Tuesday, May 21, 2019

Memories of Mom

We've just passed Mother's Day, my first without my mother. She passed last July with me at her side. She was 93, blind, and in constant pain from a broken arm that could not be immobilized. That made it easier to let her go, but it hasn't taken the sting out of her loss.

As we drew near the annual holiday, I found I missed her more each day. Many times I found myself wishing I could just pick up the phone as I once did. Even though I can't, I do sometimes still talk to her when no one else is watching. Oh, how I wish I could hear her replies!

Of course, with the missing come the memories. An early one comes from when I was about four. Some of the kids in the neighborhood were into the books featuring Doctor Dan and Nurse Nancy. Looking at them, I told Mom I might like to be a nurse. Teasing me, she said I was too squeamish for that. I took umbrage, insisting I'd grow out of that, and she said, "Then why not be a doctor?" In the mid-50s, this was not a popular position, but Mom saw no reason why her daughters couldn't do anything her sons could. That attitude stuck with me.

Around that same time, our family was in a car accident. On a narrow, graveled mountain road, Dad skidded on gravel, went up onto the side of the mountain to avoid plunging down the other side, and rolled the car as a result. When the dust settled, we crawled out through the windows to take stock. Dad was okay. My little sister had some bruises, but she was fine. So was I and Mom said she was. Since it seemed no one was injured, we all hiked to where we could summon help. Only after we were home did Mom mention the stiffness in her neck. It turned out two vertebrae were fractured. She lived with neck pain the rest of her life, dealt with it, and seldom said much about it.

Mom made most of my clothes, even when I reached the age for formal dances. My "homemade" prom dresses were every bit as stunning as my friends' off-the-rack examples or even moreso, since Mom was excellent at the sewing machine. Both my sister and I benefited, though Mom stopped short of tailoring my brothers' suits. I'm certain she could have.

It seemed Mom could do everything well. She and Dad laid their own circular driveway, studded with pebbles gathered at the beach. She made rag rugs and eclairs and the best apple butter you can imagine. She painted walls and pictures, canned mountains of fruits and vegetables, and did most of it while teaching full-time. Hundreds of adults can read today because they were in Mrs. Hubbard's first grade classes.

Like most mother-daughter relationships, ours was complicated. I was the oldest child and was therefore expected to be perfect, an expectation I found impossible and confining. Mom and I saw the world in very different ways, a matter which bothered her endlessly.

Nevertheless, as this Mother's Day came and went, I missed her. Terribly. And wished I could share a few minutes with her once again. If you still have your mother, why not give her a call. Today, while you still can.

Friday, May 10, 2019

What I Want for Mother’s Day

By Karen McCullough

Mother’s Day is in a couple of days, and I’ll actually be getting exactly what I want from my kids and grandkids to celebrate the day.

They already know there are few things I need and not many that I want. I’m in the fortunate position of being able to buy the things I most want and have learned that nearly all possessions bring only a brief jolt of joy, if even that much, so I desire very few.

My family knows that I really don’t want anything that will sit on a shelf and need to be dusted or washed. I have plenty of those already and I’m trying to get rid of many of them. There are exceptions. Pictures, particularly of them and their children, are always welcome. Since I go through coffee mugs all too quickly, I’m usually happy to get a new one, especially if it relates to a special time or place.

I love getting cards, especially those that are personalized or show that some thought and effort went into them. And flowers always bring me joy.

But what I want most from my children and grandchildren is time with them. Time spent playing games, talking, walking, shopping, eating ice cream, visiting museums, even reading stories with them.

This coming Sunday I’ll be heading to the beach for a week with my husband, sister-in-law, two daughters, and my younger daughter’s husband and four children. The children are all boys – ages 7, 5 (he turned six yesterday but we’ll be celebrating his birthday at the beach), 4, and 2.

If all goes as usual there will be plenty of fun, laughter, talk, games, good food, drink, sun, and surf. We’ll spend time reading and playing in the sand and ocean water. We’ll talk endlessly, scatter for walks and shopping trips, and then share experiences later on.

I can’t think of anything I could want more than that for Mother’s Day.

Monday, May 6, 2019

Standards? What Are They?

by Janis Susan May/Janis Patterson

I admit I spend waaaay too much time on email loops, especially those for writers. Some are aimed at and restricted to working professional writers and I love them! Some are open to anyone and sometimes I love them, sometimes I don't, because the view of the wider writing community is occasionally terrifying.

