors or indie music artists. And each time I spotlight a new author or artist, I gain a handful of organic followers. It’s a beautiful equation that works every time. It is the classic win-win for everyone.
The first and perhaps most important aspect of a blog is the title you create. There are many reasons for this, but mainly it is because the title needs to be eye-catching. If it isn’t, many potential readers may scroll on by and never take a peek. I know this from experience. I subscribe to a lot of blogs, so my email inbox is flooded each day. The blog titles are how I decide which ones I will pass on or read.
Some of the best practices in naming your blog post are asking a question, offering a solution, a list of solutions, or just making it fun and quirky. One recent post I wrote for a blog tour was entitled “The 3 P’s of Writing.”
That title makes you wonder what the P’s could be. I had a lot of success with that post. Fun and quirky will get me every time. You can also offer a promise of something in your title, such as a “How To” or a giveaway.
Another super important thing to add to a title is your guest’s Twitter handle (when you feature a guest). Why? Because each time that blog is shared on Twitter, it will tag them. It serves as a timesaver, and keeps the guest in your loop. I have found adding that one simple piece to a blog title gets it shared at least fifty percent more than a title without a tag.
Hashtags are another great way to get more shares. For instance, when I post a blog advertising a new book release, I will add #NewRelease to the title, which increases exposure in the feed.
Whatever your subject is, try adding a few hashtags to increase visibility.
Another super important detail, as a member of the Rave Reviews Book Cluband The Rave Writers – Int’l Society of Authors, includes adding those handles and hashtags to the blog title when the content is relevant to the organizations. Again, it is proven to increase visibility and sharing.
Blog content can be about anything. I have found my niche, and although it is broad, it works for me. I blog about every aspect of the craft of writing, books I’ve read, feature guests, new music from indie artists, and all things spiritual, from meditations and Tarot cards to Runes. Those define me and my interests.
It’s good to brand yourself. Make a statement as to what you are about through your blog posts.
Once you publish a blog post, I cannot stress enough the importance of engaging. When someone takes the time to comment on your blog, please respond. Just as it is rude to ignore someone who is speaking to you in a physical setting, it is rude to ignore blog comments.
When I host a guest, I emphasize the importance of engaging and responding to comments. If my followers and I are taking the time and effort to promote you and your work, the least you can do is engage and respond. Most authors are outstanding in this area. Music artists, not so much. No matter how many times I say the words, “You need to engage,” they don’t seem to get it. I think the biggest reason is the fact that many music artists hate computers and don’t have a lot of tech savvy outside the recording studio. Nevertheless, they miss out on potential new music followers when they don’t bother to stop by.
These are a few of the basics; things I’ve learned through my experience of blogging.
Facing an ever-growing reliance on a virtual world in the days, weeks, and possibly years ahead, by fully utilizing my blog site, I will continue to grow and flourish despite COVID19.
My blog is the compass, my North Star, which helps me navigate the turbulent waters of the world in which we live.
Now, we’d like to give you a chance at some of this awesome promotion for yourself!
Have you written that book or short story you want the whole world to know about? Are you looking for a great way to promote your creative endeavors? Perhaps you’re seeking to add some prestige to your body of work! If this sounds like you, we invite you to come on over to RAVE WRITERS – INT’L SOCIETY OF AUTHORS, otherwise known as RWISA.
At RWISA, we invite and accept into membership only the very best writers the Indie community has to offer.
If your work is exemplary and speaks for itself, stop by the RWISA website today at RaveWriters.wordpress.com and find out how you can submit your sample of writing for consideration.
We’re an exclusive bunch but we’d love to have you join us!
NOTE: If you’re looking to improve your writing while taking another route to membership into RWISA, while you’re at the site, visit RWISA UNIVERSITY!
Thanks for dropping by and don’t forget to leave the author a comment below! To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the tour’s home page!
Woke Up this morning. Shades of pink speckled the white cirrocumulus clouds, Spread thinly across portions of the blue Heaven, Outside my window.
Beautiful to behold, I lay in my bed, Watching, As words of thanksgiving poured out of my mouth from the most profound depth of my soul.
A year of dealing with goodbyes, Loneliness, Confusion and dread spiked my past. Leaving me with only one question: how long, Lord? As I thanked Him for each precious day, Each treasured breath, And each cherished memory I am taking with me.
There are always new beginnings, But how often do we forget, That new beginnings herald leaving the old, And stretching toward the new.
Stepping forward, The beginning vaporizes the old into sweeping recollections. With each step taken, A door closes that we see no more.
Our circle gets smaller. As we begin to climb. The price is high, but it is even higher if we don’t move.
So, I greet you this morning, In the middle of a pandemic that seems to have no end, From a world filled with hungry people who have barely enough to eat, From a world where immigrants are condemned to living in tents in freezing weather, And for wanting better homes, schooling, and yes, opportunities for their children, From a world flooded with conspiracies from left and right, A world where we have elevated ourselves upward as gods, Yet, we have no answers to what’s happening on our planet.
Could it be that a voice speaks to us from within that we fail to listen to?
Despite all that’s taking place, Despite my fears and doubts about man’s ability to get it right and do what needs to be done… I am thankful. Because God is faithful. He is still good.
I say all this to announce that my first baby (book baby) will enter the world on February 23rd. Yes, truly, I am thankful.
Welcome to Day 5 of the RWISA “REVOLUTION” Blog Tour! We’d like to introduce you to an amazingly supportive RWISA member, Author, Linnea Tanner. Take a peek at her writing below…
DANCE OF SOULS
Universal souls dance together
One takes the lead as another follows
Lifting our hands in unison, we twirl into a cloud
Floating high, the sun warming our faces
Yet we can fall as rain, our souls in free fall
Souls metamorphose into fluttering butterflies
Wrens chasing us, snapping their beaks to devour us
We abruptly shift flight and transmute into foxes
Leaping and snatching songbirds into our jaws
Our souls melding, singing, and clapping in rhythmic dance
Memories twist our fibers into rope
Past voices connect to the depths of our essence
Summoning ancestral souls, we embrace their power
Mortal and divine moving together toward light’s truth
Past, present, future merging as one in the dance of souls
One would think that authors had more opportunities to write in 2020 with social distancing during the Covid-19 pandemic. Creative processes would enhance in cocoons of isolation. Instead, I struggled as an author to finish my fourth book in the Curse of Clansmen and Kings series. At times, the significance of events in 2020 overwhelmed me. I found myself grieving the loss of my lifestyle and the ability to interact closely with family and friends. Yet, the unsettling period made me reconsider the theme of my book and replot several scenes. Some would call this a writer’s block. I considered this a sign that the story needed to be transformed into a tale that resonates with readers.
Last year was a time of reflection for me as contrasting forces in juxtapose sometimes maintained balance in our chaotic world. As everything locked down at the start of the Covid-19 pandemic, air quality improved globally. With the threat of global warming from carbon emissions, oil demand fell rapidly in 2020 as governments closed businesses and restricted travel due to the pandemic. Automakers, foreseeing a more profitable future, began to develop electric cars in earnest. The revolution of new technology and vaccines provided hope that humans could reverse the ill effects of climate change and virulent disease.
As white supremacy groups inflamed fear and hate through their rhetoric, anger over racial inequities ignited widespread protests demanding change. As an invisible virus took control over our lifestyle, corrupt politicians grasped for the illusion of power. But still, when people learned they had voted in a unifying leader to replace a divisive president, a dance of joy erupted on the streets.
In essence, Charles Dickens summed up the year 2020: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.”
