When You Don't Know What You're Doing

So, I've been at the book writing business for almost 10 years now. You would think you'd learn a lot in 10 years. And in some respects, I have.

I have learned how to write using adverbs sparingly. (haha...did you catch that?)
I have learned how to use a comma, for the most part.
I have learned how to create realistic and compelling characters.

But I have not learned how to use social media. I have an author Facebook page which I post on occasionally and actually get a few likes. I had a website which I just shut down. (Mostly I shut it down because the only people who looked at it were trying to sell me something.) I've decided to go back--back to what I feel comfortable with.

I've always loved the name of this blog--it's a line from a song I love. And I like the things I wrote about on this site. I liked how I learned how to attach pictures. I liked how people commented on my posts. (not all of them, but sometimes.)

So, I'm going back to the beginning. Since it's not an author page, I don't feel like I have to always write about writing. I can talk about my kids, my grandkids, and even the neighbors kids! I can share thoughts about my trip to Alaska (the state is beautiful, but if I return I will see the sites by train instead of cruise ship) or about issues that bother me or excite me! I can talk about my beliefs, in God, in people, in the kindly nature of dogs. Somehow this blog feels more genuine. I can be myself.

So if you follow me, this is my new spot. I will show up here from time to time. Sometimes it will be about my writing, but more often it will be about something else.

And there you have it. When you don't know what you're doing, go back to the beginning and start over. Isn't it great that life allows fresh starts on occasion. This is mine and I'm taking it!

Children Grow Up Fast

 In the last year, I have had 3 children and 2 of their spouses graduate from college. On Sunday past (June 2), my sixth child graduated from high school. Today, my youngest finished middle school and will be entering high school.  I am immensely proud of them all. I am excited for all the adventure that lies before them. My son moved on to graduate school in North Carolina. One daughter and her husband are moving forward with their acting careers (currently in Colorado working for The Creed Repertory Theater). Another daughter married and is looking for work while her new husband finishes school.  My high school daughter is preparing to leave home in August to start her college career, and the baby of the family is entering the last four years of life at home. (There are two other children who have established their homes and families and are grappling with everyday life...an adventure all its own.)

Today, as I left the middle school for the last time, I found myself in tears. When I said farewell to the band director who taught six of my seven children how to play an instrument, I was overcome with emotion.  That surprised me almost as much as it surprised my daughter, and the rest of my children when they read this blog.  Mrs. Ciulla was an occasional topic at the dinner table.  She had some quirks (as we all do) that the kids sometimes found amusing, other times frustrating.  But as I watched my last daughter get excited over the mellophone she will play in the high school marching band, and when I thought about all the time my kids spent practicing (which wasn't as much as I had wished) and all the time I spent at band concerts, I realized how much this woman influenced my children musically.  And I was grateful for her efforts.

I still am a bit weepy as I watch another era of my children's lives come to an end. It is the first time for me that I do not have another child coming up through the ranks to enter middle school. It is the first time I will have only one child in the public school system since my first child started kindergarten twenty-five years ago. I am sad for the memories I have lost. As we sat in the recognition  ceremony this morning, my husband and I couldn't recollect the other 8th grade recognition ceremonies that we attended.  I know they were held...I know we were there. But with seven children, one ceremony often blends into another.  I wish now, that I could freeze the moments - remember exactly what each of my children looked like, right down to what clothes they wore, how they behaved , who their friends were, what their hopes and fears were at that exact moment. Will I remember all those from today when in four years Grace is graduating from high school and Doug and I are becoming empty-nesters?

I recently read a blog post written to parents of young children. The author expounded on the guilt inducing phrase, "appreciate this now, because they grow so fast."  Yes, it is true, they do grow fast. And I continue to realize how fast it really is. I know four years of high school really flies by.  And perhaps the emotion I am struggling with now is the idea that maybe I didn't appreciate the younger years enough.  Or...perhaps I did. Perhaps my tears are because of the memories I still hold dear - all the Christmas mornings, all the times I watched their father teach them to ride a bike...and then drive a car, (Oh! joy! We still have that one to go through again!) Summers we spent at the pool, nights and nights of endless homework, family vacations, band concerts, choir concerts, school plays, family fun nights, and lots and lots of laughter.  That is what I will miss the most when my house is empty.  I will miss the laughter, whether it is the belly laugh of an infant, or the high-pitched squeal of a school age child, or the amused laugh of a high school kid who is learning the subtlety of sarcasm and whit.  Laughter has been one of the greatest blessings of having a household full of children.

So as I start this new stage,(just one child at home) and get ready for the next stage when there will be none...maybe I will pay extra special attention so that four years from now when I cry at her graduation - and I will cry - it will be because I have had 34 wonderful, tiring, exasperating, fun, lively years raising children and I will appreciate all those years.  But then again, maybe the tears will be from sheer exhaustion and relief that I made it through.

 I do know, the adage is true, they do grow fast....but I also know they do come back and  when they do, they call this place home.  And for that I am very grateful!!

What I learned from my Book Blast and Blog Tour

Okay, now that I have entered the world of online promotions, I thought I would share my thoughts on the matter. First off, for the most part, I was thrilled with the response I received. I went from 7 followers on twitter to 479...amazing, I know.  And my author page on Facebook went from 40 likes to 566 (32 of those came from a Facebook ad that I recieved for crossing over the 50 likes mark.)  I also gained about 300 additional to-reads on Goodreads. The book blast and blog tour did just what it promised - it put my name and my novel out there. What that means in terms of sales, I won't know for some time.  Authorhouse pays royalties quarterly, so I will not know if I had an increase of sales until I receive a check sometime towards the end of summer.

For the most part my reviews were overwhelmingly positive, which did my heart and confidence good. I had only one review that I considered bad (I'll talk about that one in a minute) and one that was so-so (again I'll talk about that one in a minute). All of the rest were 4-5 star ratings.  Here's some of the comments that I liked the best.
      1. Finally a novel that doesn't skirt around the issues, pretending life is full of rainbows and butterflies.
      2. This story makes you think about what truly makes a good marriage and how a great foundation for a marriage is built.
      3. What an unbelievable romance! I loved it from the beginning through to the very end.
      4. David's Song is a true-to-life story that depicts a realistic portrayal of the complexities and dynamics of relationships, and the variety of issues, choices and decisions that come with them.
      5. I loved the voice of Annie.
      6. There is the perfect amount of tension between all of the primary characters.
      7. I was crying big ugly tears at the end. (This one just makes me grin!)
      8. The book leaves no one neutral because you as the reader will find yourself picking sides. (and also in this review) This book is NOT a typical romance novel . . . staves off book boredom.

Many of the reviewers said that the book made them think.  I really can't think of a better compliment. Part of the reason I wrote David's Song was because I was thinking about choices, and if I could have, would I have made a different choice and in retrospect would I want to? (Just so you know, my answer is no. I wouldn't have chosen differently and am happy that I made the choice I did.)

Now to address some of those other comments.  One reviewer said her only complaint was confusion over the religion issue.  She felt that since part of the story takes place at BYU it implied the story was LDS.  She suggested that since there was no other mention of LDS culture or beliefs that I should have placed the story at a different university thus giving the novel wider appeal. Doug and I actually discussed this issue because he had the same thoughts. I never intended for the book to be considered an LDS novel. BYU was just a location and I thought that since I didn't include much about the culture or beliefs, it was more accessible to a wider audience.  The other thought I had in placing the story at BYU was that at what other university would people believe that these students weren't partying or sleeping around or other kinds of mischief?  BYU has been voted the "Stone Sober" school several years in a row for a reason. To me, the BYU setting gave the story a little more credibility.  And just to show that what one person considers a flaw, another person likes-- another reviewer said, it's "LDS fiction but don't let that put you off."  Can't please everyone, right?! :)

One of the first reviews I received LOVED the book.  She gave a resounding endorsement of the story until....she realized that the book was part of a trilogy.  She doesn't like trilogies. She made some assumptions about what the next two books would be about, and if they were like she described then I would have to agree with her.  Two more books of Annie  teetering back and forth with the same decision would be miserable. Fortunately, that's not what the next two books are about.  I personally love serials. I am often sad when I read a book and fall in love with characters, get highly involved in their story and then the book ends. I miss the friends I have made in reading the book. There are usually questions I have about what happens when you close the back cover.  My daughter told me once that sequels were written because the author couldn't quite let go of the characters.  I had that feeling when I finished David's song.  And I am pleased that many of the reviewers are anxious for the next installment.  As for those who don't like trilogies or sequels? David's Song does stand alone.  And this reviewer said she would buy any stand alone novel that I wrote...That made me feel good.  She liked my writing style.

