Branching Out

By Fran McNabb

 

The oak tree outside my kitchen window is bare from the recent winter winds. The branches jutting

out in all directions made me think about writers and writing. Yes, I know, we writers sometimes have a strange way of looking at the world.

An analogy of a tree with a strong trunk and many, many smaller branches fits most people. Each one of us has a strong inner self, but we also all have tiny avenues of interest (our branches) that make us distinctively individual. Readers and writers alike can get into a rut so sometimes we need to branch out and expand to new areas of interest

If you're a reader, have you lost interest in books? Maybe changing genres can help. Do you read only historical romance? How about trying main stream or contemporary sweet romances? Tired of Science Fiction? Try inspirational for a change. Try new authors and new genres.

Branching out is good for all of us. Writers must branch out or risk becoming boring people and boring writers. We must move out of all comfort zone, write about characters that are different from us, use settings where we’ve never been.

We’ve always heard the advice to write what we know, but if that’s all we write about, we put ourselves at risk of not growing. Are you having writer’s block? Are you still looking for the inspiration you hoped to find from in this new year? Is looking at the world in the same old way keeping your creativity stagnant?

Yes, we have to stay true to ourselves, but let’s step out a little. Do you always write about a heroine who returns home after venturing out on her own? Maybe switch it around and use a heroine who realizes she must leave home to find her potential. How does she adapt to her new surroundings? Who does she let into her life?

Are your settings close to home? Writing about our hometown is easy and a great way for new writers to start, but again, move away from your comfort zone. Do research. Read about other parts of the world. Visit these places if it’s possible.

Readers and writers both must try something different for a change. You can always go back to what you originally liked, but who knows? There might be something else out there that opens your eyes.

The strong trunk of your personal tree never has to change. It develops and gets stronger, but basically stays the same. It’s those little branches that we can work on in 2017. Let them grow in different directions and maybe those branches will open up your potential for your new year in writing and in reading.

FRAN MCNABB writes sweet romances with some of them are set on her beloved Gulf Coast, but like the tree outside her window, she has branched out to other places for settings: W. Virginia, Key West, Texas, and South America. She has also stepped back into time with two historical romances. She’d love to hear from you at mcnabbf@bellsouth.net  or  check her out at www.FranMcNabb.com

Bank Accounts & Shaving Kits

I have been reading Kathryn Forbes’s book of family stories, Mama’s Bank Account — my own mother’s favorite book and one given to me by my eldest sister thirteen years ago.

My mother was a story-teller in her own right, keeping me entertained for hours during my childhood and teenage years. In tribute to her, I asked her to write her stories about her experience during World War II. I published these in a small print run for her 90th birthday to share with my siblings and their families.

After her death, I published her stories in a digital edition, now available to the world.

Watching the funeral of Justice Antonin Scalia reminded me of how much my father influenced my life. My mother used to say “If you don’t want to do something you don’t think is right, tell the other girls that your mother won’t let you.” After my father’s death when I was thirteen, and for many years after, I found myself saying, “If my father was alive, he would not let me do this.” Thankfully, I was spared the most dire consequences of my stupidity.

Reading Forbes’s account of her early family life in San Francisco brought many personal memories to mind. One of the stories was titled “Mama and the Graduation Present” which reminded me of a Christmas present I received from my mom and dad when I was in my preteen years.

I had just started junior high school (now called middle school for some strange, unknown to me, reason) and my female peers had a great influence on my sense of what was expected of teenage girls. Besides the usual hair style and pegged jeans (my generation’s equivalent of skinny jeans), the gym-suit and short socks required smooth legs.

My crime became known to my mother when my father cut his chin while shaving with a dull razor. Since I had expressed a desire for a lady’s razor and that request was denied, the perpetrator was obvious to her. Without revealing her sources, she assured my dad that there were new blades in his shaving kit.

When his new blade was dull before its time, Mom had no choice but to point her finger.

Though I had an allowance based on my own estimation of my weekly expenses and a stipend for completing all my chores, there was not enough in the short time I had, to purchase the implement required. Complain, cajole and beg as I will, my mother was adamant that I did not need to have smooth legs at my age.

One of my sisters and her family invited us to spend Christmas with them. We drove to Arizona for the occasion and my younger sister and I were crammed into the backseat on either side of one three by three foot toy box for my nephew and its companion for my niece tied into the trunk of our two-tone Ford sedan.

Since the arrival of grandchildren, we seemed to have taken a backseat to this new generation although I was only six years older than my Arizona niece. I had little in the way of expectations for a Christmas spent away from home. There were a few presents from my parents for my little sister and me under the tree but the toy boxes were chock-a-block with toys.