What resonated most with me last year are universal truths in past civilizations are similar to modern-day times. Disease, warfare, and accidents wantonly take the lives of rich and poor, young and old, and male and female. Without the ability to control what happens in their lives, people often turn to superstition and conspiracy theories to explain what they can’t understand. In the Roman Empire, slaves were treated as property and abused without rights, similar to what the United States experienced before the Civil War. Lust for power corrupts absolutely. Yet, power is nothing but an illusion that one surrenders to another.
As I reflected on the unsettling events in 2020, it became clear to me that I needed to transform my work in progress in the series to capture the theme that opposing forces often provide insight into what we must do to achieve our dreams. Only in the depths of our darkness can we see the light and view the world with a new lens—a revolution that explores new possibilities.
I’m inspired to explore new forms of writing and balance my life by maintaining a healthy lifestyle. So that I have the vitality to create, one of my goals is to adjust my diet and exercise three to five days per week. I want to stay connected with family, friends, authors, and the community through phone calls, e-mails, and Zoom for my emotional well-being. Hopefully, by the end of summer, I’ll be able to participate in live events where I can chat face-to-face with readers and other authors. I’ll continue to expand my knowledge by reading various books, researching topics that support my writing, and traveling to locations in my books (stretch goal, whenever it is safe to do so).
My primary goal as an author is to release my latest project at the end of 2021, hoping that the story will resonate with readers. The characters will experience a gamut of emotions of love and hate, compassion and retribution, and corruption and virtue. They must decide from a range of possibilities on how they will move toward their destinies. One of the subplots, based on the impact that Black Lives Matter had on me, is that a warrior grieving the loss of his murdered wife finds redemption and love by aiding a female slave to escape her brutal predicament. Another goal is to draft a novella that will be a prequel to the first book in the series.
I want to transcend my writing into other realms and become more focused. One of the beneficial aspects of being in a writer’s support group such asRWISA is that other authors inspire and support each other. As a result, I would like to explore the possibility of composing poetry, short stories, novellas, different genres, and nonfiction. As a member of RWISA, I wrote my first short story in 2020 but plan to write more in 2021. Most of all, I’d like to expand my support for other authors by hosting blog tours and reviewing their books. We all succeed as authors when we support each other in a dance of souls.
***
Did you enjoy Linnea’s writing? Then please, help us support her and her work along this REVOLUTION tour! We ask that you click on the author’s RWISA Profile below and visit all of her profile pages – some offering more insight into the member and others showcasing the author’s talent.
Lastly, we ask that you support this member as well as the host of this blog, by sharing this page and the author’s profile pages across all your social media platforms.
Now, we’d like to give you a chance at some of this awesome promotion for yourself!
Have you written that book or short story you want the whole world to know about? Are you looking for a great way to promote your creative endeavors? Perhaps you’re seeking to add some prestige to your body of work! If this sounds like you, we invite you to come on over to RAVE WRITERS – INT’L SOCIETY OF AUTHORS, otherwise known as RWISA.
At RWISA, we invite and accept into membership only the very best writers the Indie community has to offer.
If your work is exemplary and speaks for itself, stop by the RWISA website today at RaveWriters.wordpress.com and find out how you can submit your sample of writing for consideration.
We’re an exclusive bunch but we’d love to have you join us!
NOTE: If you’re looking to improve your writing while taking another route to membership into RWISA, while you’re at the site, visit RWISA UNIVERSITY!
Thanks for dropping by and don’t forget to leave the author a comment below! To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the tour’s home page!
Welcome to Day 4 of the RWISA “REVOLUTION” Blog Tour! We’d like to introduce you to an amazingly supportive RWISA member, Author, Wendy Jayne Scott, who is also RWISA President. Take a peek at her writing below…
HAPPY DANCE
In March 2020, with only a few days warning, alongside the rest of New Zealand, I was plunged into total lockdown. Saying this was a surreal experience is an understatement. As none of us knew how long this altered state would last, what this meant for our jobs, or the financial or health repercussions. We’d become entangled into the twilight zone of Covid-19. UNPRECEDENTED, screamed from the headlines alongside worldwide body counts and estimated infection rates. No compass existed to guide us out of the pandemic fog shrouding our futures. We were confined to our specified people bubbles.
Teddy Bears sprouted up window ledges and letter boxes, a sign of hope and solidarity, signalling to passers-by that even though 2 meter distances and masks now ruled our physical world, we were together in our hearts. I remember gathering, with my son, at the end of our driveway, in the predawn, to pay homage to our fallen ANZAC soldiers. Dawn parades were cancelled for the first time in 104 years. The haunting bugle tone of ‘The Last Post’ filtered from an unseen neighbour’s gateway and shivers resonated along my spine.https://www.youtube.com/embed/f7V07V1rjbM?version=3&rel=1&showsearch=0&showinfo=1&iv_load_policy=1&fs=1&hl=en&autohide=2&wmode=transparent
During lockdown, I had a choice of how I would respond to my altered reality. Black voids of despair, conspiracy theories, and fake news plied for my sanity. Yet, sunlight glistened on the tall summer grasses in my yard, my son’s laughter trickled on the breeze, and my dogs’ tails wagged like helicopter rotors, ecstatic to have their human pals home 24/7. So, I chose to focus on becoming a healthier and happier version of me, and a positive role-model for my son.
Fast forward to February 2021, New Zealand is no longer in lockdown, but our borders are heavily restricted, and the new media buzz words are QUARANTINE and VACCINE. Uncertainty looms like a bloated storm cloud. Fears of further job losses and financial ruin taint our summer days. Staying positive is harder to maintain under this sustained assault of negative news.
Changes are happening. Although, I fight against the dismantling of my comfortable world, my will alone doesn’t curb the tidal jetsam from Covid-19, so I must adapt to this foreign landscape.
Since lockdown, I’ve embraced personal development, focusing inward, aware that I may not be in a position to influence external circumstances, but I can take responsibility for myself. Being positive is easy when life is rosy, yet it is how I react when life is battering away at my defences that define me as a person.
Here are my top tips for positivity:
Express your gratitude every day for what you do have
Show and tell your loved ones how much you care for them and hug them (if you can)
Use your creativity!!!! Keep feeding your creative addictions
Resonate with nature by strolling on the beach, sniff garden flowers, or listen to birdsong
Smile more, at everyone, this is the right kind of contagious! If a mask hides your mouth, then smile through your eyes!
Be kind, laugh, and dance – play music that lifts your spirit
Did you enjoy Wendy’s writing? Then please, help us support her and her work along this REVOLUTION tour! We ask that you click on the author’s RWISA Profile below and visit all of her profile pages – some offering more insight into the member and others showcasing the author’s talent.
Lastly, we ask that you support this member as well as the host of this blog, by sharing this page and the author’s profile pages across all your social media platforms.
Now, we’d like to give you a chance at some of this awesome promotion for yourself!
Have you written that book or short story you want the whole world to know about? Are you looking for a great way to promote your creative endeavors? Perhaps you’re seeking to add some prestige to your body of work! If this sounds like you, we invite you to come on over to RAVE WRITERS – INT’L SOCIETY OF AUTHORS, otherwise known as RWISA.
At RWISA, we invite and accept into membership only the very best writers the Indie community has to offer.
If your work is exemplary and speaks for itself, stop by the RWISA website today at RaveWriters.wordpress.com and find out how you can submit your sample of writing for consideration.
We’re an exclusive bunch but we’d love to have you join us!
NOTE: If you’re looking to improve your writing while taking another route to membership into RWISA, while you’re at the site, visit RWISA UNIVERSITY!
Thanks for dropping by and don’t forget to leave the author a comment below! To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the tour’s home page!