On one open list a writer proudly announced that she had finished her first book and then asked if she reeaaally needed an editor before publishing it on Amazon. If that weren't bad enough, over half the answers said no - that she just needed a friend or two to look it over, or she herself should go over it a couple of times.


I suppose sometime somewhere there is a writer who doesn't need an editor, but I sincerely doubt that a first time novelist is one of them. Especially one whose post had two grammatical errors.

Grammar is important. Grammar gives structure, meaning and coherence to our writing. It shouldn't be ignored, because bad grammar says two things - either that the writer is excruciatingly ignorant, or that he/she has complete disdain for his/her readers, believing that they are too stupid to notice. Of course, this applies only to the narrative part of a book. Whatever is said/thought by a character should be congruent with that character. A dock laborer is going to speak differently than an Oxford don. A wealthy teen-ager is going to speak differently than an aged, unschooled farm widow. So I have always held that anything in quote marks or this-is-a-direct-thought-italics is exempt from the rules of grammar, but the narrative prose of a book is not.

Don't they teach grammar any longer? Apparently not, because a couple of days later, on a different - but another open - list, a different poster asked a very elementary question about how to start a book. Now there is nothing wrong with asking a very elementary question; we all have been there at some time and every writer has to learn. Two things made my blood run cold.

The first was the post was written with such execrable grammar that a third grader should have been ashamed to own it. I replied, mentioning that she might want to brush up on her grammar, then gave a reasonably detailed answer to her question. The second thing was that without exception others on the list attacked me, saying that anyone could make a grammar mistake (which I agree - ONE mistake in a questioning post, not multiples, nor such huge ones), that someone later in the editing process could catch the 'mechanical' errors, that this new writer could probably reach more people's emotions than I ever could with my perfect grammar... You get the idea. I even received a few threats to boycott my books because I am such a heartless grammar Nazi who puts rules above True Feelings.

So when did holding to a standard become not only passé, but almost dangerous for those who do? Language is the means by which we communicate. If the rules of language are disregarded and allowed to crumble, communication is imperiled. And that threatens all of us - readers, writers, and everyone else.

On another note, I would like to say that my YouTube channel is up and running - and I would be most appreciative if you would drop by. It's called Janis' Tips and Tales, and a new episode is released on the fourth Thursday of every month. Thank you!

Saturday, May 4, 2019


Like the bard said,...unless you were expecting the smell of coffee and what you got was the smell of roses, then your coffee just smells like soap. I don't want soap in my coffee!

I just created a character who is hiding behind a pseudonym and there in is his dilemma. Will the people who mean the most to him still like him if they know he's this other person?

So what gives with writers and all the names? "Sofie Couch" is a nickname I acquired in middle school and various friends, mostly from my childhood, still use that name. It's also on some of my books, but not all of them, then I'm "Annette" to most of my family, some of my friends, (except for that one friend from elementary school who just thought "Sofie" and "Annette" were identical twins. LOL! I cannot believe he thought I was identical twins for all those years!!) Then "Annette" with different last names for different business ventures? It's so confusing... even for me!

I was part of a panel discussion last week, the topic--“The Business of Art: Writers on Writing” and there I goofed no less than three times in referring to one of the writers on the panel by her real name instead of one of her two writing names. It’s Madeline. Madeline, Madeline, Madeline… until we’re chatting over a cuppa coffee, then it’s… that other name that I won’t disclose for a fourth time.
So, as the moderator of this panel, I stuck in a surprise question: “what’s with the name game?” although I play the name game myself. I have reasons that I thought were the same for everyone else, but I don’t care if someone uses the other name. I answer to both readily. It turns out, there are some other very, very good, valid reasons a writer might use multiple different names and keep the different identities separate.

You see, Madeline’s in-laws don’t know she writes! (Even her photo in the flier is pseudonymous.)

Another writer friend’s co-workers and employer don’t know she writes. 

Sometimes, its for credibility reasons when what you write may not fit the brand of your full-time job, or the expectations of in-laws.

Then there was one friend’s pesky on-line stalker. Say it ain’t so!!! Or the car-full of strangers that pulled into a friend’s driveway wanting to get their books signed. Probably harmless, but you never know! Or those who just send you letters with return addresses like “Sing-Sing, Alcatraz, Folsom Prison… (Okay, I’m being funny with those references, but you get the picture. It happens, apparently. Not to me, but to other people I know.)

