Writing a Good Book
Check out my post on Resources for Independent Authors. Today we are talking about making your manuscript better with self-editing. Lots of interesting information on Kathy Gaudry’s site for writers.
Getting to Know You
Plants have always been my passion. You’re more likely to find me outside playing in the dirt instead of indoors sitting in front of the TV or holding a book. For as long as I can remember I’ve been interested in plants. What is it? Does it have medicinal purposes? Can you eat it? Moving to the Oregon Coast, then, has been this gardener’s dream. Here, if you want something to grow, just toss it on the ground, forget about it and a week later it will be an established plant. In southern Idaho if you tossed a plant on the ground, it was destined to die.
As an Idaho Master Gardener I know a lot about plants. But here in Oregon I feel like I’ve dropped down the rabbit hole. My head bobs at every step as I try to identify plants I’ve never seen before. Like the large bush that attracts birds and borders my yard on the north. The plant is prolific; I see it everywhere. But it took a trip to the county extension office to learn that the plant is a wax myrtle. I didn’t know that the pretty yellow plant along the side of the road is scotch broom and that it’s invasive. I was familiar with perennial geraniums but didn’t know that Herb Robert was not the same as cranesbill geranium even though they look alike. Is it an azalea or a rhododendron? What makes them different?
My yard is a wonderland of new discoveries. I knew I had a lot of blackberries bordering my lawn, but I didn’t know that I also had salmonberry, thimbleberry and evergreen huckleberries, not to mention the salal that grows like trees.
A walk through my neighborhood is truly a walk in the forest. Trilliums. Yellow skunk cabbage. English daisies and woodland strawberries that cover the ground instead of grass. Western buttercups and lewisia. Each forward step offers a mystery to be solved.
Moving to Oregon has been a grand adventure and I’ve enjoyed getting to know all about the plants that grow in my yard and neighborhood. With the ocean just down the road, I’m eager to start learning the names of the interesting treasures I find on the beach.
15 Things You May Not Know About Paula Marie Coomer
Paula Marie Coomer began life in Louisville, Kentucky, and lived most of her childhood in the industrial Ohio River town of New Albany, Indiana. The daughter of over 200 years of south-central Kentuckians, she is a predictable mix of Cherokee, African, Scot, and a dash of English Puritan. Her fiction, poetry, and non-fiction have appeared in many journals, anthologies, and publications, including Spilt Infinitive, Perceptions, Gargoyle, and Knock, to name only a few.
Coomer has been nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize, was writer-in-residence for Fishtrap, Oregon’s much-loved advocacy program for literature in the West, and has been a visiting scholar for the Idaho Commission for Libraries since 2002. She is a former long-time instructor of English for Washington State University, and was commissioned as an officer of the U.S Public Health Service, achieving the rank of lieutenant commander before she resigned her commission in 1995, ostensibly to be a writer.
I’ve known Paula for several years and am excited to host her here today. She’s a great friend, an awesome teacher, and is always eager to talk about writing. Here are fifteen things you may not know about Paula Marie Coomer.
1) Why did you become a Writer? How did you get started?
My first memories have to do with my awareness of myself as an observer. I wrote my first book at the age of four. No one else could understand what I had written, but I could. I even sewed a sort of binding with needle and thread—which I got in trouble for.
2) What is your writing routine? How do you discipline yourself to keep at it?
- If I’m doing research or composing a new draft, I’m usually in an isolated situation. Usually I go to the Inn in the Idaho mountains where I am in writer-in-residence (which is how I got to BE writer-in-residence). I hole myself up for as long as I can—usually at least 4 days. I’m fully focused. I do nothing besides eating (and very sparsely, at that) or getting up and moving occasionally.
- If I’m revising, I usually work in my studio at home half a day, beginning almost as soon as I get up. Then half a day on the other things I have to do—the paying job, author gigs, etc. At times during this phase I hire a housekeeper and an assistant to free up my time for the writing hours.
- If I’m doing edits, I spend mornings at a local coffee shop working. For some reason at the level of line edits, it helps to have background noise.
3) How many drafts before you feel the book is finished?
That varies completely. My novel Dove Creek took 15 drafts. The 16th draft sold. Blue Moon Vegetarian took 3 drafts. Jagged Edge of the Sky took four. Single poems can take 10-20 drafts. Short stories can take a dozen drafts. I tend to write in layers, rather obviously.
4) What was the best thing that happened with regard to your writing career? The worst?