Welcome to Day 3 of the RWISA “REVOLUTION” Blog Tour! We’d like to introduce you to an amazingly supportive RWISA member, Author, Yvette M. Calleiro. Take a peek at her writing below…
EMERGENCE
The cocoon – Formed because of a virus, Reinforced by fear and anxiety. Surrounded Protected Sheltered Imprisoned
The incubation – Agonizing silence led to loneliness. My inner voice tormented Until the tears flowed freely And the salty river healed the soul. Meditation led to self-reflection. Acceptance Forgiveness Release Self-care
Emergence – The walls slowly crumble. Timid to step out but Resolved to join the world again, To rise up and feel whole. Resilience Strength Courage Hope
The RWISARevolution Blog Tour challenged its authors to write with this year’s theme in mind: A New Year – A Fresh Start. Immediately, I thought of a cocoon. A caterpillar’s transformation into a butterfly is not an easy one. This past year has not been easy for any of us. Even though I’m used to being home most of the time, being isolated and fearful of getting COVID (or worse, giving it to someone I love) has crippled me at times. I spent this year working on my inner self. I took meditation courses and worked with my therapist to manage my anxiety better. I’m a constant work in progress, but I feel stronger and healthier today than I was a year ago. For that, I am grateful. RWISA (Rave Writers – International Society of Authors) asked us to ponder a few questions, so here are my thoughts.
What are your plans for the new year?
This year, I plan to continue being careful and cautious when out and about. I will continue to strengthen my physical, emotional, and mental well-being. I will nurture the friendships that held firm despite the distancing. I will continue to create memorable moments with my family. Without them, this year would have been much more difficult.
What are your goals?
I had hoped to write an entire novel during COVID since I was home so much, but my muse locked herself in her own cocoon and refused to cooperate. She, too, has burst through and has begun to share her mojo with me. With the help of my RWISA critique group, I am going through my final edits for a new novel. It’s a young adult novel with no connection to my current series. I will publish it at some point this year.
I am also writing Drake’s story once again. For those who have read myChronicles of the Diasodz series, you know I’ve been working on this for a few years. He and I have had a bit of a difficult time in telling his story, but we are finding our way through. My goal is to finish writing his story this year. Then, I’ll use next year to revise and edit it before sending it out into the world for everyone to enjoy.
What will you do to contribute to the betterment of our society?
I believe in the energies of the world, and I choose to spread kindness, love, and laughter as often as possible. As a teacher at a middle school, I empower my students to be confident in their abilities and challenge them to be positive and productive members of their communities. I also post inspirational quotes on my Instagram. I have a separate Instagram that focuses on being proud of the beauty within. It’s been dormant for a bit, but I’m hoping to get it restarted. We need more positivity in the world, and that’s my little contribution.
How will you succeed in the midst and in spite of COVID-19?
One needs to define success in order to answer this question. For me, success is a day when I stay present in the moment. It presents itself as a moment where I notice my anxiety and allow it to flow down my mind’s river of worry without me. It’s when I make a student feel accepted and cared for or when my son sits with me at night to watch a show together.
I do not measure success by money earned or by a title. Instead, I measure success by the impact my choices have on those around me and on myself. As we continue to deal with COVID-19, any day where those whom I love are alive and well is a successful day for me. This year, I celebrate the little things because those are what matter most.
***
Did you enjoy Yvette’s writing? Then please, help us support her and her work along this REVOLUTION tour! We ask that you click on the author’s RWISA Profile below and visit all of her profile pages – some offering more insight into the member and others showcasing the author’s talent.
Lastly, we ask that you support this member as well as the host of this blog, by sharing this page and the author’s profile pages across all your social media platforms.
Now, we’d like to give you a chance at some of this awesome promotion for yourself!
Have you written that book or short story you want the whole world to know about? Are you looking for a great way to promote your creative endeavors? Perhaps you’re seeking to add some prestige to your body of work! If this sounds like you, we invite you to come on over to RAVE WRITERS – INT’L SOCIETY OF AUTHORS, otherwise known as RWISA.
At RWISA, we invite and accept into membership only the very best writers the Indie community has to offer.
If your work is exemplary and speaks for itself, stop by the RWISA website today at RaveWriters.wordpress.com and find out how you can submit your sample of writing for consideration.
We’re an exclusive bunch but we’d love to have you join us!
NOTE: If you’re looking to improve your writing while taking another route to membership into RWISA, while you’re at the site, visit RWISA UNIVERSITY!
Thanks for dropping by and don’t forget to leave the author a comment below! To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the tour’s home page!
Welcome to Day 2 of the RWISA “REVOLUTION” Blog Tour! We’d like to introduce you to an amazingly supportive RWISA member, Author, Joy Nwosu Lo-Bamijoko. Take a peek at her writing below…
A LIGHT IN THE TUNNEL
I don’t know about the rest of you, but my new year started on November 3, 2020, when Biden was pronounced the winner of the presidential election. I went to bed that night early because I needed to be alone in prayer for God to rid America of the worst four years of this country’s political life. I did not want to see the results trickling in, especially as the first results did not favor Biden.
This has always been my practice. Even when the team I’m rooting for is playing, I never watch the game. I would rather wait for the end of the game to know the results. The live game always gives me something near to a heart attack. This was why I didn’t wait up to watch the results of the election as they came in. I wanted to wake up in the morning to the news that Biden had won!
It was with great trepidation that I woke up the next morning, November 4, 2020., to find out who won. First, I turned my Television to CNN, and saw Van Jones in tears. I didn’t know why he was in tears, but I joined him. In my head, I had concluded that anything that would cause Mr. Jones to cry could not be good. Slowly, it started to dawn on me that his tears, my tears were tears of victory. Biden had won! Glory to God for He had answered my prayers! I forgot my aches and pains and did a jive! What a glorious day it was!
For me, Biden’s win opened up for people of goodwill, many positive possibilities. The first thing I felt was that the gloom which hovered over everything sane, the sense of despair that dogged the last administration’s tenure, the fear about where all the damaging rhetoric was taking us, and the danger of the divide, had all dissipated. I felt the sun shining again. My hopes for the future of this great country returned. I knew that all would be well again.
When Trump threatened the results of the election by refusing to acknowledge defeat, or concede, at first, I thought it was a passing whim. Somehow, deep inside me, I was strong in my belief that God had spoken. The deal was done. Nothing and no one could overturn the results of the election!
The funny thing about all this, is that while we were rejoicing here in America about Biden’s win, in Nigeria, some misguided individuals were carrying about banners of a Trump’s win. I couldn’t understand how the business of the American elections had become the business of Nigeria. Relatives from Nigeria started texting me to sympathize with me. A cousin from London texted to warn me about an impending war in America. I texted him back asking him where he would want me to run to. The cousin humorously replied, from frying pan to fire! That’s a Nigerian idiom meaning from bad to worse.
I remember that day very clearly. In fact, we were having a fun time on the RRBC chat forum when I turned on my Television and saw, in horror, Trump and his cohorts moving to the USA Capitol. Well, he promised to march with them, then he snuck away. I alerted the RRBC chat members who were still talking about everything mundane on WhatsApp. It was horrible! How could one man hold this country to ransom? Why was Trump trying to ruin my new year’s resolutions?
There is a saying that goes, our happiness is in our own hands. There and then I decided that Trump or no Trump, this election was done. Biden won! God had spoken, and thanks be to God! The whole world, and I mean, the whole world was in jubilation!
Before Biden’s win, I prayed to God for him to win. After his win, I upgraded my prayer. This time, I prayed that the two outstanding seats in the Senate should go to the Democrats so that Biden would be able to do a good job for the country without being blocked by the Republicans. I still remember what they did to the Obama administration, so I prayed night and day for those two seats to go to the Democrats, and now that they have those seats, my prayers have changed again. I have started channeling my prayer for Biden’s safety and good health. I am sure he needs both. I’m sure you will all agree with me that he looks so frail every time we see him, and his voice sounds so tired when he speaks. May God sustain him!