The one bad review I received I find myself still shaking my head over.  The emotion in this reader's review was astounding! And in some respects, she paid me many compliments.  She mentions talking to her husband about the book because she felt out of sorts. She did say it was well written. And she said the book evoked emotion. All of which is positive  I really have no issue with her unfavorable opinion of the book. I, too, have read books that I don't like that other people love. (Life of Pi comes to mind.)  But her reaction was...well...let me share something of what she said. "I felt guilty and disloyal and dirty even." She adds that she felt that for Annie's character. I suppose I was shocked at the comment because although I didn't agree with some of the choices Annie made in the story, I wouldn't have labeled her "dirty".  By all standards, David's Song is considered clean romance. Words such as those, don't lend themselves to the 'clean' label. And I will admit, that it took me a day or two to shake off the idea that since I created Annie, and her story, that I was somehow disloyal, guilty and dirty, too.  I did shake it off.

I appreciated her remarks because they made me realize that all of us approach novels from a combination of past experiences and current values. One of the reasons that I didn't like Life of Pi was because right from the start the premise was that Pi's story would make me believe in God.  For me, it didn't work.  The book didn't meet it's objective. From the comments I received about David's Song - the book did meet it's objective. It made people think about their relationships. It made readers cheer for and celebrate marriage. It showed readers that even in true life situations, there is romance. Sometimes in life, we get so bogged down with the everyday that we miss what is exciting and passionate and romantic in our own relationships.  If I have done nothing else, hopefully I have focused a spotlight on that idea.

Reading Woes

This year is not starting out well - at least not for my library.

I set a goal to read 50 books this year and have completed 13 of that number.  With the exception of Stephanie Meyer's The Host, I have read nothing that is above average.  Reading The Host was actually my second time through the book.  I was pleasantly surprised that I still liked it as well as I had the first time. (I reread it in anticipation of the movie, another disappointing adaptation and a totally different blog post.) My disappointment with my selections in 2013 is discouraging.  I can't figure out what has happened.  Have I become a book snob?  Are my expectations too high?

I read Marie Lu's Prodigy when it came out--a book I was anticipating because I LOVED the first installment.  It turned out to be ho-hum.  I read Cassandra Clare's Clockwork Princess, again a book I was anticipating because I had enjoyed the first two books in the trilogy.  Again, I was disappointed. Had it not been for the epilogue in the book, I would have been down right angry at the end.

I read the book jackets.  I often read the first paragraph or two before I purchase a book. Sometimes I will even check out reviews on Goodreads.  Although I am cautious about that because I understand that what one person loves or hates is not necessarily an indication of what I will think. I had that experience last year when I read Life of Pi. (Just for the record, it wasn't my cup of tea.)

I have found myself craving a really good book, one that has a great plot, interesting characters who I can care about, decent writing, and generally one I would want to share with everyone I know. I want a book that will make me feel something, hopefully lots of things.  I want to get angry (and not because the writing is bad or the plot predictable). I want to anticipate what will happen next.  I want to be romanced.  I want to laugh.  I want to cry. Okay...maybe I am expecting too much from one novel. I'll take a couple of those emotions and be happy.

So, is it just me?  Have I become insatiable? Have I been spoiled by lucky selections in the past? There must be a key to finding great books. Books that won't offend my sensibilities or kill brain cells. I almost wish there was a rating system hanging from the walls of Barnes and Noble.  "This book is rated fair" and then there could be a list of reasons. 1. little to no character development. 2. takes 250 pages to get to the point of the plot. 3.will insult your intelligence with cheezy dialogue, offensive language (my mother always told me it didn't take any intelligence to come up with a four letter word), or contrived plot lines. 4. lots of smut. Ect. Ect.

Perhaps what I need to do is go back to my bookshelf and reread some of the books that I thought were terrific. And I think I know which book I would start with - Sylvia's Lovers by Elizabeth Gaskell - not a page turner, but an interesting study in human nature and poor choices. Yes, poor choices - like my book selections so far this year.

Musings on a Sunday Morning

I had a Sunday off for a change.  Due to some minor surgery from earlier in the week, I stayed home to continue my recuperation.  I had a lovely morning--relaxed and reflective.

I had a list of things to contemplate and consider.  My marriage, being one - not that I am having difficulties, but I am always looking for what I can do to make it even better.  Another was my Sunday School class.  For those of you who don't know, every Sunday I attempt to teach the 16/17 year-old youth a lesson.  I use the word attempt, because often, no matter how much preparation I put in, the class gets away from me.  Another item I considered was one of my children.  She has some life decisions pending and I was wondering how best to help her in that endeavor.  And lastly, I was thinking about my writing.  And that's what I want to blog about today.

In the last few days I have been involved in an online discussion group about LDS Fiction. (That's an entirely different post) But that discussion has made me take another look at my own work and what I hope to accomplish and why.  Not too, too long ago, I was involved in an online workshop with the author Jason F.Wright (Christmas Jars, The Wednesday Letters) and he asked during that workshop what I hoped my writing would do.  The obvious answer is to influence someone for good.  But what I hope to accomplish and why I want to accomplish that often differ.

Today I took a look at why I wanted my work to be successful.  And I'm not talking New York Times bestseller list--although if that would happen I wouldn't complain.  But why is it that I keep writing and want others to read and like my work.  The simple reason I keep writing is because it's FUN!  I've often told my husband that it's a lot like playing dolls (and I was a big barbie doll fan when I was little). I get to create worlds and situations and characters.  And truthfully, when you are a writer, those characters are as well known to you as your next door neighbor. In fact, sometimes you know them better than your next door neighbor.  And of course, in some cases - they are your next door neighbor. ;)

But as I contemplated why I wanted my work to be successful, I came up with three reasons.  The first, was to help my husband out financially   If I could make some kind of money being a writer, then some of the pressure on him to provide for us presently and in the future would be relieved.  Now, I realistically know that I'm not going to be able to make a huge contribution to the Talley Family coffers, but I would like to feel that I am contributing something other than labor.

The second reason is that it is incredibly validating in a number of ways.  First, when people read my work and like it, then I feel like I am good at something.  I have created something of value--I have some talent.    Secondly, when people like my characters, want to root for them, get involved in the decisions they've made, even want them to make different choices, it is a validation of my creation.  It's a bit like taking pride in the accomplishments of your children.  I once read that when a writer creates a character, there is always a bit of the author in that character.  It makes sense.  So when people like my characters, they like me, even if it's just a very small part of me.  And thirdly, and this kind of relates back to the first, if readers become involved with my characters, then I have created a world and people and situations that are interesting.  Therefore, vicariously I must be an interesting person.