Those are all of the sensational reasons that I had never expected. The motive I did expect, and that which is more common, is brand.

The number one rule in this biz is to stay on brand. If you have readers who enjoy your cozy mysteries, they may be disappointed in your less cozy thrillers, or sweet romance vs. sci-fi paranormal schtuff.

How disappointing for the reader of sweet romance to pick up a book that is, er, not-so-sweet, but with the same author’s name? I’ve done that. I handed a book to my teenager from an author we knew and loved. She read the first ten pages, then handed it back to me, suggesting that it might not be thirteen year old appropriate. Yowza! It definitely was not thirteen-year-old appropriate.

And then there’s the whole problem with your friends calling you and you not recognizing your name, or your friends using the wrong name at the wrong time. (Soooo sorry, Le…., er, Madeline.) So please bear with me while I figure out this name thing. In the meantime, It’s “Sofie Couch” for sweet romance AND cozy mystery with a sweet romantic element and I'll print some form of disclosure on the new covers for anything that falls outside of that mix. I’m re-vamping my backlist, but there are still a few YA paranormal novels out there with the "Sofie Couch" brand. I'll fix that with the new covers. Whew. Wish I knew then what I’m figuring out now.
My next cozy mystery with sweet romantic elements, JAIL BYRD, (probably coming out in the next month and a half), is set in the recurrent small town of Poropotank, and features a missing manuscript, a secret baby, and a pseudonymous writer struggling with the name game. I hope you’ll read it to learn his motivation for hiding behind a pseudonym! In the meantime, you can follow me at my blog, “The Paperback Writer” at www.sofiecouch.com for regular updates and don’t forget to subscribe to this blog where this group of savvy women are always on brand - Classic and Cozy!

Thursday, May 2, 2019

My Worst Cinco de Mayo Ever

by Victoria M. Johnson

Late April 2015 my husband and I left for an adventure of a lifetime in Germany.  We were excited to explore, meet people and check out the food and beer.  Though we enjoyed doing all those things, the pending Cinco de Mayo holiday caused me unexpected stress.  Every grocery store I visited in our village (and surrounding villages) did not sell the ingredients I needed to make my homemade salsa.  Particularly, they did not carry cilantro or jalapeno peppers.  Maybe, maybe, maybe I could make salsa without the jalapeno, but no cilantro?  I couldn't do it.

It was an age-old dilemma, you can't make salsa without cilantro, and you can't make tacos without salsa, and you can't have Cinco de Mayo without tacos!  I was bummed, sad, depressed.  To lift my spirits, my hubby decided to take me to a "Mexican" restaurant.  I put that in italics to emphasize that Mexican cooking in Germany is different than Mexican in California and certainly different than in my home.  We arrived at the restaurant that had a packed parking lot.  A full lot indicates good food, right?  The décor was as welcoming as any popular Mexican restaurant in the States.  Mariachi music played from overhead speakers, staff wore traditional clothing of Mexico, and we were warmly greeted and seated.  We ordered two kinds of tacos and they quickly brought out a basket of chips along with salsa.  To say the salsa was underwhelming is an understatement.  It was like the jar salsa from grocery stores—only worse.  We looked around and noticed that the Germans seemed to enjoy it.  That's because they haven't tasted real salsa, I thought.  And for some reason I felt incredibly homesick.  How long would I last in Germany without the ingredients I needed to cook with?  I was already mourning not having a Trader Joe's store around.  Could I handle this blow, too?

photo by Heather Ford

As it turns out, it took three months and three "Mexican" restaurants for me to give up on German salsa.  The Germans do many things well, some things extremely well.  Making salsa is not one of them.  Luckily, we gained the ability to shop at the American commissary at Ramstein Air Force Base—it carried cilantro and jalapenos!  My Cinco de Mayo may have been a bust but at last I could make salsa and other dishes my way.  And our new German friends reveled at my delicious version of that essential condiment.  Oh, here's a salsa recipe for you to try: https://www.cookingclassy.com/fresh-homemade-salsa/  Enjoy!