This year is looking good already. I am able to write again. Last year was one of my worst writing years. I couldn’t write at all, and this had nothing to do with writer’s block. I could see my stories. Sometimes, I would jot somethings down, and then, that feeling of hopelessness… like the end was near, would overwhelm me. I would ask myself, why bother? Rather than write, I would sit and stare into space, and dream. Although I was not putting anything down on paper, I would rehash everything in my head.
With the country calmer now, my worries have started to melt away. I can now focus more and stay on course. I can’t believe that in just two days, I have written two blog posts. In short, I am back!
I am happy that Biden is on course, too. He is not allowing anything, to distract him. When the country is on course, we are all on course. I pray that God will help him to heal America and pull America back from the hole which the last administration had plunged it. America deserves better. We deserve better.
***
Did you enjoy Joy’s writing? Then please, help us support her and her work along this REVOLUTION tour! We ask that you click on the author’s RWISA Profile below and visit all of her profile pages – some offering more insight into the member and others showcasing the author’s talent.
Lastly, we ask that you support this member as well as the host of this blog, by sharing this page and the author’s profile pages across all your social media platforms.
Now, we’d like to give you a chance at some of this awesome promotion for yourself!
Have you written that book or short story you want the whole world to know about? Are you looking for a great way to promote your creative endeavors? Perhaps you’re seeking to add some prestige to your body of work! If this sounds like you, we invite you to come on over to RAVE WRITERS – INT’L SOCIETY OF AUTHORS, otherwise known as RWISA.
At RWISA, we invite and accept into membership only the very best writers the Indie community has to offer.
If your work is exemplary and speaks for itself, stop by the RWISA website today at RaveWriters.wordpress.com and find out how you can submit your sample of writing for consideration.
We’re an exclusive bunch but we’d love to have you join us!
NOTE: If you’re looking to improve your writing while taking another route to membership into RWISA, while you’re at the site, visit RWISA UNIVERSITY!
Thanks for dropping by and don’t forget to leave the author a comment below! To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the tour’s home page!
John and I lived in a retirement community in the heart of the city. We chose the community for its closeness to Mayo Clinic and its many support services. Though we lived here for more than a year, we felt like we were living in a motel. Several months ago, John and I felt so badly we thought we had Covid-19. I called 911 and we took “his” and “her” ambulances to the ED (Emergency Department).
Both of us were tested for Covid-19 and the results were negative. As it turned out, John had advanced prostate cancer. I had cellulitis, a bacterial infection that can be fatal, and was treated with antibiotics. After six days in the hospital, I was dismissed. John stayed a few more days.
Because I had been in the hospital, the retirement community quarantined me for two weeks. It was a serious quarantine. I had to set trash and laundry outside the front door for pick-up. Whenever someone came to the door, I had to wear a mask and practice social distancing. The retirement community didn’t allow visitors and we felt isolated and alone.
“Staying in my apartment is driving me crazy,” a neighbor shared. She wondered if I was going crazy too.
“I’m writing like crazy,” I answered. Because I’ve been a freelancer for 40 years, I was used to working at home. However, being John’s caregiver took up most of the day. But I am a disciplined writer and sheltering at home sparked my creativeness. In fact, I wrote five children’s books.
Covid-19 has increased the need for grief resources. This made me think about how children grieve. For example, teens may turn to peers for comfort rather than their parents. The more I thought about children’s grief, the more concerned I became. With a BS in early childhood education and an MA in art education, I could be of help.
I wrote two books … a workbook for grieving kids ages 5-8 and a workbook for grieving kids ages 9-12. I contacted a grief publisher I had worked with previously and both books were accepted.
My co-author and I finished a leadership book, Ready, Set, Lead! Leadership can be learned, and we think it begins in early childhood. Our picture book is a rhyming poem. The first half defines leadership, and the second half tells kids how to become leaders. We also wrote a companion art activity book.
Weeks passed. I spent more time on caregiving than writing. I knew I had to practice self-care to survive. The grief workbooks are illustrated with doodle art. Though I have a graduate degree in art, I never heard of this art form. What was it? I researched doodle art online and started doodling. To my surprise, I discovered that doodling provided respites from stress.
If doodling helped me, it could help others.
I started writing a book for teens, Grief Doodling: Bringing Back Your Smiles.When I was writing I was almost in a trance. Grieving kids don’t need tomes, they need concise resources. Grief Doodling is the first book I have written and illustrated. My current publisher accepted the book and I contacted influencers—experts who might write reviews. Eight experts responded and their positive words are on the back cover.
Late in November of 2020 I realized John was dying. He knew it and I knew it. Since John was paraplegic and needed more care than I could provide, he was moved to short-term rehab. After two staff members tested positive for Covid-19, John and I were re-tested. John tested negative. I tested positive and was quarantined again. Thankfully, I never developed any symptoms.
At a time when I wanted to see John more, I saw him less. I didn’t see him for a month. Though we stayed in touch by phone, calls weren’t the same as seeing each other face-to-face. John called several times (which was difficult for him) to say “I love you.” Three days after my quarantine was up, John died. I posted a notice of his death on Facebook.
Nonnie Jules let RRBC and RWISA members know about John’s death and many contributed funds for sympathy gifts. The gifts just kept coming—a food basket, cozy blanket, comfort stones, blessing cards for women, musical jewelry box, and more. Every gift sparked tears. I wasn’t alone. RRBC members had my back and were family. I am grateful for their kindness and support.
Life had another surprise for me. Three months before the release date, Grief Doodling received a first place award in the self-help category. I was thrilled and am still thrilled. I had a book trailer made for the book and posted it on Facebook. Advance sales are going well, and I hope the book trailer generates more sales.
One of the reasons I write is to figure things out. I researched end of life care and took notes about the tasks I had to complete before John died. I am hard at work on another book. The purpose of the book is to help spouses and significant others understand the present and believe in a future.
The pandemic is hellish and tragic. All of us know someone who tested positive, gotten the virus, or died. Yet if we look carefully, we can find grace in sorrow. I was able to see the blessings in my life—one-on-one time with John, understanding that every life is a miracle, and writing five children’s books. At age 85 I’m still working part-time, giving Zoom talks and workshops, competing in the book business, and setting goals.
John was amazed at my writing output and often joked, “While you’re up, write me a book.” I love to write and working on a new book gives purpose to my days. I think John would be pleased and proud.
***
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Have you written that book or short story you want the whole world to know about? Are you looking for a great way to promote your creative endeavors? Perhaps you’re seeking to add some prestige to your body of work! If this sounds like you, we invite you to come on over to RAVE WRITERS – INT’L SOCIETY OF AUTHORS, otherwise known as RWISA.
At RWISA, we invite and accept into membership only the very best writers the Indie community has to offer.
If your work is exemplary and speaks for itself, stop by the RWISA website today at RaveWriters.wordpress.com and find out how you can submit your sample of writing for consideration.
We’re an exclusive bunch but we’d love to have you join us!
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I first met JQ in the Insecure Writers Support Group created by Alex J Cavanaugh. What struck me was her ability to make her characters come off the page and talk with you. She writes Fiction and Non-Fiction.
JQ is a wordsmith, and I am delighted to have her on my author blog. We, writers, know how lonely a writer’s job can be. So, I have asked JQ to talk about the characteristics or traits of writers who succeed.
Thank you so much for hosting me today, Pat. I love your suggestion of sharing what I believe are the characteristics needed to be a writer. I am not saying I have every one of these qualities because I am a work-in-progress myself. But exploring and naming the features certainly made me think.