The third reason I wanted to find some success as a writer was to be a missionary.  I do not, as a rule, write religious material.  But my faith is an integral part of my life.  I hope that the beliefs and values I hold dear are reflected in my work.  And I would hope that if I meet a measure of success, that I will have opportunity to talk to people about my faith.  For those of you who do not know, I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (Mormon). And if there is anything that defines a Mormon, it's missionary work.  We as a people are anxious to share what we know about Jesus Christ, about His love, His mission, His atoning sacrifice.  I would hope that through my work, someone might ask a question or two.  I would hope that someone might come to me and ask about faith, about repentance, about my beliefs in a life beyond this, about the eternal nature of families.  I don't have grand visions of converting the world.  But I do have hope that if given the chance to share, I might be able to influence someone for good.  I would hope that I might be able to share the love that I feel from Jesus Christ with others, and perhaps help make their load a little lighter.

So when I say that I was contemplating and considering things this morning, what I really was doing was praying.  And in that prayer I asked about my writing and talked with my Father in Heaven about what I would like to accomplish and why.  And when I spoke of wanting to be a missionary, I had the distinct impression, "What's holding you back, April.  You have a blog.  People read it.  More people will read it.  It's time now to start being that missionary."  Answers do come when we pray.  And sometimes those answers are to step a bit out of our comfort zone, show the God of heaven and earth that we mean what we say.

So if any of you have questions, please ask.  I really do want to share what I think the answers are.  Ultimately, whoever asks has to determine if what I say is really an answer.

But, as I learned today...I don't have to be a successful writer to start sharing.

Banning Adverbs

Ever since I began writing, my biggest fan and critic, my husband, has been after me about my adverb usage.  Even before I started writing, he was critical of any author who was too free in their usage of the 'ly' words.  I remember when he read the Harry Potter books.  We would be sitting in bed, side by side, and all of a sudden he would say,
     "Someone needs to teach JK Rowling how to use an adverb."  Then he would read a few off of every page.  As he reviewed my writing, he would, as a matter of routine, scratch out every adverb I used.
     "You don't need them," he would tell me.  "Your dialog carries meaning - let it speak for itself.  Don't insult your readers." After several editing sessions, I have learned to avoid the dreaded adverb.  No longer does anyone say anything 'softly' or 'sarcastically' or 'loudly',in my writing.  I let the reader determine how the words are said, hoping that my meaning is conveyed.   In fact, I've even learned to avoid words like 'quickly' or 'gingerly'.  I search frantically for another way to say that a person's gaze was intense, or mischievous.  My thesaurus has become my best friend.
 
Today, while perusing Facebook, I noticed a post from one of my daughters to another.  It was all about new punctuation needed to convey meaning.  I realized as  I read, and chuckled over the article, that if we used these punctuation marks, we wouldn't need adverbs at all! (or need them on rare occasions)

Here's the link to the new punctuation:  http://www.collegehumor.com/article/6872071/8-new-and-necessary-punctuation-marks

Of course, if you have punctuation to take the place of an adverb...is that the same as using one?  Is a question mark or exclamation point the same as telling a person how something was spoken, or how an action was performed? Perhaps the benefit of new punctuation is not having to use any extra words for description.

I must admit...I really did like the graduated ellipses   There is such a fine line between wanting someone to pause, (as in comma use) or pause for a long period of time before continuing to read.

And as I write this blog, it occurs to me that if we ban adverbs...are adjectives next?  Will it be poor writing to describe a woman with long, wavy, blonde hair?  Will it be deemed inappropriate to say that your leading man has piercing, sky-blue eyes with thick, dark lashes so long that they could comb his partner's hair?

Perhaps it would just be best if we ban the ridiculous and the cliche.  A famously brilliant idea if you ask me!

A Little Sneak Peek

I started a new novel. Actually I started it several months ago, but have not had much chance to work on it.  I wanted to try my hand at some historical fiction.  After I got over the scare one of my daughters gave me, (pointing out how hard it must be to get the language of historical fiction right) I embarked,

There is a local museum in Akron named Stan Hywet Hall.  It is a large Tudor home, built by the Sieberling family back in the early 1900s.  Frank A Seiberling founded the Goodyear Rubber and Tire Co.  in 1898.  Mr. Seiberling built this beautiful home on the west side of Akron (it was actually countryside back then) to be a summer home for his family.  I actually grew up in the shadow of Stan Hywet Hall and it has always had a special spot in my heart.  When I was young they used to host fireworks on The 4th of July.  That was discontinued late in the 1960's.  Today, however, they still host crafts shows, antique car shows, The Ohio Shakespeare Company and many other activities on the lawn and in the manor house.  Doug and I even attended a madrigal dinner there not to many years ago at Christmas.

I thought this wonderful house would serve well as the setting for a historical novel.  I have given the estate in this new story the name Montrose (also a local name, but with nothing of the charm of Stan Hywet).  And in a bold and daring move, decided I would post a snippet of the tale.

I would love to hear feedback.  I  appreciate honesty, not just platitudes, and kindness.  Keep in mind that this is a first draft, characters are not well formed as of yet, and there may be (most likely will be) many grammatical errors.  I will work through those as I do revisions down the line.

So with a deep breath.....here goes....

Cameron and his brother stayed close to the storefronts as they walked through town.  A gentle rain had fallen most of the night and the streets were muddy.  A splash from a passing carriage or trotting horse was likely, and most certainly unwelcome.  Despite the weather from the night before, the day had turned out fine, with bright sunshine and a soft breeze.  There was a slight chill in the air, a certain sign of the impending autumn.   All in all, it was a perfect way for Cameron to get out of the manor house and off the estate.  His parents encouraged his visits to town.  They saw the time Cameron spent there as a way to acquaint the people of the area with the heir of Montrose.

            Cameron and Brandon both made cursory bows to those they passed, offering pleasantries with many.  Brandon was much better at that than Cameron—the younger Montgomery boy having inherited their father’s more gregarious nature.  Cameron was more like his mother.  He loved books, and studying, and anything that promoted solitary endeavors.

            Just ahead the door of the milliner’s opened and out walked Miss Hilton, a large hat box in her hand.  She was just about to turn away from the brothers, which would have been preferable to Cameron, when Brandon called to her.

            “Miss Hilton,” he said.  She stopped, surprised to hear her name, and turned.  Her face lit with a smile at the sight of the two gentlemen.  But as her eyes met with Cameron’s, they lowered in a flattering blush.  He had to agree, she was as handsome a woman as could be found in Montbridge.  He should be pleased that his parents were promoting a marriage to an attractive woman.  He could do much worse.

            “What a pleasant surprise,” she said, directing her comments to Brandon.  “What brings the two of you into town?”

            “I’ve come to pick up a suit at the tailors.  Mother believes that before I go off to Cambridge, I need a complete new wardrobe.  Apparently my other suits are too juvenile for a future barrister or whatever I end up becoming.”

            It always amazed Cameron that there was never any bitterness in Brandon’s tone when he talked about needing a career.  It always seemed blatantly unfair to Cameron that he inherited it all, the estate and all its income, while Brandon would have to earn a living.  Oh, there would be some money to get him established, and even to purchase some property of his own, but nothing like what went to the first born.  How many times Cameron had wished they could trade places.  He would much rather be a self-made man, than a gentleman by inheritance.

            “Well, as you can see,” Elaina said as she held up her box, “I have been to purchase a new hat.  I saw it in the window last week, and my father was generous and indulged my sudden impulse for a new hat.”  She quickly opened the top of the box to show off the acquisition.

            “It’s perfect,” Brandon said, coaxing another genuine smile from the girl.  He reached out to take the box from her hands.  “You must model it for us.”

            Again she blushed.   “Oh, you don’t want to see me in it.”

            “Of course, we do!” Brandon said, then, with a nudge to his brother added, “Don’t we, Cameron.”

            “We would be delighted,” Cameron said, although his interest was minimal.  Elaina hesitated for a moment, and then with a tiny hop of excitement reached for the hat.

