Two days ago I got my manuscript back from my editor in Washington, DC. She’s fantastic, by the way, and I will give her a plug later. My response was similar to what I felt with the first book, The House on 4th Street. At first I quickly glanced through her nine pages of notes without looking at the manuscript itself with line edits, etc. I felt the panic grab my gut and turned off the computer.

The following afternoon, I opened the attachment again, printed it off and sat down at my desk to read through her notes and suggestions. Less panic. Thoughts like “this is doable”, “I can do this.” But again I put them aside.

Today, I took her notes and my large art pad and began writing on my giant sheet of art paper — Page 1. Consider starting the story in Mexico. You can weave the information from the first 20 pages into the story by use of memory, exposition or in scene.

Okay! I’m sure she’s right. Every piece I’ve ever written has been axed by professors, my advisor and my editor. “The story actually begins on page 10 or page 20 or even page 50.”

All of her suggested changes took up only 2 full pages of art paper (18″x 24″). I taped them to the walls of my “craft room” instead of my office. I think best in there, and write at my computer in the office.

Just as I did the first time, I questioned her remarks. Just as I did the first time, I had grown attached to my words. Just as I did the first time, I let it go.

Editors always parse their remarks by saying “suggestions only; you’re the writer.” But I also know that when I made Evelyn’s changes to the first novel, it improved tremendously. And I know her observations and suggestions are going to do the same this time around.

Now I’m ready. Three pens on the craft table, my art pad, two notebooks, my iPod shuffle, a coaster for my coffee. I’m ready to begin. To shred, to move, to revamp. Final revisions to We’ll Find a Way are beginning. I wish I didn’t have two birthdays, Thanksgiving, out of town company and Christmas to contend with this month. All I want to do is chain myself to the desk and sweat and groan through the process!

I’d like to say – publishing date end of December. I suppose realistically I need to say January, 2017. So.. my thanks to a great editor, Evelyn Duffy … the best eye in the business. (p.s. she researches for Bob Woodward – can’t get much better than that.)

Did I actually sit down and begin? Of course not. I have two birthdays, Thanksgiving, out of town company and Christmas coming up. I went shopping …

I’ve stayed out of the political fray until today. I’m going to post a couple of articles to think about and then turn off all technology for the next two days.

It is my opinion that on Thursday we need to start a dialogue regarding a new electoral process both to shorten it (90 days max) and to begin looking for an alternative to our two-party system which is obviously broken.

Now for the posts:

Let’s not forget that Donald is in danger of a prison sentence. Have we ever been given his tax returns? Of course not, because the F.E.C. is investigating.

Vanity Fair, June 2016

“In fact, declarations to the Federal Election Commission are subject to a rather scary felony criminal statute called 18 U.S.C. 1001, which stipulates fines or prison terms of up to five years for anyone who knowingly and willfully “makes any materially false, fictitious, or fraudulent statement or representation.””

Read the entire article online at: http://www.vanityfair.com/news/2016/06/the-great-trump-tax-mysteries

New York Times, 11/6/2016 – The Walls in Our Heads

“What metaphor could be more substantial than a wall? …They are a political placebo to make us feel in control of a problem.”

Walls are simply metaphors for a country’s failings – a symbol of fear.

“It is paradoxical that an age of globalization should see an increase in wall building, but the political scientist Wendy Brown, suggests that the two phenomena are curiously intertwined. ‘The new walls are icons of its erosion.’”

Read the entire article online at:

www.nytimes.com/

I received a copy of my paperback, Timing’s Everything, two days ago and I keep looking at it in amazement. First of all, the cover is gorgeous. My son used his own photography and his talents to create an absolutely beautiful design. It makes me wonder if the contents of the book are anywhere equal to the book cover.

I had another thought as well: how in the heck did this happen?

Between 2011 and 2013 I completed course work and received my Creative Writing Certificate. I was a novice – a newby – a know nothing – who had been published in the college literary magazine and won awards at the state level. Still — I felt totally inept. I sent a few fiction and nonfiction pieces out to anthologies and was accepted for publication. I had five short stories that my mentor and academic advisor insisted would become a novel. I swore there was no way. They were short stories; I wasn’t up to the task of writing a novel. But in 2015 I published The House on 4th Street. A novel in stories.

It began selling on Amazon and in book stores and I was invited to signings and book club discussions. As I sat there, I wondered whose book they were discussing. It was an out of body experience to be honest.