It broke my heart a little bit when I realized I was never going to be a New York writer, living in Greenwich Village, part of the U.S. “g-literati.” But that turned out to be the best possible thing, because I have a great independent publishing house at my back. They give me infinite freedom as an artist, and they like me enough to give me a job that allows me the time I need to keep writing. I have a decent following, and people love what I write. I’m so busy I can’t even imagine being any busier in my writing career. I really couldn’t ask for anything better.
5) What part of your job do you love the most? Hate or dislike the most?
I love the serendipity. The way, when I’m working on a story or a book, the pieces just come to me, show up in my life in the most random of ways. What I dislike the most is the effect it’s had on my body. Luckily now I have a standing desk, so I rotate between sitting and standing, but writing is really, really hard on the body. We were not designed to sit for long periods of time.
6) What do you like to read? Do you read while working on a novel? Favorite authors?
I mostly read according to whatever I’m researching for the next book. Right now my stack of reading material looks like the course requirements for an herbalism class or a course on mountaineering. I’m preparing to write a follow-up for the Blue Moon food book series focused on the healing nature of plants. This is also research for my next novel, which features a mountain woman who is a healer. Otherwise, I have a few living favorites—Lidia Yuknavitch and Lance Olsen are my literary heroes. I also do presentations at regional libraries so often I have a novel I’m reading for that. Otherwise, I try to read a few poetry books now and again. I don’t read any mainstream books or authors. Most of the books I read are written by women. I prefer the voices of women writers.
7) What was the best advice you received as a writer? The worst?
- Best: Don’t give up. If you keep writing, someone will publish you.
- Worst: Teaching gives you control of your time. It will give you time to write. The truth is that teaching sucks your life force and your creativity and gives you very little in return; however, to donate yourself to the world in this way is very noble and to some extent a necessary part of mastering your craft.
8) Who has influenced you the most in terms of developing your personal writing style?
Lance Olsen, Ray Federmann, Lidia Yuknavitch.
9) Do you have a good luck charm or superstition?
I have lots. First, I have feathers and rocks everywhere. A feather in your path is a blessing. The always present themselves to me at difficult times. Rocks possess certain energies. If I’m drawn to the energy of a certain rock, I always pick it up. I have certain types of gems and semi-precious stones that are meant to absorb bad energy. Occasionally I soak them in water and sea salt to cleanse them. I regularly smudge the house with sweetgrass, sage, or cedar.
10) If you weren’t a writer, what would you be?
A visual artist.
11) What quote or personal saying do you live by?
From the I-Ching: Perseverance furthers.
12) What’s next up for you, writing-wise?
I have a new novel finished. It’s very, very experimental, and I have no idea if anyone will want to publish it. I have a collection of essays and one of short stories that both need final revision. Then I have the 2 final books in the Blue Moon series, Blue Moon Medicine Woman and Blue Moon Folkways in the Kitchen. What is that 5? Five books in process, a book of poems I’m slowly working on, and research for the next novel.
13) If you could do anything over again, would you and what would it be?
I don’t really know. I don’t have much in the way of regrets.
14) What advice would you give beginning writers?
Let writing change your life.
15) Something we don’t know about you?
I spent two summers of my life picking fruit in California and Oregon, living out of the back of a pickup. It was the most horrible work but the people I worked with made it worthwhile. Stories I still haven’t told.
And: What would you like us to know about your latest release?
Jagged Edge of the Sky is the story of two women, one Australian and one American, who both go outside their marriages almost on the same day and with the same handsome, mixed-blood aboriginal man. The situation tears the Australian family apart; the American family keeps it secret. At once a women’s story, an immigrant story, and a family saga, the most important message the book delivers is about the despicable state of mental health services in our country.
Emily McIntyre writes about her dreams . . .
Sawtooth City in the late 1800s. Photo courtesy Community Library Regional History Department
Since April is national poetry month, Emily McIntyre wants to share a poem with you. Emily grew up in the gritty mining camps of Saw Tooth City and Rocky Bar, Idaho Territory, in the 1870s. She lived in a log cabin and carried water from nearby Beaver Creek. She was a great companion to Lizzie and George Harmon until the nefarious Kerry Chapman Troupe came to entertain the miners in the spring of 1882.
Back East there is a better life,
No digging in the dirt,
Or staring in a miner’s pan
Until your eyelids hurt.
A place where parasols are made
Of Paris silk so fine,
A place where steamboats paddle by,
A place that I’d call mine.