My Worst Cinco de Mayo Ever
Victoria M. Johnson knew by the time she was ten that she wanted to be a writer.  She loves telling stories and she's happiest when creating new characters and new plots.  Avalon Books and Montlake Romance published Victoria's fiction debut, The Doctor’s Dilemma.  Her other fiction book is a collection of romance short stories titled, The Substitute Bride and a novella, Hot Hawaiian Christmas. She is also the writer and director of four short films and two micro documentaries.   Visit Victoria's website at http://VictoriaMJohnson.com for inspiration and tips and find her Amazon author page or connect with her on Pinterest and Twitter.

Thursday, April 25, 2019

A Month of Renewal

by Fran McNabb

As I thought about my topic for this month’s Classic and Cozy, I kept coming back to the idea that we’re already to the end of April, the fourth month of the year. This month has always been a favorite of mine and can elicit a smile just thinking about it. (I know, that sounds silly, but it’s true.) In my mind, April is a happy month.

No one knows for sure where the name of the month originated, but some believe it came from the Latin word “aperire” meaning “to open,” such as in the opening of so many flowers in spring. 
The traditional birth flowers for April are the sweet pea and daisy, and, yes, both of these flowers happen to be my favorite. I call sweet peas “old fashioned” flowers. My mother used to have them running up one of her side fences. The sweet fragrance filled the air during the summer months. She’d let me go out to pick a bouquet to put in a vase in our house or to take to some of the older ladies in the neighborhood. I don’t see many of these plants today, but when I do, I think of Mom and her green thumb. The other flower of the month is the daisy. I wasn’t married in April, but I used daisies for my wedding. I just love the simplicity of the flower.

April is frequently the month that Christians celebrate Easter, this year celebrated on April 21. As a child I remember always getting a new pair of shoes and a hat to go with a new dress that Mom usually made. We didn’t have much growing up, but Easter was always special to us. This year the day was cloudless and the temperature warm. After church my husband took me and two other ladies in the neighborhood on a boat ride. What a wonderful way to celebrate Easter!

Lots of other days in April are set aside for special (and some not-so-special) days. The month starts off with April Fools’ Day on April 1 and ends on the remembrance of George Washington becoming our first President on April 30. In between, there are days that many dread, such as tax day on April 15, and some fun days such as National Grilled Cheese Day on April 12. In 1973 the first mobile phone call was made by Martin Cooper in New York City. What would we do without our cell phones today?

April has many other days of celebration or recognition, but to most of us it simply means that winter is ending and warmer days are ahead. It actually is the “aperire,” the opening of something new and exciting—a renewal. As a writer I am reminded this is a good time to renew my enthusiasm for writing. It's easy for long-time authors to burn out. If you find yourself lagging in enthusiasm, find a way to renew that interest. Maybe stepping away from your computer and enjoying other things for a little while will help. Enjoy your family. Read other authors. Relax. Do whatever it takes to renew yourself and your writing life.

Whatever April means to you, I hope you enjoy the last few days of this month.

FRAN MCNABB lives on the Gulf Coast and loves the warmer days of spring and summer so she can enjoy the beaches and water with her husband and family. Using this setting (as well as a couple others) she has published nine sweet romances, mostly dealing with characters trying to start over with their lives. Check her out at www.FranMcNabb.com or at mcnabbf@bellsouth.net

Monday, April 22, 2019


I read an essay by Dave Barry in the Wall Street Journal taken from his new book, LESSONS FROM LUCY: THE SIMPLE JOYS OF AN OLD, HAPPY DOG where he talks about being shy.  He says he wants to model himself after his dog Lucy.  Needless to say, Lucy is not shy.
I’ve always related to Dave Barry and love his columns and books.  But it’s not just that. We’re almost the same age.  We have a friend in common, and he’s funny and perceptive about some of the same things I think about.  This time was no different.
I believe most people aren’t shy based on my perception that almost everyone can walk into a room filled with strangers and find someone to talk to.  They can also go to restaurants by themselves and enjoy dinner.  From my observation, even if someone was once shy, by the time they’re my age, they’ve gotten over it. 
I, on the other hand, and from the sounds of it, Dave Barry, have hung on to our shyness in spite of appearances to the contrary. Dave Barry is a public figure so I know he’s friends with Stephen King and is part of a band that, besides King, includes Maxine Hong Kingston.  That’s not how most of us see a shy person behaving.  I will admit that I too can sometimes fake it and usually don’t wear my shyness on my sleeve.  But there are certain things I’ve never overcome.
It seems it’s then, when it’s most inconvenient, that my shyness shows up.  It happens at writers’ conferences where I don’t talk to anyone unless they talk to me first. I sit alone instead at the back of the room taking notes or studying my phone.  It also happens at yoga classes in the city where I sit on my mat and stretch while the people around me chatter, not because I want to stretch but because I’m not good at initiating conversations.  It’s also true if I’m forced to eat dinner by myself in a restaurant—except in Europe where I have managed to overcome the fear because the payoff is so great.
Dave Barry lists his awkward phobias, slightly different but similar enough to mine to convince me that we’re in the same boat.  He concludes his essay with a plan to be more like his dog Lucy who greets the world with a smile and an expectation that everyone will like her.  After reading Barry’s piece I tried to make the same vow, but must confess that change doesn’t come easily.  
The one time I did I was surprised.  It happened when I reached out to my yoga teacher to extend my condolences upon his mother’s recent passing.  It was then I discovered in his reaction and our subsequent awkward hug, that he too is shy.
Perhaps my take away is that there are more shy people out there than I thought. I’m hoping this insight empowers me to try to reach out to others more often.  It’s a day at a time process and doesn’t come easily, but I have to believe that life would be fuller and easier if I did, at least at writers’ conferences.