Readers, you are invited to add to the list of characteristics.
Two lucky commenters will be drawn to win a PDF copy of Arranging a Dream for one and the other will win an e-copy of Romance and Mystery Authors on Writing loaded with helpful tips on writing, publishing and marketing.
The Characteristics of a Writer
I listed the characteristics in no order of importance.
Devotion A writer must love what she is doing. If not, the book or essay will never get written because we all know the first draft is junk. If a writer is not devoted, she will tear up the pages and give up. Rejections will knock her off her feet, and she will never try again. But when devoted to creating her piece, her belief and determination will be challenged, but she will keep writing.
Organization As a writer, we wear many hats. Indie authors must keep track of writing, editing, formatting, publishing, marketing, and business decisions. Traditional or indie authors must organize their research for a story, save the manuscript files to choose the correct one for editing, keep track of promotions, posts for a blog, email and social media.
Imagination Remember when you were a kid, and you would act out stories with your friends or make up poems for your mom? Fiction writers never lose that creativity. Non-fiction writers need imagination too to send the clear message of the book or essay to readers in an interesting and new way.
Intelligence Although no one wants to admit it, I am telling you only smart people can write! I know it sounds like bragging, but it is the truth.
Discipline If a writer cannot set aside a time when penning a project and keep that appointment, the writing will never be finished. Making time in your schedule for creating a project and sitting down to do it will develop the habit of writing.
Wordsmith Writers need to know a variety of words to clearly describe places, characters, and emotions. Reading enlarges your vocabulary. Become a wordsmith using Thesaurus.com. The Emotion Thesaurus series by Becca Puglisi and Angela Ackerman are valuable aids for writers. Sense of Humor Mark Twain and Janet Evanovich are masters when it comes to including humor in their stories. Even a horror story or murder mystery can use a light touch within the pages.
Thank you, JQ for taking the time to share your thoughts on the characteristics of good writers. JQ Rose’s Memoir is out.
Blurb:
In 1975, budding entrepreneurs Ted and Janet purchase a floral shop and greenhouses where they plan to grow their dream. Leaving friends and family behind in Illinois and losing the security of two paychecks, they transplant themselves, their one-year-old daughter, and all their belongings to Fremont, Michigan, where they know no one.
Will the retiring business owners nurture Ted and Janet as they struggle to develop a blooming business, or will they desert the inexperienced young couple to wither and die in their new environment?
Most of all, can Ted and Janet grow together as they cultivate a loving marriage, juggle parenting with work, and root a thriving business?
Follow this couple’s inspiring story, filled with the joy and triumphs and the obstacles and failures experienced as they travel along the turbulent path of turning dreams into reality.
I have purchased my copy already and look forward to reading it. If you would like to know more about JQ or contact her, here is a short bio and her contact links.
Bio: Whether the story is fiction or non-fiction, J.Q. Rose is “focused on story.” She offers readers chills, giggles and quirky characters woven within the pages of her romantic suspense novels. Her published mysteries are Deadly Undertaking, Terror on Sunshine Boulevard and Dangerous Sanctuary released by Books We Love Publishing. Using her storytelling skills, she provides entertainment and information with articles featured in books, magazines, newspapers, and online magazines.
Blogging, photography, Pegs and Jokers board games and travel are the things that keep JQ out of trouble. She and her husband spend winters in Florida and summers up north with their two daughters, two sons-in-law, four grandsons, one granddaughter, two grand dogs, four grand cats, and one great-grand bearded dragon.
Please leave a comment below to enter the drawing for Arranging a Dream: A Memoir or Romance and Mystery Authors on Writing. Deadline to enter is 9:00 pm ET, February 11.
I asked Chrys to talk about her favourite scene because most of the time that scene keeps us writing our books or reading other authors book. Listen to what she has to say.
Chrys Fey
Answer: My favorite scene in A Fighting Chance is actually right in the beginning, in chapter one. It’s just so cute and sweet and funny that I can’t help but to smile and laugh and melt. It’s a scene that shows Thorn’s personality and introduces two new characters.
For the sake of my readers who may not have read Frozen Crimes yet, I’m not going to talk anymore about this scene, but I will share it below.
Me: So, can A Fighting Chance be read as a stand alone?
Chrys: Yes, you can read A Fighting Chance as a standalone story, but if you plan to read Frozen Crimes, do not read the excerpt below, because it reveals something big, and I don’t want you to get mad at me for spoiling this for you.
Me: Thank you, Chrys, for dropping by and I wish you all the best for A Fighting Chance.
A Fighting Chance is in the The Disaster Crime Series If you would like to check out the series, The Disaster Curse, Book Seven of the series is free for a limited time only.
Listen to what Chrys says: I wrote The Disaster Curse to answer a few lingering questions readers may have after reading A Fighting Chance, and to tie the whole series together with a neat, shiny, perfect little bow. Plus, there was one disaster that I hadn’t written about yet. *wink*
EXCERPT from A Fighting Chance:
Not daring to move, he listened to the sound of her shoes when she went to the back.
Something cracked into his kneecap.
“Ow.”
Reagan’s toy rattle lay on the ground next to him. He shifted to see her standing in the bouncer, with her hand on her hip and her small, round face scrunched up in a glare that clearly said, “You’re such an idiot.”
“You do take after your mom,” he muttered.
Beside her, Ryan tilted his head back and let out baby giggles that reminded him too much of Donovan making fun of him.
“And you’re just like your dad.”
He bent down and picked up the rattle. “Promise to not hit me in the head?”
Reagan eyed him.
Skeptical, he gave the rattle back to her.
She took it and bashed it on her bouncer a couple
of times, not taking her glare off him.
“What did I do?” he asked.
She let out a huff.
“Okay, so I screwed up.” He glanced toward the hallway. “What should I do?”
Ryan leaned forward and babbled something in baby language. Reagan turned to him and shot back a string of gibberish. She lifted her left hand and moved it from side to side, signaling Ryan to let her handle this. Ryan leaned back against his bouncer, as if to say, “Okay. This will be entertaining.”
Thorn gaped. “My God, you really are like your parents.”
Ryan burst into giggles again.
Reagan shook the rattle urgently to shut him up. Then she pointed the rattle at Thorn and went into a long speech that he couldn’t understand, and yet…he could. He nodded when she went quiet. “I’ll do my best. I promise.”
A smile bloomed on her face, and she let out a happy squeal.
“What was all that about?”
Thorn looked to see Amanda standing a few feet away.
He pushed to his feet. “It’s a secret.”
That had her smiling. “You’re cute with them.”
“They’re the cute ones. They make me look good.”
He moved to his place on the other side of the counter, giving her the space to go to her place behind the desk. “Um.” He took a deep breath. “Would you like to go out with me some time? For dinner?”
Amanda’s eyelids popped open wide.
“Or…or lunch?”
She still didn’t respond.
“Brunch? No. Not brunch. Who goes to brunch? Coffee? Or if you don’t like coffee…water. We can get water.” He winced inwardly. Did I ask her out to get water? He wanted to smack himself. Who does that?
Apparently, he does.
“You can think about it and let me know…sometime.” He glanced once more at her face. Her eyes were wide, her mouth parted slightly, and he wasn’t sure if the blood had drained from her face or not, but she appeared paler. Part of him wanted to apologize. Had he overstepped? Was he way out of line thinking she felt something for him?
He turned to leave. That would be the last time he ever listened to a baby.
***LAUNCHING A WEBSITE***
TheFightingChance.org is a website dedicated to domestic violence and sexual assault awareness. Inspired by the Disaster Crimes series.