            “Okay, if you insist,” she said as she pulled it from the box.  The hat had a wide brim that was covered in tulle, lace, a large ribbon and even a feather sweeping up one side.  Elaina untied the bonnet she was wearing and placed the new hat gingerly upon her head, tying the ribbons under her chin.  With a small curtsey, she turned from side to side giving the brothers a chance to admire her new purchase.

            Brandon slipped the soft rope handle on the box over his arm and began to applaud.

            “It’s perfect,” he said.  “You are the picture of style and fashion.  There isn’t a girl in London who could outshine you.”

            She lowered her eyes, please with the compliment.  Slowly she raised her gaze to Cameron’s.  It was obvious she was interested in his opinion.

            He smiled. “My brother has not misspoken, Miss Hilton.  It is very lovely, just like the young woman wearing it.”

            She took a step back, again averting her eyes.  A slow smile spread across her mouth.  Yes, she was charming.

            Brandon handed the box to Cameron.  “Here,” he said, “You hold this and I will run into the tailor’s and get my suit while Miss Hilton switches hats again.”  He smiled at her and then departed down the street.

            “I must seem silly to you,” Elaina said as she quickly replaced her new hat for the old. 

            “Why would you assume that?” Cameron asked.

            “Wanting to show off a silly hat.  A hat is a hat, is it not?”

            Before he could answer, a woman’s plea from across the street caught their attention.  Both Cameron and Elaina turned their heads to the sound.   Mr. Walter, owner of the local mercantile, had a young girl, about the same age as Elaina, by the wrist.  She was pulling hard against him, desperate to get away.

            “Nora,” he hollered, “Send the boy for the constable.”  His wife appeared at the door a moment later.

            “Oh, dear, poor girl,” Elaina murmured.

            “Caught stealing— unfortunate,” Cameron said.

            “You should see if you could be of assistance,” Elaina said.

            “What?”

            Elaina nodded across the street.  “You should help her.”

            “She was caught stealing.  There is nothing I can do for her.”

            “You most certainly can.  You have influence, Mr. Montgomery. You could intervene, show her some mercy.”

            “Mercy?”

            “Look at her,” Elaina said discreetly.  “She’s obviously come upon hard times.  It looks as though she hasn’t bathed in some time.  The hem of her skirt, it’s tattered and muddy.  You could help her.”  Elaina looked up with wide blue eyes and it occurred to Cameron that this was an indication of what was to come.  She would bat her eyes and ask some ridiculous request and he would have no option but to acquiesce.

            “I . . . I don’t know what—“

            “Go,” she said, nodding at the scene across the street.

            With a shake of his head, Cameron negotiated his way past puddles and horse dung to the other side of the street.

            “Please, please,” the girl pleaded, “I put the fruit back.  I promise, I won’t return.”

            “You certainly won’t,” Mr. Walter said.

            “Please,” she said again as she tried to tug her arm away.

            “Is there some assistance I can offer?” Cameron said, catching Mr. Walter off guard.

            “Oh . . .oh . . . Mr. Montgomery, how nice to see you.  Can I offer you something?  Nora!” the man hollered again for his wife.

            “I already sent Marcus,” she said coming again to the door.  “Oh, Mr. Montgomery, may I help you with something,” she added, seeing Cameron standing out in front of the store.

            “Here, woman, hold this girl while I help Mr. Montgomery.”  His wife scowled at him, but did as he asked.

            “No, no, I don’t need . . . I didn’t come here to make a purchase,” Cameron said. “Well, at least not for me.  I was wondering if I might pay for the item in question for this young lady.”  He glanced to the girl who was now struggling against Mrs. Walter’s grip.  She paused for a moment and looked up at Cameron in astonishment.  It was as if someone had stolen his breath when his eyes met with hers.  He was looking into the softest, most intriguing, brown eyes he had ever seen.

            “She was stealing from us,” Mr. Walter explained.

            “She must be hungry,” Cameron said without taking his eyes off the girl.

            “Well then, she should find herself some work like the rest of us, and pay for what she needs.  I don’t run a charity here.”

            Cameron forced himself to turn his attention back to Mr. Walter. “I understand that,” Cameron said.  “That’s why I offered to cover the cost of the items she needed.”

            “Mr. Montgomery, you can’t do that,” Mrs. Walter said.  “You start paying for these urchins and you’ll be drained of all your resources in a week.”

            Cameron smiled.  “Mrs. Walter, I am not offering to pay for every urchin on the street.  But as you can see . . .” he motioned to the girl, “She is obviously hungry.  Maybe if we fed her, then she could seek some employment and be able to pay herself the next time.”  He again looked into the girl’s eyes.  She had stopped struggling now and stood looking in wonder at the stranger who had come to her rescue.

            “Mr. Montgomery, your generosity is very magnanimous, but certainly we can’t allow thievery to go unpunished,” Mr. Walter argued.

            “The Constable is already on his way,” Mrs. Walter added.

            “I see,” Cameron said.  “Please—allow this young lady to select what few items she needs and add it to my family’s account.  When the constable comes, ask him—as a personal favor to me—if he would not take her down to St. Peter’s and ask the kind reverend if he would be able to find a place for her to stay and perhaps help her locate some employment.  I am certain he will be more than willing to help if you mention my name.”

            Mr. and Mrs. Walter stood speechless, uncertain how to respond.  It was clear to Cameron that they wanted to see the girl punished, but were reluctant to cross the Montgomery family.

            “Well,” Mr. Walter said with a hard swallow.  Before he could say anything else, Cameron pulled a coin from his pocket.

            “And please accept this,” Cameron said, “For your troubles.”

            Mr. Walter took the coin from Cameron’s outstretched hand.  “Certainly, sir.  I’m sure the constable will be accommodating.”

            “I’m sure he will be,” Cameron said.  He then turned to the girl and offered her a gentlemanly bow.

            “Thank you,” she whispered.

            Cameron didn’t stay to see that his instructions were carried out.  He knew they would be.  He again negotiated his way across the street to Elaina, and Brandon who had returned from the tailor’s and was waiting near the young lady’s side, grinning at his older brother.

            “Feeling philanthropic, Cameron?” Brandon asked, a glint of humor in his eye.

            “Just trying to please Miss Hilton,” he replied.

            “Oh?” Brandon turned to the young woman in surprise.

            “You just proved my point, Mr. Montgomery.”

            “And what point would that be?” Cameron asked.

            “That you have a heart.  I had heard rumors otherwise.”

            Cameron stood dumbfounded for a moment, as his brother burst into laughter.  Cameron regained his composure quickly and smiled.

            “You should never listen to the stories that my brother tells, Miss Hilton.”

            “I will remember that,” she said

            “And to show you how kind hearted I can really be, may I escort you to your father’s office,” he said, offering his arm.

            “Thank you, sir.  That truly is kind of you.”

            Elaina slipped her hand around the crook in Cameron’s arm.  Brandon offered his arm as well, and she happily obliged.  The three of them began their way down the street toward the offices of Charles Hilton, Esquire.    Before they turned the corner, Cameron glanced back to the mercantile just in time to see the constable arrive.  The young woman was watching him as well, much to Cameron’s pleasant surprise.

Let me know what you think!  Remember, it's a work in progress and has a long way to go to completion. :)

In the Good Ole Summertime

This has been one crazy summer.

 It began at the beginning of June when I flew down to Austin, Texas to help my oldest daughter, Shannon, and her family relocate to lovely Northeast Ohio. They spent six weeks with us as they searched for a new home, and then made some updates on the property they found. Much to my delight, they found a house in a neighboring community and are now happily (I hope) settled just twenty minutes from my house. I now get to see my daughter and her two children, Carston and Faith, on a regular basis. Needless to say I am pleased.