Friday, April 12, 2019

The Web at 30

by Karen McCullough

We take it for granted. When we need to know something, we “Google” it. (And when did “Google” become a verb? No idea.) We set up doctors’ appointments on it, make travel plans, manage our finances, do our Christmas (and other) shopping, and increasingly many of us perform our jobs using it. It’s hard to believe it’s only been around for 30 years. The worldwide web is so meshed into our everyday lives, we feel helpless when we don’t have access to it.

It’s hard to believe that some of us are old enough to remember when it didn’t exist, when researching anything meant dipping into your encyclopedia or a trip to the library, when you wrote letters to communicate with people rather than sending emails or texts.

IBM 7030-CNAM 22480-IMG 5115-gradient

Most people think the worldwide web and the internet are the same thing, but it’s not so. The internet existed well before the worldwide web. The internet originated almost simultaneously in 1969 with the National Physical Laboratory in the UK’s Mark 1 network and the U.S. Defense Department’s ArpaNet. The concept of interlocking networks of networked computers was intriguing enough that universities and scientific research facilities wanted in and eventually the networks spread. Even before the worldwide web, email (which runs on a completely different set of network protocols from the web), bulletin boards, and Usenet libraries were in wide use, especially in universities and among hobbyists.

Then came the bulletin board services intended for public use: CompuServe, Prodigy, and a little later AOL. These pre-dated the web itself but led the way in showing the public how useful a network could be by providing access to huge databases of information and facilitating contact among people with shared interests. Eventually those services turned into on-ramps for the web that made it accessible to everyone.

There’s some debate about the actual birth date of the worldwide web, but some experts place it in March 1989 when CERN scientist Tim Berners-Lee unveiled the "Mesh" system of hypertext links bringing together any form of multimedia over those (now millions) of networked computers. It didn’t actually create the web, but it provided the underpinning principle of it.

In November, 1990, Berners-Lee and Robert Cailliao published a paper that described a web of hypertext marked up documents (https://www.w3.org/Proposal.html) that could be viewed in a browser and link to other documents. A month later Berners-Lee published the first actual website (http://info.cern.ch/hypertext/WWW/TheProject.html) .  It looks pretty crude by today’s standards, but all subsequent developments are elaborations on what he created.

I got my first taste of the internet and its possibilities sometime in the mid-1980s when I signed up for the Prodigy network and then CompuServe. At the time the standard communication device was a 1200-baud modem that used telephone lines to access the boards. It was incredibly slow, with pages loading line by line over several minutes, but even at that it offered an entrance to a much broader world.

I discovered online databases where I could look up information that would otherwise require a trip to the library. I connected with other authors and publishing industry people from all around the world. I got my first personal email address through one of those services. I sold a book to one of the very first publishers selling ebooks, though the Kindle was still years away.

It’s been quite a journey watching those early bulleting board services morph into today’s worldwide web. Along the way it made possible video on demand, providing us with streaming movies and programs at our fingertips, e-reading devices which put whole libraries of books on a device the size of one very thin paperback, working remotely, sharing family photos on Facebook and Shutterfly, personalized maps available in seconds, video tours of houses you’re considering buying, access to music of every imaginable sort, all the apps we can’t live without on our smart phones, and, yes, even cat videos.