***GIVEAWAY***
Prizes: Hurricane Crimes (Disaster Crimes 1) and Seismic Crimes (Disaster Crimes 2) eBooks (mobi or epub), Hurricane Crimes Playing Cards, Girl Boss Sign, and a Volcanic Blast Scented Candle
Chrys Fey is author of the Disaster Crimes Series, a unique concept that blends disasters, crimes, and romance. She runs the Insecure Writer’s Support Group Book Club on Goodreads and edits for Dancing Lemur Press. https://www.chrysfey.com
Went into my office yesterday morning, turned on my computer, and received a sweet surprise that I didn’t expect. My colleagues at the Rave Review Book Club (RRBC) had chosen me as Second Place Winner for the MEMBER OF THE YEAR AWARD. It took me a day to let it soak in.
Thank you, RRBC. All of you are great people to be around. It gives me great satisfaction to be recognized as an author among you.
I am most pleased to have Charles Breakfield and Rox Burkey on my blog today. I first met Rox upon my return to RRBC. She hosts the RRBC’s EYES ON THE BOOK SHOW. The show is fantastic.
Both Breakfield and Burkey have something to say. The Enigma Threat, Book Twelve of their series can be pre-ordered now. I have already pre-ordered my copy.
They are also giving away a $25 Amazon Gift card & (10) e-book copies of the “shorts” in the Enigma Series.
BLURB:
In the new digital world, there is no tolerance for privately owned supercomputers. Globally, computers are hunted and destroyed for the greater good, by the new cyber police CESPOOL. The information this group receives is manipulated by subversive hidden machine learning devices, the MAG running on the dark net.
Judith and Xiamara are freebooters who steal machine time for their PaaS, porn as a service business. The machine they chose for delivery is the last untapped supercomputer not in the hands of a sovereign. Their activity is spotted by the MAG, but the renegade R-Group steps in to alter the outcome. Leroy teams up with Zara to help these opportunists escape prosecution. They are drafted as reluctant participants in the fight.
Jacob and Quip are trapped in the Chihuahuan Desert trying to reconstruct the base of ICABOD’s logic core. The stress of their isolation is taking a toll. Their wives and children are safe in Brazil for the time being, but Interpol is prowling for answers.
The R-Group has assembled a way to communicate with orphaned satellites. While the next R-Group plans the ultimate honey pot to trap their nemesis who is driving their corrupted agenda. The odds are against R-Group’s success, but they have creative surprises on their side.
The stakes have never been higher. The R-Group young and old must rise to defeat the MAG.
BIO:
Breakfield is a 25+ year technology expert in security, networking, voice, and anything digital. He enjoys writing, studying World War II history, travel, and cultural exchanges. He’s also a fan of wine tastings, winemaking, Harley riding, cooking extravaganzas, and woodworking.
Burkey is a 25+ year applied technology professional who excels at optimizing technology and business investments. She works with customers all over the world focusing on optimized customer experiences. She writes white papers and documentation, but found she has a marked preference for writing fiction.Together they create award-winning stories that resonate with males and females, as well as young and experienced adults. They bring a fresh new view to technology possibilities today.
Below Breakfield and Burkey share some good advice to new aspiring writers.
Authors are often asked for their advice for new aspiring writers. We have a few opinions we thought we would share.
People start writing for so many different reasons. Sometimes it is a critical life situation such as an illness for someone close, caretaking of a parent or child, or death; other times, it is for entertainment or fun.
The first thing we put on our list for aspiring writers is to define, Why are you writing? We suspect you have a terrific concept for a story, poetry, self-help guide, how-to, etc. If you bring this concept to reality, you will want to sell the published piece before starting your speaking tour. If that aligns with your thought, you will need to do some homework to reach your goal. Below are some steps we have found helpful.
Once you determine why you are writing, you can easily slide into the next item on the list, Who are youwriting for? This is undoubtedly important for the age group or market you wish to target.
Children’s books, for example, have word usage appropriate for specific age groups and graphics to increase the engagement time of the related age.
Young Adult, or YA as is the common term today, have situations and character types which are more appealing to that age. There are several genres for this target audience. If you want to understand how much segmentation goes into book publishing, review the over 70 current publishing genre categories available for your work.
Knowing your audience’s likes and dislikes is critical. It might help to visit the library or a local bookstore to gain additional insight into the particulars of a genre you are considering. Fans of some genres such as romance have specific expectations the write needs to fulfill or be ignored to death. Use the library and bookstores to learn what your competition is for a given genre. This information is also useful for your marketing plan development.
Once these two steps are completed, you should be able to isolate What genre are you writing? Is your choice fiction Fantasy because you had a dream about Dragons and Fairies living in a beautiful world of make-believe that you create? Did you live through your child becoming an opioid addict, and you want to help others with a non-fiction self-help book? Perhaps like us, you want to leverage your professional career in technology but weave compelling stories selecting elements of people, places, and things that have really happened but are much more fun than fiction. Remember the cardinal rule of fiction writing: it has to make sense! (Non-fiction doesn’t have that requirement)
Whatever story you tell, identify the market and reader expectations. Children’s books for ages 6-10- or first-chapter books as they are sometimes called, should use the typical 4,000 to 15,000 words delivering somewhat complex subjects and stories. However, they do not contain adult subjects as they are supposed to be fundamental life lessons. Our counsel is not to lead with Quantum Computing or advance physics when approaching the children’s market. Each market has rules to help target the market as readers have certain expectations for the book they want. If you put forth a romance novel without a kiss and cuddle, it won’t sell.
As you put together your thoughts for writing your masterpiece, the next consideration is When is your story taking place? Regardless of genre or fiction versus non-fiction, once you set on a timeframe, it is essential to carry that from start to finish. And remember, it can be as simple as writing in first person or third person.
Lastly, you need to consider Where is your story occurring? If you decided to write a fictional Western Romance, there are requirements such as a western setting. No digital electronics are seen. When a hero and heroine need to fall in love, they may face turmoil, which they need to overcome separately or together, depending on the distance and communication methods you establish. Additional research on the genre you choose will help keep the timeframes correct. If you are writing about a historical character based in France in the 1500s, then the surrounding area highlighted in the story should be appropriate to that time, rather than descriptions from a 2019 travel brochure. Nothing ruins a reader’s experience of your work with made-up research or incorrect facts. Remember, the Internet knows everything and tells all.
Our book series is considered Fiction – TechnoThrillers. People use smart devices and other technology elements to weave into relevant storytelling that can occur to any adult today in work or at play. Security and cyber thugs are vital elements we leverage to keep the intrigue and mystery moving from start to finish.
One last thing we’ll add to your list, making it a plus 1. Will your book only be for digital eBooks and printed media, or will you be offering an audible as well? We decided to take our properties into audibles as well so people can hear the drama. We are lucky as we have a virtuoso as our narrator. Maybe yours is a property that should go straight to audible and skip the printing. Just a word to the wise, if you believe audible formats are for your work: just reading your property out loud is NOT the same as having an excellent voice actor delivering mesmerizing characterization of your story to an audience. It’s the difference between listening to a grade school play versus a sensor-round movie with professional actors. Your target audience will punish your work for a shoddy audible.
Lots to consider, but we believe you can accomplish your dream. Many people will help guide you. Ask an author. It takes a lot of work to get your product to market, then it takes a lot of marketing. Success can take time. Be patient and do not give up. We are still learning; most writers are.
With our latest book in the series, The Enigma Threat, we hope to gain support for creating a screenplay. Toward that end, we set up a Kickstarter campaign aligned with our live date of January 8th, 2021, book release. We have created the ebook, paperback, and audible formats to release simultaneously but are seeking help for screenplay creation. We invite you to check it out.