Then I began a second story. A love story. I visited Oxford, England with my son two years ago and fell in love with the university and the city. All of our day trips to Bath, Stratford upon Avon, and Blenheim Palace gave me the perfect back-drop for a romance. It wrote itself in about six months and I spent a month in Paris completing it. Once again, when I saw it on Amazon as an e book, I laughed. I didn’t feel it was my best writing. I didn’t feel it would sell. But slowly it did, and now the paperback version is on-line as well.

As we speak, my editor in Washington, D.C. just emailed and she will have final critiques and suggestions for my third novel, We’ll Find a Way, by next Monday. More revisions coming up, but she says she loved it. Authors will do anything to hear those words: I loved it; I really liked it; it’s so good. Wow! We begin to think that perhaps we are not frauds after all –we writers who question every word we type.

And so by January, I may have three books under my belt. Are they any good? I have no clue. I know they aren’t going to win a Pulitzer. I wouldn’t dare compare myself to any of my favorite authors. I’m not in their class. I’m not in it for the money, thank heavens, but I also can’t deny the small success I’ve had. I did it and it’s time to give myself permission to smile at the paperback sitting on my desk with my name on the front cover.

I sometimes wonder where the past 24 hours went. I blamed it on retirement for quite some time. The lack of structure. The flexibility. The ‘no place to be’ syndrome.

Last week my hair stylist (who is my daughter’s age) mentioned that it felt like Christmas had just happened three months ago and is now creeping upon us once again. I was glad to hear her confirm my feelings. I almost can’t enjoy holidays anymore because it feels like we just celebrated it last week and who can gather that much energy to celebrate it again?

I get up at 6 a.m. and suddenly the 6 p.m. news is on and it’s time to fix dinner. It’s Sunday evening and I’m planning my week: suddenly it’s Friday and I got nothing on my list completed.

Life is a speedway from dawn to dusk. We race along freeways, we race to the store, we race to meet friends. We are constantly racing. When you race, time does seem to speed up. It may just be in our imaginations, but it feels very real. We get instantaneous information from our phones, tablets and computers. We don’t have to slow down and go to the library to look something up.

And at my age, technology wears me out. I’m on a constant learning curve; I’m so busy learning the newest way to do things, I don’t get those things done at all. It takes me forever to learn the newest version of the account program my bank uses. It was fine the way it was. I knew where every button was, every option, where on the page to find a balance or a chance to pay a bill. They changed it for no reason. Now it takes me forever to figure out where the same danged button is on the new program. So suddenly what used to take me 5 minutes can take up to a half hour. If ever one of my tasks takes 6 to 10 times longer than it used to, no wonder I keep getting less and less completed each day.

“Please stop changing things!” I want to scream. Because honestly, we don’t need that much change. I walked into my local grocery store in September after being gone for two months, and they had literally shut down the store and moved every single item to a different location. I’m serious. What used to be on the left side of the store was now on the right; center aisles had been changed as well. The only thing I recognized was the produce and the meat counter. I know where nothing is these days. They handed me a map of the store last time I was in. Seriously??

I now need a map to shop for groceries? And yet if I don’t look at it, I could wander the store for an hour. Perhaps that was there actual reason for doing this. To get people to walk every single aisle looking for canned peaches or a box of salt.

I’m tired of learning. I’m tired of change. I’m tired of technology creating more and more stress in my life. Yes, I’m whining. I need a beach far away from wi fi and cell towers!

Update: Timing’s Everything was not released in paperback last week. It’s still “coming” along. Edits for sequel is still in the hands of my editor. I’m chomping at the bit for both to come to fruition.

Two exciting things are happening at the moment. Timing’s Everything will be released as a paperback next week. And my sequel to The House on 4th Street — currently titled We’ll Find a Way — is in the hands of my Washington D.C. editor. Can’t wait to work with her on revisions and hopefully get it to press by end of year. Watch for Timing’s Everything in paperback format on Amazon soon.

The Fab Four weekend was Fabulous Fun!  We spent four days in Pinetop, AZ reconnecting, talking nonstop, eating, and playing dominoes. We did get to the car show and the art show at the country club where these photos were taken.

We were in our early 30’s when we met and now (except for one) are in our early 70’s. It would be easy at my age to consider the “what if’s” but I choose to focus on “when we see each other next year.” What a wonderful gift to have friendships that last! Thanks, ladies!