I met my first computer back in the early 1960s when IBM did a seminar for the children of employees. I believe it was their 750 model we worked on back then, a machine that would take up most of my current kitchen and was programmed with a block of punched cards. How strange it is to realize that my hand-held smart phone is a far more powerful computer than that room-sized monstrosity. We have come a long way.

Tuesday, April 9, 2019

Too close to the action

        My husband and I recently spent 14 months living in Kayenta, Arizona, and working in addiction recovery programs. We loved the work, the people, the beautiful views of Monument Valley...in fact, just about everything! But our time there ended and we left to come back to our permanent home.
          Our first day back in northern California was November 1. The Camp Fire started one week later. Although it did not reach our home, it burned within five miles of us. We were on alert for possible evacuation and the park only one-third mile from our home was closed in the event evacuation became necessary. We saw the black smoke clouds, thousands of feet high, rolling down at us from the ridge and for days we lived in skies so dark, the streetlights stayed on day and night and everyone who had to be out driving used headlights.
For most of three weeks, we did not go out unless we had to. When we did, we wore hazard masks. Worse, we heard the stories and saw the videos from friends, people we knew well, who lost everything: homes, possessions, businesses, pets. Some people we did not know lost family members. At least eighty-five people were killed in the fire, the most destructive and deadly in California history.
Then came the floods. Although this area hadn’t seen measurable precipitation in nearly two-hundred twenty days, the skies opened in a series of “atmospheric rivers” that poured rain and snow across the region for months. In the fire zone, what was left by the flames washed away in a series of floods and debris flows. A friend was among the archaeologists who went into the debris zone to rescue the ashes of the dead before the floods could wash them away.
In the months since then, my husband and I have visited the burned-out areas, viewing only a few of the two-hundred eleven square miles consumed by the flames. We have participated in relief efforts and have tried to extend our help and sympathy to all those affected. Yet we feel helpless in the face of such overwhelming, destructive natural power.
My newest book is SUNNY'S SUMMER, due out in May. It deals with the aftermath of the Camp Fire. I told my husband, "I have to write this. I have to." He warned me not to. “It’s too soon,” he said. “The experience is too raw for too many people.”
Then I wrote a short sketch of the story line and showed it to a friend affected by the fire. She did not lose her home, but the flames burned up to her back porch, she was evacuated for nearly a month without knowing whether her horses were alive, and when she returned, her whole home had to be professionally cleaned due to smoke damage. What couldn’t be cleaned was an uninsured loss. (As a side note, a neighbor who did not have to evacuate cared for her horses. They are well.)
My friend, who had experienced the fires, said, “Write it! You must! People have to see that others are experiencing the same things: the horror, the loss, the guilt…oh, the guilt! Yes, write it. Maybe it can help with some healing.”
I usually try to make my work timeless so it can fit into anyone's experience. In the new book, tied to exact times and places, I tell the story of fictional people who are experiencing the aftermath of the Camp Fire. I hope their experience can help others to heal. Writing it has been cathartic for me.

Susan Aylworth is the author of 17 novels currently available as e-books. SUNNY'S SUMMER, due out in May, is her 18th. She lives in northern California with Roger, her husband of 49 years. She loves hearing from readers. Find her at www.susanaylworth.com, @SusanAylworth, on Pinterest and Instagram, and at www.facebook.com/Susan.Aylworth.Author.

Saturday, April 6, 2019

April Showers Bring...

...Mud, and moss, and mess, oh my. But also spring flowers!!! I want flowers. I want grass. Nope. I've got moss. It's pretty. Beautiful in fact, but it ain't flowers. This seems a simple enough goal, but then, you don't know my gardening history. :( The phrase, "shrinking violets"applies to a plant's reaction to seeing me in a garden center. I think the violets can smell the death.

It all began harmlessly enough. My goal: Clean up the patio so I could sit and read a cozy mystery or a sweet romance novel in relative comfort on our on-again-off-again temperate spring days. I live in Virginia and Wednesday saw a 30 degree temperature change in about three hours. Next week? Who knows? Maybe 90s? So I’ve got to take advantage of the temperate days while we’ve got them.

So I started tackling the seating area in the back. It’s like the children’s story, “If you Give a Mouse a Cookie”. Do you know it? Well, this mouse starts out just wanting a cookie, then wanting milk, then wanting to draw a picture for the front of the fridge, etc., etc.