My father always went out on Christmas Eve to buy stocking presents. These were his special project, a holdover from his own childhood as the youngest of nine children and the infrequent recipient of toys. On Christmas morning, the youngest members of the family were wildly excited. I—at the age of twelve—as the eldest of the children, approached the present-opening event with decorum and patience.

Decorum and patience flew out the patio doors along with my vast sense of maturity when I opened the little blue and white circular, click-closure box to discover this: 

I doubt my father had the where-with-all to make the choice without some input from his wife. This was the most exciting and best loved gift that year and for many thereafter. In fact, I have never forgotten the feeling. Not because I had wanted it or asked for it, but because my parents had heard me and were not opposed to the changes in young ladies’ grooming requirements.

Like Kathryn Forbes at the end of her story about her Graduation Present when her father offered his “grown-up daughter” her first cup of coffee,  I “felt very proud.” 

Teaching an Old Dog

by Gina Ardito

Tomorrow's my birthday. I'll be (gasp!) 53. Spare me the comments about how I don't look my age. I don't mention the day because I'm fishing for compliments. What I really wanted to say is that, even at my (venerable) age, I still have to remain flexible with fate. Because fate seems to love jerking my chain. I'm officially an old dog still learning new tricks.

Life never remains constant. Today is my last day at a job I've had for more than a decade. I've been in this industry for four decades and starting Monday, I'll be trying my wings at something else. No longer will I be able to joke that I work for Satan (health insurance, so yeah, it ain't too far from the truth).

Two days from now, I'll be dropping my youngest child off at college and will come home to a much quieter house (but with more food in it).

I honestly didn't expect 2015 to be the year of so much change (there's more, but it's not my story to tell. Suffice it to say, the last six months have thrown my family topsy-turvy in many ways). But it seems that's just how it happens. You're moving along on your usual path, and suddenly, you hit a detour. You negotiate that turn, and there's another up ahead. And another. Until when you look up again, you realize your path has led you somewhere entirely different than where you thought you'd be.

In "The Princess Bride," Westley, in his Dread Pirate Roberts persona, tells Buttercup, "Life is pain." I beg to differ. Life is change. The days we'll remember when we're looking back are not the days where we got up, went to work, came home, did some chores, watched a little TV and went to bed. We'll recall the milestones: the days that were different, the days that changed us. The birth of children, the death of loved ones, trips and vacations, the end of or respite from the usual grind. 

Go ahead, fate. I'm ready.

As John Lennon sang in Beautiful Boy, "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans."

Enjoy your life, my friends. Live it fully, no matter where it takes you.

Never too Late by Fran McNabb

 

            Springtime is a time of renewal and change. If you’ve been thinking about doing something

different, maybe this is the time to start.

            Maybe your job is at a dead end. Maybe you’d like to play a musical instrument or take art lessons. Maybe you have an idea for a book or a song. Whatever it is that you’d like to do, sometimes taking the first step is the hardest especially when you are aware that time is not on your side.

            But don’t give up hope. I am living proof that it’s never too late to take on a dream or even to reinvent your dreams!

            Right now I call myself an author, but that’s not how it always was. I wrote for years before I saw the fruits of my works published. I started writing in the 1980’s, got a few rejections, thought I was being silly to think I could get published, and put the dream of publication back in the far corner of my life—but I never stopped writing. If you’re a writer, you write. It’s that simple. I wrote, played around with stories, and one day I realized I had quite a few manuscripts in different stages of completion. One day, I told myself, I’ll do something with all of them.

           That day came earlier than I anticipated. Before I was ready, I had to take a medical retirement from teaching. Boredom immediately set in. One day I pulled out those boxes of old manuscripts (I didn’t own a computer then) and the writing bug bit me once again. I joined an RWA chapter, attended as many conferences and workshops as possible, and I eventually had my dream come true.  It was one day before my 58^th birthday that I received The Call.

Fifty-eight years old might seem ancient to those who are younger, but I think age depends on attitude. If you’re young enough to dream a dream, then you’re young enough to try to discover it. If you’re willing to do the work learning how something is done, then the world is open to you.

            I will have my seventh book published at the end of next month, and when it comes out I will smile and pat myself on the back because I didn’t lie down and quit when I had to find a new life. I’m enjoying my time in the publishing world, just as you can enjoy your time doing whatever it is you might want to do.

Even if you're not a "spring chicken," your dream can still come true because it's never too late to start fresh.

Fran McNabb taught high school English until she had to take an early medical retirement. Now she spends her time writing, reading, and enjoying the time she and her husband spend on the water. Her seventh book, SAVING THE CHILDREN, will be released on April 29. Visit her at  mcnabbf@bellsouth.net  or at www.FranMcNabb.com.