While Shannon was moving closer, my second daughter, Anna, was moving a bit farther away. She used to live ten minutes from my house. But her husband was recently hired as a police officer in Euclid, Ohio (A suburb of Cleveland) and had such a long commute from their home here in Copley that they decided to move north. They, too, found a lovely home in a quiet neighborhood in Mentor, Ohio, just twenty minutes from Kirk's work. I am happy that they found a great home in a great neighborhood, but am sad that they now live an hour away. It's not nearly as convenient for them to drop by, and I didn't realize how much I liked those visits until they stopped. Recently I was driving Gracie over to the middle school, the neighborhood where Anna used to live, and it made me sad knowing they were no longer there. But enough of that before I get teary.

 Just after Anna moved, and just before Shannon moved from our house to their new home, I was able to take an unexpected trip to the British Isles. Doug was invited to a business meeting in London. The meeting fell over a planned getaway trip for Doug an myself. Doug felt so bad about ruining our plans for the getaway (which was to the Scottish Games at Grandfather Mountain in North Carolina) that he suggested that I accompany him to London. He suggested that we stay a few extra days and make a trip up to Scotland. I thought about it for at least a nano-second and then agreed. We left on July 9th and spent a few days in London visiting a few sights and seeing Shakespeare's play, Henry V, at The Globe and then went by train to Edinborough for a few days. We took a day tour of the Scottish Highlands, toured castles and palaces. Needless to say, it was wonderful. I LOVED Scotland and look forward to returning some day.

 We were home less than a week when Bethany came in for a visit. She was helping her mother-in-law drive a vehicle cross country and they stopped here. Bethany spent a week hanging out with us and making us all laugh.

 After she left, Doug, Mary Jo, Gracie and I packed up and headed to the beach. We spent a week at Hilton Head staying in our favorite place, The Island Club. It's right on the beach and where we always stay when we go to the island. We did absolutely nothing, but eat out a few times and spend our days on the beach playing in the sand and surf and reading.

 We came home and the very next day Sarah came home for two weeks, followed a few days later by Matthew and his wife, McKenna. I'm starting to believe that I need a revolving door on the front of my house.

 I've spent the last few weeks sporadically helping Gracie get ready for school, which started this week, and pursuing some writing leads. I had another publisher interested in David's Song. A friend of mine had sent me a link to Melange Books. I sent them a query and sample of my manuscript and they quickly replied requesting the full manuscript. I was somewhat optimistic at acceptance there until I perused their website a little closer. The books they published had ratings for how hot and steamy they were. I suspected that David's Song might be a little too tame for them, which I found ironic. Sure enough, a few weeks later, I received and email telling me that where David's Song had merit, it wasn't what they were looking for. Funny how it's too risque for one publisher and not enough for another. Now in all fairness, Melange did not say that, but I think they were looking for more than a blip on the steam meter. I am in a quandary on what to do about my writing. I am leaning more and more toward continuing to self-publish and try my hand at marketing a little harder. I have had many requests for the second book in the trilogy and hate to make my handful of readers wait. Things will return to normal here in just a few days. Mary Jo has started her senior year of high school and Gracie has started her last year in the middle school. My older children will return to BYU for their last semesters before graduating. When I think about it, I realize that with a family the size of mine, it will always be in flux. I guess I should just hang on and enjoy the ride.

Dangling the Carrot

If you read my last blog, you know that I was waiting to hear from a publisher about my book, David's Song. Yesterday, I received the much anticipated email. I'd like to share that email. Just a bit of explanation for those of you who are not of my faith and may not understand some of the jargon. LDS refers to members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Think Mitt Romney. BYU is owned and operated by the Church and therefore I thought that using a publisher who catered to that market might be wise. (Since, as you know, the first part of the novel takes place at BYU). Secondly, Deseret Books and Seagull are bookstores located in the inter-mountain west that cater specifically to the LDS audience. With that explained, here's the email.


April,

I really enjoyed reading David’s Song and thought it was well written, so I presented it to our editorial board. We would like to publish your book, but there are a couple of issues that need to be worked out.

First, the page count is more than what we typically publish for an LDS novel. In order to keep our prices at a competitive level, the word count should average around 80,000. If we feel a longer story is solid, we can consider publishing it in a mass market size to keep the price down. This might be an option for David’s Song, which brings me to the second issue. The second half of your story, that takes place in the present, isn’t quite as strong. I feel that Annie’s character and story line falls a little flat and probably wouldn’t be suitable for our LDS buyers. The fact that she is spending so much time with David, ignoring her commitment to Jeremy, and even kissing a married man while she is still married herself would be rejected by the Seagull and Deseret Book stores.

Therefore, I would like to suggest publishing a book that would consist solely of Annie’s story that takes place at BYU. It would need a new beginning, the airplane sections would need to be removed, and it would need to end with David leaving, but then Annie and Jeremy would need to be developed a little more. A possible scenario might be that Annie and Jeremy get together, but Annie drags her feet because she is both heartbroken over David and also not sure she can trust anyone again. (On page 272 of your current manuscript, Annie is speaking with David in the present and tells him it took her a long time before she would trust Jeremy not to leave her like he did.) This could be Annie’s and Jeremy’s final conflict before she realizes that she really does love Jeremy, trusts him, and wants to marry him.

Let me know your thoughts on this and what you’d like to do. I’m willing to hear any other suggestions you might have.

Thank you,

My first reaction was there is really something worse than a rejection. I had the distinct feeling that they were asking me to cut off my right arm. You might have to be a writer to understand that. In the 24 hours I've had to think about it, I have seen both the positive and negative of the email. First, they liked the story. They thought it well written. They would like to publish it. In other words, they wanted to work with me. I understand the business aspect of their requests for revisions. They are not a philanthropic enterprise, they are a publishing house. If they don't think that the story would be stocked in the bookstores, then the project is not viable. On the other hand, I have some concerns about how they want me to change the story.

This blog is to see what others think. I have some ideas, but I want to know what those who have read David's Song think about the requested changes. Please feel free to weigh in on the subject. I told the publisher that I would get back to them in a weeks time. Later today I am off for a little (Week long) escape with my husband. When we are not enjoying the warmth and sunshine of the Caribbean, I will be thinking of this. So please, let me know what you think, either by posting here, or on Facebook.

The Waiting Game

When I was little, the most exciting part of my summer was the neighborhood Fourth of July parade. Kids in the neighborhood were all invited to enter. We could decorate out bicycles in red, white, and blue tissue paper, with balloons and flags added for good measure. Or, if you were industrious, you could make a float out of your red flyer wagon. For the Halloween lover's you could dress up as well. There would be kids dressed like firecrackers, Uncle Sam, Betsy Ross, flags, even picnic tables. The parade route was a two block area that went down one rather steep hill on one side, and then up another hill on the other. In the middle was a judges stand, manned by neighborhood parents. Two days before the parade, a man, dressed in the obligatory holiday colors, drove through the neighborhood in his corvette convertible with a bull horn announcing the parade. "Come to the big parade," he would say for all of us to hear. "Come one, come all! Bring your bikes. Bring your floats. Come to the big parade." The morning of the parade he would make his rounds again saying the same thing, only adding that "today was the day!"

That little parade was the highlight of my summer. I remember decorating my bike. I remember dressing in red, white, and blue and roller skating the parade route. In that day, one didn't wear the nice in-line skates they have today. My skates were the old silver ones that clamped on over your shoes, the kind that adjusted with a skate key. One year two of my little girl-friends and I dressed up as ballerinas and joined the walkers in the parade. Every entry was judged and winners were presented with ribbons at the end. All participants got a Popsicle. I never won a ribbon. Always enjoyed the Popsicle. And found my excitement for next year's parade returned with the leaves every spring.

The night before the parade, I never slept well--too much excitement. I would be up before sunrise, sitting on the windowsill watching and waiting for the man in the corvette to come driving by, calling me to the parade. My stomach was a roller coaster of emotion, excitement, nervousness, fear. (What if I fell riding my bike down the hill?) I waited all summer for that parade, and there was always a sense of sadness when it was over.