Breakfield and Burkey can be contacted on the following links:
To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit theauthors’ tour pageon the 4WillsPublishing site. If you’d like to book your own blog tour and have your book promoted in similar grand fashion, please clickHERE. Thanks for supporting these authors and their work!
I met Jan Sikes on my return to Rave Reviews Book Club (RRBC) after a three- and half-year absence that could not be avoided.
I got to know Jan Sikes better during a Zoom event that she sponsored. It clicked between us. She’d gone through many situations, and like mirrors, they reflected problems I’d had in my own life too.
Thus, it is a great pleasure to have her as a guest today at my author’s website. I rejoiced with her. I’ve read some of her stories and can testify that they are, as Tony the tiger on the Frosty Flakes commercial says, GREAT!!!!
Welcome, Jan. It is an honor to have you here. Take it away.
MY WRITING JOURNEY
My writing journey began in 2010 after my husband passed away in 2009. I never had any ambition to be a writer, although I’ve been an avid reader all my life. From the time I could decipher words, I have devoured books. But I never dreamed of being a writer.
During the years I was married to Rick Sikes, I wrote and recorded songs, and before that poetry, but never in my wildest dreams did I think of writing a book.
Let me back up.
The story of my life with Rick was one that could fit the definition of “truth is stranger than fiction.” Over the years, many people who passed through our doors would make the comment, “Someone needs to write your story.”
I agreed that someone should. But I never thought it would be me. I awoke one morning to the thought and realization that if I didn’t write our story, I’d have to tell the entire thing to someone else. So, on that day, I decided it was my job to tell it.
The first writing class I took at a local community college was a screenwriting course. I thought I was going to write a movie script. Within the first fifteen minutes of the class, I realized the story was too big for a movie. It would have to be a book.
Nevertheless, I enjoyed the course and learned that scriptwriting and novel writing rules are the same. You can apply the same three-act play structure to books. You need a beginning, a setup (Act One), a middle (Act Two), and a conclusion (Act Three). The ‘show don’t tell’ rule also applies to both forms of writing. So, the class was definitely not a waste of time or money. I learned a lot.
From there, I wound up taking other creative writing classes both in Texas and Colorado.
I tackled the story, which spans over a forty-year time-period.
While writing a true story doesn’t require world-building or plotting, it requires fitting many puzzle pieces together.
I started writing the story in first-person POV and got stumped right away. Because the story was so personal, I couldn’t write it that way. So, a friend suggested I create fictitious characters to tell the story through. It was a lightbulb moment, and thus the characters, Luke Stone and Darlina Flowers were born.
It then became more comfortable to back out of the story and let the characters live it.
It took four books to tell the story from beginning to end. All four have won awards, and I’m super proud of them.
I often tell people that if Rick Sikes hadn’t left me such a big story to tell, I most likely wouldn’t have embarked on this writing journey that has now consumed my life.
To date, I have published five novels, a book of poetry and art, and ten short stories. You can find them all on my Amazon Author Page.
I see no end in sight. I love telling stories and entertaining people!
Ghostly Interference is my first fiction novel. I would be honored if you’d pick it up, read it, and leave me a review!
Jag Peters has one goal in his quiet comfortable life—to keep his karma slate wiped clean. A near-miss crash with a candy apple red Harley threatens to upend his safe world. He tracks down the rider to apologize properly. Slipping into a seedy biker bar, he discovers the rider isn’t a “he”, it’s a “she,” a dark-haired beauty.
Rena Jett is a troubled soul, who lives in a rough world. She wants no part of Jag’s apology, but even while she pushes him away, she is attracted to him. When he claims to see a ghost—her brother—can she trust him? And could her brother’s final gift, a magical rune stone with the symbol for “happily ever after” have the power to heal her wounds and allow opposites to find common ground—perhaps even love?
Christmas daringly denies the law of buoyancy,
It floats above the water,
Stilling the storms within us,
As we recognize that helping others is necessary to maintain life itself.
Good Morning Everyone,
Merry Christmas!
Here in some parts of Europe, Christmas is still being celebrated. Today is the second Christmas Day in Germany. I hope all of you took the time to relax and think about the reason Christmas is the highlight of the year for many of us.
I have formed my Christmas thoughts in a poem and have had it translated into German for my German readers. Whenever I have something translated I turn to one of the best translators I know. So, I give my heartfelt thanks to Juliane Eppendahl, for translating my poem into the German Language. She is a German wordsmith, and she infuses the spirit of my words into the German edition of this poem. She’s become more than a translator; she has become a friend, and I am thankful.
Shalom aleichem,
Pat. Garcia
And Maybe, Just Maybe
In A Way,
Christmas is
That teaspoon of hope mixed with faith.
A kind of faith that puts our expectations
beyond the realm of what we can do for ourselves.
In A Way,
Christmas is opening our eyes to the realities around us.
Not the gifts, or the cookies, or the warm family gatherings,
But the sensitivity to recognize the hunger in the world,
The Borders with wired fences,
The Children abandoned or kidnapped,
The Women brutally murdered or raped,
While we soothe our consciouses
By singing Deck the Halls with Boughs of Holly.
In A Way,
Christmas is a wake-up call,
Demanding that we cut out the bullshit,
Stop talking, discussing, and planning,
And start doing,
Taking the initiative to help those unfortunate,
By opening our borders,
And letting others enjoy the opportunities most of us didn’t appreciate,
Until Covid-19 introduced itself.
In A Way,
Christmas is stepping out of the boat,
Knowingly knowing we might sink.
We consciously move toward the call,
The pull,
The invisible Being who created us.
We humble ourselves in awe
At the Source that sustains every breathing moment of our existence.
We don’t see Him;
We don’t feel Him;
But we know He’s there,
Because we’re still breathing.
In A Way,
Christmas means taking responsibility.
Helping to feed someone other than ourselves.
Putting a warm coat on a person that can’t afford one,
A toy in the hand of a child,
And making someone else happy besides ourselves.
Christmas daringly denies the law of buoyancy,
It floats above the water,
Stilling the storms within us,
As we recognize that helping others is necessary to maintain life itself.
And Maybe,
Just Maybe,
Christmas is that wake-up call,
Pleading for us to love others like God loves us,
Unconditionally,
From the heart,
And the coldness in us melts,
The busyness in our lives cease,
Strife turns to peace,
Forgiveness slays unforgiveness,
And maybe,
Just maybe,
That’s Christmas.
_________
Und vielleicht, nur vielleicht
In gewisser Weise
ist Weihnachten
der Teelöffel Hoffnung, gemischt mit Glauben.
Eine Art von Glauben, die unsere Erwartungen
jenseits dessen befördert, was wir selbst tun können.
In gewisser Weise
bedeutet Weihnachten, unsere Augen für die Realitäten um uns herum zu öffnen.
Nicht für die Geschenke oder die Plätzchen oder die gemütlichen Familientreffen,
sondern die Empfindsamkeit, den Hunger in der Welt zu erkennen,
die Grenzen mit Stacheldraht,
die Kinder, die ausgesetzt oder entführt werden,
die Frauen, die brutal ermordet oder vergewaltigt werden,
während wir unser Gewissen beruhigen,
indem wir Weihnachtslieder unter dem Tannenbaum singen.
In gewisser Weise
ist Weihnachten ein Weckruf,
der verlangt, dass wir mit dem Schwachsinn aufhören,
dass wir aufhören zu reden, zu diskutieren und zu planen
und anfangen zu tun,
die Initiative zu ergreifen, um den Unglücklichen zu helfen,
indem wir unsere Grenzen öffnen
und anderen die Chancen geben, die die meisten von uns nicht zu schätzen wussten,
bis Covid-19 an die Tür klopfte.