I started raking leaves, which led to tripping on the patio pavers, which led to pulling them all up, which led to grading, re-paving, decorating, planting plants, creating a focal point, which led to tearing down an unsightly tree house, to finally looking back at my patio, remembering my purpose here and…

Today, it’s raining. Oh well, why don’t you check out one of our Classic and Cozy writers, and enjoy them outside while the temperate spring days last. I sure wish I could.

Thursday, April 4, 2019

Spring is for Letting Go

by Victoria M. Johnson

Spring is here!  Finally.  For many of us it has been a brutal winter and signs of spring are very much anticipated and welcomed.  We all know spring as a time for rejuvenation and regrowth.  It's when flowers bloom and the sense of renewal fills our spirit with hope.  Spring often brings expectations, too.

Are you someone who thinks of spring as a time for spring cleaning?  Do you go through your house or closet and clear out the clutter?   

Perhaps you're someone who gets swept away by spring fever—that feeling that something good is in the air—where you toss responsibilities to the side and let loose in fun activities?     

Or have you been so busy working hard all year that you just need a break—some time to do nothing—a spring break, whether you're in college or not? 

Photo by Andre Furtado

All three of these responses to spring are appropriate.  But I'd like to add one more action for you to consider when thinking about spring.  Think of spring as a time of letting go.  Let go not only of unwanted clothing or household items but also of negative feelings that are impeding you.  Any feelings that are unconstructive, that dampen your spirits or thwart your momentum; need to go.  Use spring as a reminder to clear your mind and heart of clutter.  For a healthier and happier life let any disappointments or unmet expectations from the past go.  Make room for personal renewal and growth. This spring, give yourself a fresh start.

Victoria M. Johnson knew by the time she was ten that she wanted to be a writer.  She loves telling stories and she's happiest when creating new characters and new plots.  Avalon Books and Montlake Romance published Victoria's fiction debut, The Doctor’s Dilemma.  Her other fiction book is a collection of romance short stories titled, The Substitute Bride and a novella, Hot Hawaiian Christmas. She is also the writer and director of four short films and two micro documentaries.   Visit Victoria's website at http://VictoriaMJohnson.com for inspiration and tips and find her Amazon author page or connect with her on Pinterest and Twitter.

Monday, April 1, 2019

Involuntary Research

by Janis Susan May/Janis Patterson

There’s something unsettling about hospital waiting rooms. The very air is saturated with thick and not always pleasant emotions. I’m here while a dear elderly friend has a fairly minor day surgery, waiting to take her home, but some of my waiting room companions are not so lucky. There are several clumps of people waiting with me, but there is no friendly interaction between us. I’m sure that’s not from any sense of dislike or snobbishness; on the contrary, I think it is a manifestation of focusing on what is important to them - their loved one, some of whom are having not-so-minor day surgeries.

And that’s the way it should be. Everyone’s attention and energy should be on their loved ones. There are other times for chatting with strangers, or caring/praying for others who have problems, but when it is your loved one whose flesh is under the scalpel, some familial selfishness is understandable.

I’m here alone, for my elderly friend has no local relations, and we have been close for decades, so to help the time pass I am shamelessly eavesdropping. Not that I couldn’t even if I didn’t want to; the waiting room is small, and it can’t be helped.

Everyone here has a story; one group’s uncle is having a hernia repaired; another’s sister is having benign cyst removed; another’s mother is having a badly ingrown toenail attended to; one patient is a child having her tonsils out; my friend is having a cataract removed. None of them are life threatening, or even very scary procedures, nothing like what is seen in emergency rooms and major surgical suites every day, but still... the idea of a human body - a beloved human body - being invaded with scalpel or laser or Heaven only knows what is still terrifying.

I know that a viable story could be generated from every story in this waiting room. Human experience is the genesis of all stories, but sometimes they come too close to your particular bone. It’s one thing to make up fanciful or grittily realistic tales about what happens to someone and another to think about what is happening to a loved one at the moment. Later, perhaps, when all is happily resolved, the emotional memory can be taken out and reshaped to make a story, but most definitely later. Not now, when the stomach is clenched and the mind full of possible horrors.

Someone said of writers that everything is all research to us, and that’s true. Most things that happen to us will sooner or later turn up in some form in a story. There’s no rule, however, that this involuntary research has to be pleasant.