I have repeated this pattern all my life. As a teenager, I couldn't wait to go to an Osmond concert. As a young adult, I couldn't wait to go to college, fall in love, get married. As a young married I couldn't wait to start a family. Once the family was started then I couldn't wait for the baby to walk, talk, start school. With all of those experiences, there was the great anticipation of the wait, the same butterflies in the stomach, then the wistfulness as it was all realized. What would be the next great thing to wait for?

Life has a way of providing the next great thing. Now that my family is nearly grown, of course, there is retirement to wait for and anticipate. On a smaller scale, I am currently waiting to hear from a publisher about my book, David's Song. One day last week, I opened my email to find a request from the publisher for an electronic copy of my work. They wanted to send it out to other reviewers. Of course I happily complied, sending out the copy that day. Now, here I sit, waiting. And the funny thing is, every morning as I open my email, I feel that same roll of the stomach that I felt as a kid the morning of the Fourth of July parade. Will it be good news? Will they say, "Thanks, but no thanks."? Either way, experience has taught me that there will be the same sense of wistfulness at the end. But life has also taught me, there's something else coming around the bend. I can get excited wondering about what it will be? Certainly it will be worth waiting for.

From Reading to Looking

I've never been a huge poetry enthusiast, which is a shame since I am married to an accomplished poet. (Here's my plug - he has a new book available on Amazon entitled Adam's Dream, by Douglas L. Talley) I have been taken in on occasion by the sentimental or inspirational poem. But after nearly thirty years of marriage to a serious poet, I have begun to associate sentimental poetry with greeting cards, and inspirational poetry with Hallmark Channel movies. They're not bad per se, but not good either. Serious poetry has often left me perplexed. I finish the poem and wonder why it was written? What was the poet trying to say? What was his inspiration? Usually I follow the poet until the end of the poem and then find myself saying "Huh?" or "So what?" I feel bad when I have this reaction. I see what my husband goes through trying to find the 'perfect' word for a poem. I know that poets work hard at their craft. So when my reaction is - "So what?" - I know that I have totally missed the point and find myself frustrated in the process.

A few years ago, one of my daughters introduced me to a poet named, Billy Collins. For Mother's Day she sent me to a link of Mr. Collins reading one of his poems entitled, "The Lanyard." I loved it! It was well written, accessible, and I wasn't left with my customary questions at the end. My husband picked up a Billy Collins book of poetry not too long ago and left it lying around (in the reading room, if you must know) for me to pick up at my leisure. I did just that, a few weeks ago and read a poem entitled, "First Reader." The poem was about the books that were used to teach children to read - at least in my day they were, I don't know that they are used any longer. It was a treatise on Dick and Jane, how they were always pointing to something and telling us to "look!" What intrigued me about the poem was the closing line where Billy Collins points out a surprising truth. Commenting on how we looked at the pictures in those first readers, but then became fixated on - not what they wanted us to see - but on the words, the letters, capital and lowercase, and as a consequence, Billy Collins writes "we were forgetting to look, learning how to read."

I thought a long time about that truth and it's subtle implications. How I, personally, had forgotten how to "look." I was so wrapped up in my duties as a wife, mother and homemaker that I forget to look. Fortunately, my husband, the poet, did not. He noticed moments when our children would run through the house, trailing toilet paper behind them, or use cups as shoes. He listened when my son repeated a new word over and over again and my husband heard music - poetry. He made note that within twenty-four hours of our second daughters birth that she, too, was blessed with gifts like the Savior had been by the wise men. Her gifts were asters, a full moon, and the first snow.

Two things have happened in my life to help me 'Look' again. The first was becoming a grandparent. I'm not to busy now to appreciate the little antics of my grandchildren. When my grandson, Carston, does a perfect impression of "the smoulder" from the movie "Tangled", I see it. I savor it. When I watch two other grandchildren run to sit in their grandfather's lap at church, I see their joy and wish I could run up the aisle with them. I'm starting to 'look' as my husband has over the last thirty years and I am seeing a lot. Perhaps he has always been looking because he was a poet - a writer.

That leads me to the second thing that has happened, I started fancying myself a writer. Learning to write has forced me to 'Look.' Now I notice expressions, eye color, dress, mannerisms, like I never noticed them before. People are a treasure trove of inspiration. I see a man walking down the terminal of the Denver airport dressed in a pair of plaid shorts, a sleeveless ribbed t-shirt, dark socks and shoes, dragging a small square-shaped bag on rollers behind him, and talking into his bluetooth. I wonder what his story is. To me, he looks like a businessman who somehow lost his suit. Or I see a shirtless young man riding a bike down a crowded Austin sidewalk with an unusual backpack across his shoulders. On a closer look, I see that the backpack is not a backpack at all, but a cat, who acts like it's the most normal thing in the world to ride down a busy city sidewalk on his owner's back. There is a story there. Not only do I get to see or 'look' at the treasure that humanity provides, but I can also 'look' into my own imagination and see a whole new world - an entirely different story.

So perhaps as I learned to read, I may have forgetten to look. But certainly as I learn to write - I am remembering to see.

The Work of Writing

I am on the hunt again. In the last three days I have queried six agents in hope of finding one who will take on David's Song (and the other two books in the trilogy, that are written and people are asking about but that at the moment I am too cheap to publish myself). I have often told Doug that I feel a little guilty spending time writing because it feels like too much fun. I can see my seven-year-old self with my collection of Barbie and Ken dolls acting out scenes for a novel. To me, writing feels like play.

Finding an agent on the other hand is work. I found a website called QueryTracker that will help you find agents who specialize in your genre. (Make a mental note Sarah.) For romance there are four pages of agents. I began with agents who only accept online forms from their websites. I diligently filled them out explaining the premise of my book in less than 50,000 characters (which isn't a whole lot). Then did the same with my bio in even less characters. Then I sat down and wrote a query letter. Trick with Query letters is that you have to sell your novel and yourself to complete strangers on one page. You have to grab the agents attention with something brilliant and witty and then in two to three paragraphs do your sell job. Once you think you have a good letter then you start searching for agents. That means that you visit their websites, their blogs, you read interviews that are still available through a Google search even if they are ten years old. Afterwards you make your selection and start firing off the emails, personalizing your form query to each agent. I did this several months ago and received only one response - a rejection. I am starting again with hope that a new query letter and lots of prayers will turn up one agent who likes the story.

What I really want to do is go back to playing with my dolls, but I suppose success at anything requires some work. Even people who love their jobs will say that sometimes it is simply work. And if I do find an agent who will take me on . . . then they will do the work to get me published and I can go back to my play. Sounds like a good deal.

Vocabulary

Not long ago, my two daughters, Mary Jo and Gracie, and I discovered a couple new words. The first was neoologist (not sure if it's hyphanated or not - would be easier to read if it were). A Neoologist is a person who creates new words or phrases. Shakespeare was a neoologist creating something like 1800 words in the English language. My husband is a neoologist creating the word splunkular for a poem that he was writing (which, by the way, will be published in his new book which is coming out before the end of the year).

We also came upon the word - Lethologica. The meaning? A time when you can't remember a word or phrase that is needed at a particular time. I always thought that was just an age thing - apparently not. It's a malady suffered by many no matter their age.

We jokingly came up with the sentence - I am a neoologist who suffers from lethologica. I know. It doesn't take much to entertaing us.

Now you ask - why am I writing about this? Especially when I just posted a blog yesterday. Here's why. After posting yesterday, my daughter, Bethany, mentioned on facebook that I knew a lot of big words. That in the course of reading my blog she had to consult her dictionary. I went over the post and couldn't figure out what she was talking about - 0bviously because I knew all the words. It happened to be the word vacilate. Which by definition means to keep changing ones mind. It amused me to think that Bethany didn't know the definition of vacilate, since a few years ago changing her mind was her major occupation. She would call me at least twice a week with a new plan. "Okay," she would say, "I figured out a new plan. Instead of doing XYZ, I am now going to do ZYX." I would smile and know that in a day or two she would call and tell me she had changed her mind and now the plan was YZX. Since then she has noticably stabilized. That might be due to her admittance into the acting program at BYU and getting married. I'm not sure which had the greater effect.