In gewisser Weise
ist Weihnachten, aus dem Boot zu steigen,
wissend, dass wir untergehen könnten.
Wir bewegen uns bewusst auf den Ruf zu,
den Sog,
zu dem unsichtbaren Wesen hin, das uns geschaffen hat.
Wir beugen uns in Ehrfurcht
vor der Quelle, die jeden atmenden Moment unserer Existenz aufrechterhält.
Wir sehen Ihn nicht;
wir fühlen Ihn nicht;
Aber wir wissen, dass Er da ist,
weil wir immer noch atmen.
In gewisser Weise
bedeutet Weihnachten, Verantwortung zu übernehmen.
Zu helfen, jemand anderen als uns selbst zu ernähren.
Einem Menschen einen warmen Mantel zu geben, der sich keinen leisten kann,
ein Spielzeug in die Hand eines Kindes zu geben
und jemand anderen als uns selbst glücklich zu machen.
Weihnachten verweigert sich kühn dem Gesetz der Schwerkraft,
es schwebt über dem Wasser,
und stillt die Stürme in uns,
während wir erkennen, dass es notwendig ist, anderen zu helfen, um das Leben selbst zu erhalten.
Und vielleicht,
nur vielleicht,
ist Weihnachten dieser Weckruf,
der uns auffordert, andere so zu lieben, wie Gott uns liebt,
bedingungslos,
von ganzem Herzen,
und die Kälte in uns schmilzt,
die Hektik in unserem Leben hört auf,
Streit verwandelt sich in Frieden,
Vergebung überwindet die Unversöhnlichkeit.
Und vielleicht,
nur vielleicht,
ist das Weihnachten.
__________________
Many thanks to all of you for following my blogs, my Facebook pages, my Instagram, and my Twitter. Your comments on my blogs and Facebook pages have helped me achieve closure to a most difficult year.
Take care and be safe, and have a great crossover into 2021.
After an extremely busy August, it is time for me to sit back and reflect and send out a shout of gratitude for the two excellent writer conferences that I attended.
August 10th thru the 16th was the RRBC Writers Conference and Book Expo. To say that it was professionally done is an underestimation. There are not enough superlatives to describe what took place in me at the conference. It was an online conference that was superbly executed and had much to offer. Not only books but fun things as well, like Bingo. Yes, Bingo. I didn’t win anything, but it was fun to be among authors and share or listen to their day-to-day routine.
The conference was engaging. I lost sleep following it, but it felt soooo good. I personally have it on my calendar for next year, and I hope that two or three of my books are published so that they can be exhibited on an author’s stand that I will have at this great event.
The second writer’s conference was held by the Romance Writers of America. This was their first digital conference, and it was fantastic. The keynote speakers, the live sessions over marketing and planning, and the appearances of agents willing to share their know-how and experience were excellent.
Each of these conferences expanded my writing expertise. I left each of them more knowledgeable than I was before I attended, and that is what conferences are all about.
Shout outs to all the leaders and teams who made these two conferences possible.
The RAVE REVIEWS BOOK CLUB’S Fifth Annual Writers’ Conference and Book Expo starts today and runs through August 16th. There are a lot of good things happening at this Online Expo. Besides the authors having their own bookstands featuring their books, there is a scavenger hunt, Amazon Gift Certificates, fantastic classes being offered at a price that we writers can afford, and Bingo with prizes.
This Writers’ Conference and Book Expo provides educational information that lets you know what is happening in the publishing field. I personally attended a conference four years ago and was wowed at how professional the Writers’ Conference and Book Expo was conducted.
For those interested in attending, I have put the title in a hyperlink below, which will connect you directly to the venue when it goes live.
The WEP Winners have been announced. The competition was stiff. There were so many great entries. Every year the step ladder of the WEP rises higher.
Congratulations to the Winner, Kalpana, and to the Runner-up, Cyndi Summerlin. As for the Encouragement Award, it went to me, Pat Garcia, and I am truly thankful.
Having entered into this world early on a Tuesday morning, I am an early getter-upper. Getting up pass seven in the morning gives me the feeling of having missed some part of the day. So, I am usually up and about by five in the morning.
As a writer and singer this sometimes bring me into conflict with myself. If I am in my world, my writing flows and time does not exist. I’ve stepped outside of time zone and before I know it, the next day has appeared.
According to some people in the medical field, eight hours of sleep a day is mandatory for the human being. If so, then I differ from the norm. I have appointments to be at, practices for concerts, or have tasks and responsibilities that only I can settle.
Thus, the website project the image of me as a writer and may sometime connect with my musical world. So many times, we think that artists do not encounter the daily challenges, frustrations, problems, and disappointments that everyone else encounters. But that is not true. Artists who strive for excellence grapple with challenges, changes, disappointments, frustrations, hurts and loss. We go through deep valleys.
Our success does not lie in the fact that these things are alien to our lives, but to the fact that we are learning how to master them, by facing daily the events that confront us, even if we are afraid of the outcome.
Two days ago, I reached my 76th year, and had a beautiful day.
I’m always amazed at the goodness of God, at God’s mercy, His faithfulness in my life, and that HE loves me. His Banner over me is always love. That sits deep in the corners of my heart and gives me the freedom to be authentic.
As I walk through my day today, The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost accompanies me. I first learned this poem by memory when I was seventeen. I was getting ready to go to the university. I had a lot of goals I wanted to accomplish. Surprisingly, I still have lots of goals. My life is not dull or boring, and for that I am thankful.
I have traveled to many places in Europe and have also visited many states in the USA and Canada.
Life has challenged me, and it continues to challenge me to keep learning and moving forward to achieve the things I want, regardless of what others may think.
I’ve made mistakes, fallen on my face, but God places the solitary in families, according to Psalm 68:5-6, and I have been placed in many families in Europe, the USA, and Canada, who are there to encourage me and to lift me up. They see the real me, not the author, writer, or singer. They see me as I am in the best and worst of times. And for that, I am genuinely thankful.
So, I close by saying thanks to all of you for showing me love and for stopping by to wish me the best.
I close with one of the foundational stones that continues to mark my life.
I am still working on my Flash Fiction Anthology. I am cleaning up and editing some of the stories intensively before I send them to my editor, just in case you see any repeats. The snippet below is one I am editing before sending it to my editor.
For your information, we switched to Standard Time here in Europe on Sunday, October 26, 2025, and this kid was happy.
Wishing all of you a lovely rest of the week.
Shalom Shalom
CAGED BIRDS DON’T SING BY PAT GARCIA, OCTOBER 28, 2025
The clock ticked away the minutes, and Kathie Mae’s heartbeat quickened with every passing beat. Soon, Caesar would be home. Her musing would have to stop in an hour, and she would have to drag her wandering mind from her past and concentrate on where she was in the present. She would have never thought that having everything money could buy meant her joy would be buried in the graveyard of depression. Louisa, their maid, knocked softly on the living room door. “Come in.” “I don’t mean to disturb you, but I’ll be leaving soon. Is there anything else you want me to do?” “No,” Kathie Mae said, giving her a hollow smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “What are you going to do this Sunday?” “I’m going to do what I do here every Sunday,” Louisa said. “Clean my house.” Kathie Mae grunted. She’d talked to Cesare about reducing Louisa’s days to three times a week. They didn’t need her. In fact, they didn’t need her two times a week, but he’d demanded she come every day except Sunday. He’d looked at her like she was a child and explained to her that when he returned home, he wanted to see an orderly, well-kept house without any clutter. That was when she’d begun to notice that well-kept meant everything, including her.
Please visit the other blog participants. You will find them engaging and our writing covers different aspects of Romance. Thank you.