I was notified yesterday that another book club in Oklahoma is reading my first novel. It always pleases me to know that it’s still alive and well after two years. When I first published, I wasn’t sure it would sell more than a handful of copies. After all, I do have a handful of friends and family! ha  To know that it continues to attract readers is a great feeling. And it also gives me hope that the sequel will have readers as well.

Next month I’m attending a book club in Tucson, AZ and am looking forward to meeting another group of women to discuss and sign copies. If you know of a book club in your area, perhaps you could recommend they take a look at The House on 4th Street. It is a good book for discussion as it contains a present day protagonist as well as five historic stories providing a variety of characters and plots.

This weekend I am hosting three women I’ve known for 40 years. We get together occasionally although it’s been awhile this time around. We met playing bridge back in Minnesota and became close friends as we raised our toddlers and had more babies along the way. It’s amazing to me that when they step off the plane, it will seem like yesterday. It happens each time we meet; as if the years just slip away and we’re in our early 30’s again. Can’t wait to see them and spend a long weekend catching up. I’ll post a few pics if anyone will allow me to take photos. ha  I’m certain we look the same; we always do.

I looked at the calendar today and nearly fainted. I have a dozen excuses for not posting to my blog but none are very impressive! ha

I spent two months in northern Arizona and completed my manuscript revisions for an unnamed novel – a sequel to The House on 4th Street. My muse found me in the cool pines and for that I am thankful. It is currently being reviewed by seven beta readers and will go to my editor end of September. I’m assuming some major edits after she reads it but she’s great. Hopefully the book will be published before end of year. At least, that’s the goal.

Like many of us, I tend to procrastinate and came home in September to a list a mile long of projects and plans that I’d put aside for a few months. They are fun projects at least, but they are eating up time like crazy.

A Question For You Fiction Readers!!

How do you choose to buy a book?

Title?

Cover?

Inside Cover Book Description?

Reviews?

Do you ever remember the title once you get into the book? Does it have to completely relate to the characters and plot, and if so, how important is that?

OK — off to you readers…

I’ll try to be more up to date with posts this fall. Enjoy leaves if they begin falling in your neck of the woods. Enjoy crisp days picking apples and pumpkins. Bake something wonderful. All the things I miss so much living in the desert …

Life is all about perspective … nothing new here, I know.

This flower could be growing beside a creek or stream or a tributary of a large lake.  It’s hard to tell with a close-up of the yellow marigold that I’ve zoomed in on. My vision of the world has recently been zoomed in and microscopic from issues at my vacation rental to politics.

This morning I’m trying to lengthen my lens—open my wide-angle, look at the bigger picture as they say.

It rained yesterday in the mountains and the scent of pine is stronger than it’s been for weeks. The grass greener and the flowers brighter.

Last year I was packing for a month in Paris. Since then France has witnessed terror attacks that shook the country – one as recent as two weeks ago in Nice. But one has to remember that France was decimated in two world wars. The French are strong! They will focus on their art and architecture, their music, their wine, their joi’ de vivre – Joy of Life. They will mourn and grieve and bury and stick their middle finger in the air and focus on the good life.

I wish we had something similar in the U.S. Instead we seem to be growing angrier and more fearful and revengeful. We seem to be a country ready to implode.

Perspective!

The stream I sit beside is small. It is man-made. It is perhaps two-and-a half feet wide and a few inches deep – barely enough to soak my tennis shoe, not even my ankle. The rocks have been set in place by hand to meander through a courtyard in the condo complex where I’m staying. There is also a man-made water fall down the way that creates the movement of the stream, and the sound is relaxing and calming in spite of being “fake”.

It reminds me that life is what we make of it – how we view it – what we choose to do with it. We don’t have to put our head in the sand and ignore it. We don’t have to narrow our focus and be so myopic that we grow self-involved, self-centered and see only our place in the universe. We also don’t have to pretend to understand the whole of it or feel we have to control it.

There are times when we need to look closely, even to look inside.

There are times to broaden and try to see life through everyone else’s eyes.

And there are times to close your eyes and just listen … to the babbling stream, bubbling along in peaceful harmony with nature … and forget for a while where we are.

Joi’ de Vivre

Joy of Life – amidst the chaos of the world.

The House on 4th Street and Timing’s Everything. On sale today — Amazon.com!