Last night I became a neoologist. Because of the facebook exchange I had a dream where I made up a word. Are you ready for this? The word is 'cartecardiopendulum.'
What is a cartecardiopendulum, you ask? It is a devise to cut sheet metal. That's right. In my dream I needed to cut some small pieces of sheet metal for the young women at girls camp to use for shooting practice.(Cuz don't the girls usually practice shooting guns at girl's camp?) I went to the hardware store to get the tool and it was called a cartecardiopendulum. So now when you need a tool to cut sheet metal you know what to ask for.

And the very best thing about the word cartecardiopendulum? It's worth about a zillion points in Scrabble!

Latest Happenings and Musings

Before I get another not-so-subtle reminder from my children that I have not posted in a while,I thought I should update my blog. I have nothing specific to post this time, but a few small things that are on my mind at the moment.

I spent the last half hour catching up on my children's blogs. They are as varied as the personalities of my children. Sarah's was full of Harry Potter wisdom (I will have something to say about that in a minute.) Bethany's was all about Grad School and her anxiety as that era of her life draws closer (very understandable.) McKenna's was an update on all that she has been doing lately, like celebrating her first anniversary and the Harry Potter movie. I must say that I usually get a chuckle from McKenna's blog. If I'm ever down in the dumps I can look at her blog for some humor. Shannon, bless her heart, has been too busy to update hers (Something else I will talk about in a minute.) Same with Anna's, although there were pictures of the kids on her blog that I had not seen. And then there was Gracie's which bubbled with the effervesence that naturally spews forth from my youngest daughter. I hope it is always that way.

Currently, Shannon and her family are visiting with us. The visit has been wonderful and she and Brandt are enjoying the more temperate Ohio summer. Carston is a wonderful mixture of sweetness and little boy. He can rough and tumble with the best of them, but also loves to give hugs and kisses. He does give some 'interesting' kisses on occasion - smack on the lips and a little longer than comfortable - but still very innocent and sweet. He is as smart as can be. I've listened to him repeatedly try to get his own way by using his parents discipline techniques on them. He will try and try to argue another minute on the computer or the Wii by telling them that he won't do something that they want him to do if they don't allow him another turn. He hasn't quite figured out that when you are 4 parents have ultimate power and so eventually he caves to their will.

Much to our surprise (and Shannon's as well!) just before they came to visit they recieved a blessing straight from heaven. A baby girl, born on Father's day of this year, was left for adoption in Alabama. Shannon recieved the call that they could come and get her the very next day. So when Shannon arrived here, she had little Faith - all of a week old - in tow. She is a sweet baby and a blessing beyond measure to our family. So since Shannon is now parenting a newborn we will excuse her lack of posting on her blog. :)

With company here, my writing life has been put on hiatus. About the only thing I am able to do is work on some revisions of David's Song. I decided I would send the manuscript to Shadow Mountain Publishing to see if they might be interested in the work, but realised that it was loaded with grammatical errors. There were also some minor changes I wanted to make in dialog and narration. As I have worked on the other books and on my current project (which has no name) I know that I have learned some things about writing (Some thanks to my creative-writing-major-daughter, and my husband, who also has some writing experience) that I hope to incorporate into the work. What has surprised me about this revision process is how much my emotions vacilate as I work. Sometimes I'm excited at the improvements I think I'm making. At other times I am convinced I am wasting my time - that no one is really intersted in Jeremy and Annie and David - I should put writing aside and be productive somewhere else. But I keep going back to it, so obviously, I don't hang around in that thought pattern for very long.

And then there is Harry Potter. This weekend the last of the HP movies opened. If Bethany and Sarah were here, I would have attended the midnight showing with them. However, sanity and sleep won out and Doug and I went the next morning to one of the first showings. I enjoyed the movie. I think it was the best of the Potter movies. It was action packed, emotional, and true to the book - all good things. What I hadn't anticipated was my gutteral reaction. I remember vividly seeing a Rosey O'Donnal Show back in the late 90's where she talked about Harry Potter. Knowing that Sarah liked to read, I bought her one of the books (Vol. 3). I didn't realize that it was a series and would make more sense if you started reading it with the first book. Sarah immediately started to read - and after a few days, she came to me and told me that she was really starting in the middle of the story and could I get her the first 2 books. I did. I had no idea what I was starting. Doug and I have read all the books. Shannon, Matthew, Sarah (of course), Bethany, and Mary Jo have read all the books. There were many discussions in our home about the characters of these books - Ron was ridiculous, Was Sirius Black really dead?, Was Snape secretly in love with Lilly? Hours and hours were spent in discussion about these books. Harry Potter was the kid next door. I knew all about his friends, his family, his struggles in school. As the the movie came to a close Friday morning, I found myself fighting a major emotional meltdown. (I'm not proud of this.) The meltdown wasn't so much an ending of Harry Potter - but a feeling that I was really saying goodbye to Bethany's and particularly Sarah's childhoods. They are adults now. My goodness - Bethany is married now - of course she is an adult. I truly felt like an era of life was ending. And it was sad - still is sad. There will be no more conversations about Harry Potter. My daughters - and son - will no longer gather in my kitchen to discuss fictional characters as if they were pals at school.
I will miss those conversations. I will miss sharing something whimsical, but still enlightening with my children. They are moving on and I am so proud of who they are becoming.

I guess it felt like I was closing the cover on the book of my earlier family life. That story has ended and now new ones are beginning. Those stories are exciting as well, but they will never be taking place in my kitchen, with all my children stitting at the island, or on the counters talking about something we've shared. The ending of Harry Potter is one of those departures that life takes. It's sad to see it end - but exciting to see what will come.

Mountians and Molehills

My quesition for the day is - why do molehills become mountains? Someone said something today that hurt my feelings. It wasn't a big deal, really. Just a comment that was in response to something I though rather innocent. The remark made to me was a little out-of-line and I should have brushed it off. I don't think it was intentially meant to be mean. But that little molehill of a remark became a mountain. Four hours of crying off and on (I'm still a bit weepy when I think about it)and I realized that it opened a pandora's box.

Calling it a mountain might be a bit of an understatement. It was more like the molehill became a volcano! My emotions exploded into thought patterns that are wholly unproductive and really hard to shake. I suddenly wondered why I dismissed my own feelings as insignificant. Where in my upbringing was I told that what I thought and felt didn't matter? That snowballed into a host of other inacurate thoughts...like I have no friends; Nothing ever works out the way I want it to; all my dreams in life are ridiculous...and so on. And then I realized that I was embarrassed because someone had hurt my feelings. I thought that made me weak and in tandem, unloveable. I found myself angry at those around me who seemed to be in control. On the other hand, those who were emotional, or tender, I emphasised with them to the point that I cried right along with them.

And the funny thing was - as much as I wanted someone to comfort me, tell me I was still an okay person, if they attemped to climb the mountain, I pushed them off. I was too proud to let anyone know or see what was at the heart of my red, puffy eyes. Too embarrassed to let people know that I wasn't strong enough to overcome a pebble thrown in my path.

So back to my original question. Why is it that one remark triggered an avalanche of thoughts and feelings? I think on one of my first posts, I mentioned that if I didn't like thinking about something I would slough if off and simply say "I'm just not going there." So what is it that made me go there? What is it that makes me conjure up everything that I think is wrong in my life, because one person said something hurtful? Am I the only one who does this? Please, even if I am, tell me others do it, too. I don't want to think I'm an absolute dork.

And then my other question is...is it wrong to make mountains out of molehills? Sometimes I think I have to once in a while to maintain some emotional health. If I buried everything all the time, I'd be constipated and cranky. I bury enough to stay cheeful, at least that's what I tell myself. So if something happens- a molehill- and I decided to make, or can't keep it from becomin, a mountian...is that so bad? Four hours later, and I'm on a relatively even keel again - I didn't let the lava flow for days. I feel a bit battered and bruised, but I'm convinced that a good night's sleep or a piece of watermelon will take care of that. Hmmm, watermelon. I told my husband once when he asked if there was food in heaven that there had to be. It wouldn't be heaven without watermelon. I'm suddenly feeling much better!

8 Things a 5K Will Teach You

Okay, so last week I made the big announcement that I was going to run a 5K (that's 3.2 miles for the layman).

Here's a little background on this decision. At the end of December last year I decided I had had enough with my weight and made the big return to Weight Watchers (this isn't an ad, but I do have success with their program, just sayin'). I am now 20lbs lighter than when I started. Last week at their weekly meeting they challenged all of us to WALK a 5K. Pshah, I thought. I can WALK a 5K in my sleep. I do 40 minutes on an eliptical almost daily - and I've been increasing the resistance as I go. Walking a 5K is no challenge at all.

Tucked inside the info sheet for the 5K was a way to train to RUN a 5K. Silly me, I took the bait, hook, line and sinker. I'll do it, I told myself, it will be easy! And then I told all my friends on Facebook as well.

The next day I began my training. I was to walk for 5 minutes to warm up, and then run 1 minute and walk 1 minute, 10 times. Then walk for another 5 minutes at the end. With my terrific math skills I figured that was a good 30 minute work out. So I met with my personal trainer the next day and told him that I was going to run a 5K. He was all for it, because he's a personal trainer and they're like that, you know. I asked him (his name is Ryan for anyone interested. And he's just a kid, 26 years old, he's getting married and he's settling down to some degree....Oh, back to the subject!) So I asked him, should I train on the track or on a treadmill. He advised me to start on the track because it would be more like the race. So after a 30 minute lower body work out with Ryan I went up to the second floor track and started my training.

As I walked the initial 5 minutes, I thought - Hey, I feel pretty good! This is going to be a piece of cake! I'm in shape! I'll be able to knock of 3 miles in no time! Heheheheheheh! The joke was on me. I ran the first minute and thought - Wow, that was harder than I thought. I ran the second minute (after I walked a minute) and thought, that was harder than the first. By the time I got to my fifth set, I could no longer run a full minute.

But I came home and there were all sorts of posts on facebook telling me how great it was that I was going to run this race! And there were all sorts of posts telling me how much I was going to love it! And there was also some advice from experienced runners!

I am now in my second week of training and this is what I have learned thus far.
#1. Don't run after a 30 minutes lower body work out
#2. Never assume you are in shape!
#3. Be humble and take advice!(it was mentioned that I might be more encouraged on a treadmill. They were right!)
#4. Running is definitely harder than excerising on an eliptical
#5. Running on a treadmill is easier than running on a track
#6. Never run a marathon (or even a half)
#7. Your legs hurt after running
And last but certainly not least -
#8. Misery really does love company. It's a lot easier to think I am going to do this because there are other people who are going to run with me. (Well, they will probably run ahead of me, but think of all the cheering I will get when I get to the finish line!)

So I am committed. Barring any knee issues, I intend to run on June 18th. I will post pictures when the time comes, because I don't imagine I will ever do this again.
Week two training??? Run 2 minutes, walk 3 - check!

Friends

At the Wellness center where I excercise I see lots of people over and over again. I don't know their names. I don't know how old they are (Although sometimes I try to guess) or where they come from. Most of us are there to excercise and then go home. We keep to ourselves, not neccessarily because we are unfriendly, but because we are in a hurry. There is one exception to that rule - an employee - a woman whose job it is to wash and fold the gazillion towels that are used every day at the gym. I've noticed in the past that many people seem to know her. She smiles and wishes everyone a happy day and is rewarded with similar well wishes.

Today, after forty minutes on an eliptical, I dropped off a sweaty towel in the bin just as this woman placed another stack of clean towels on the shelf. I made a comment to her about her never-ending job, thinking of my own laundry waiting for me at home. She responded in kind and then wished me a nice day.

I followed her from the women's locker room out to the entrance and noticed that everyone she came in contact with, male or female, said hello to her. Some called her by name. Some just smiled and said hi. Some asked her questions about a family member. It was as if everyone knew her. I couldn't help but smile as I walked behind her and listened to all the greetings. This woman might have what appears to be a pretty dull and meaningless job. (Except I for one really appreciate the clean towels when I excercise.) But for as unchallenging as her job might appear, I think she must enjoy her work very much. How could you not, when you have all those friends?

There are other people who work the same job, but I never noticed them smiling or wishing the members a good day. And they certainly reap what they sow. I never noticed anyone wishing them a pleasant day.

I decided as I walked to the car that I want some of that good karma. I want to walk through a room, whether it be at one of the schools my kids attend, or at church, or at the excercise club, and smile, say hello and wish everyone a good day. I might not use those exact words. I might not even be able to say the words out loud. But I will extend the wishes anyway. And then I will sit back and see what comes my way. I will keep you posted on how it works!

Storms

I have been thinking and thinking lately with all the trouble in Japan about an article I read years ago about snow storms. I know - you are all thinking what does a earthquake, tsunami and nuclear catastrophe have to do with snow storms. Let me enlighten you!

The article was written by a local columnist who said that everytime Ohio got slammed with a snow storm that he got phone calls from all his friends in Florida who laughed at us for getting a billion inches of snow dumped on us. No one ever calls people in the middle of a hurricane to laugh at them because the wind is blowing. But with snow storms, people point their nobby fingers and chuckle at our misfortune. The columnist went on to say, let them laugh. Because if he had a choice he would take a snow storm over a hurricane any day of the week. I think most of us would agree. The reason being is that snow storms for the most part are gentle. Yes, snow piles up around us and driving is treacherous for a day or two, but usually little damage is done.

I was thinking that trials in life can be compared to earthquake,tsunami,nuclear meltdown and hurricace type of trials and snow storm trials. The former being hard and devastating, easy for all to see and no one ever laughs at. I would no more think lightly of what the Japanese are facing today than I would of a person who has just lost a beloved child, spouse or parent. I would no more trade my own trials for those that the Japanese are facing than I would to that person who has lost a loved one. I know my day is coming for those kind of trials. No one escapes this life without some tragedy - it's just the way life is.

But most trials, I believe are like snow storms. They are gentle in nature, but never the less troublesome. They are a big event for a day or two but melt easily when the sun comes out. What I think gets missed is, that we all struggle with snow storms and sometimes, they can be devastating. Snow storms are cold and solitary. Everyone bunkers down and keeps to themselves. People who are struggling with snow storm trials often keep to themselves, unwilling to trouble others with their problems. People struggling with snow storms often appear not to be struggling at all (hence the phone calls from Florida). But those same people can feel isolated and cold. They made need help digging out.

I in no way mean to make light of the trials that come in the form of an earthquake or tornado or hurricane. But I think it's important not to underestimate the severity of a snow storm. It's easy to look at the harsher trials and be thankful that we are not suffering through that. It's not quite as easy to spot those who may be under a foot of snow.

I am thankful that whether the earth is shaking beneath me or I am hunkered down for a winter blast that the Savior knows both kinds of trials and has overcome them all. I have lately been enamored with the scripture from 2 Corinthians in chapter 12 verse 10. In the verse 9, Paul says he glories in infirmities. Why would he do that? So that the power of Christ may rest upon him. Then in verse 10 he says, For when he is weak, then is he strong. I want to think that I can glory in my infirmities too. That when I am weak, with Christ I am really very strong.