Back East is where I wish to go—
I’d like to run away
From all these mountains, trees, and chores.
Back East is where I’d stay.
Somewhere there is another sky
That’s just this shade of blue,
Somewhere back East, away from here,
Where all your dreams come true.
Emily Ann McIntyre
Saw Tooth City
April 29, 1882
You can read all about Emily’s journey in Goldie’s Daughter.
PERFECTLY IMPERFECT
I’m happy to announce that Waiting will be part of an ebook boxed set with two other great books, Goddess of Suburbia, by Stephanie Kepke and The Paris Effect, by K.S.R Burns. Thank you to our wonderful publisher Booktrope for this opportunity, and to Michelle Fairbanks for the fantastic cover.
Here’s the scoop on this exciting new project:
The Perfectly Imperfect boxed book set consists of three novels about strong women in transition.
Suburbia meets scandal in Stephanie Kepke’s Goddess of Suburbia, a hopeful and honest portrayal of that moment in every woman’s life when it’s time to make a change, even if that means risking losing it all. When pillar of the community and PTA mom, Max, finds herself embroiled in an Internet scandal, she must learn to stop living her life on auto-pilot or forever remain a suburban lemming running toward the cliff of old age. This story is a must-read for women looking to reconnect with their passions and live authentically.
In Bonnie Dodge’s Waiting, three generations of Foster women, senior citizen Maxine, attention-seeker Grace, and aspiring artist Abbie, think they are nothing alike. But they all share a secret. They wait. For love, for attention, for life, for death. In their journeys between despair and happiness, they learn there are worse things than being alone. Like waiting for the wrong person’s love. With sensitivity and humor, Waiting carries readers into the hearts of three women who learn that happiness comes from within.
In K. S. R. Burns’s highly praised debut novel, The Paris Effect, a food-obsessed young woman sneaks away to Paris without telling anyone. Not even her husband. Once there, she’s robbed, stalked, arrested, and kidnapped (almost). Worse, she finds that her numerous issues have come right along with her. Grab a croissant and settle in for a decidedly non-touristy trip to the City of Light.
An amazing deal for three terrific stories in one ebook. For updates on our release date, launch parties, and more, like the Perfectly Imperfect Facebook page. Be sure to check the page often.
Lost in Atlanta Places 3rd in Contest
My short story, Lost in Atlanta, placed third in the 2016 Idaho Magazine Adult Fiction contest. The story is about two women who get lost looking for information about Peg-Leg Annie.
FEISTY AFTER 45 The Best Blogs From Midlife Women
My blog, Facing Another Birthday with Humor, is in this best-selling anthology just released from Mill Park Publishing. You can get your copy here.
13 Things You May Not Know About Evan Morgan Williams
Today I’m talking with EVAN MORGAN WILLIAMS, who will read Saturday, March 19, 2016, at 7 p.m. at the Nye Beach Writers Series in the Nye Beach Visual Arts Center, Newport, Oregon.
Williams’ stories are works of realistic fiction, set mainly in the Pacific Northwest, often on the Pacific shore. His stories deal with people making difficult choices, choices that invariably mean tugging or loosening the ties that bind. An award-wining author, Williams has published over forty stories in such magazines as Witness, Antioch Review, Kenyon Review, and ZYZZYVA. He has an MFA from the University of Montana, and has taught in a public school for over twenty years. Most recently, he has held a Writers in the Schools residency, an AWP Writer to Writer mentorship, and gave the inaugural reading in Eastern Oregon University’s revived Ars Poetica Visiting Writer Series.
Hi Evan, tell us some more about you.
1) Why did you become a Writer? How did you get started?
I have always felt that writing was a calling. In college, when I read the short story collections of Barry Lopez, this was made particularly clear to me. I got started by writing stories that probably sounded like cheap knock-offs, though earnestly done at the time. That was a very long time ago.
2) What is your writing routine? How do you discipline yourself to keep at it?
My writing routine is to write in the early hours of a weekend morning and for a little while after work during the week. Sometimes, I’ll go out on a Saturday night to a quiet venue to write. My discipline is highly variable; I’m not as disciplined as I should be. I work better when I’m facing a deadline or working with others, as in a writing group. Like everyone, I’m challenged by distractions online. I recently deleted my Facebook, and that has been very helpful.
3) How many drafts before you feel the book is finished?
My book is a collection of stories, and I revise exhaustively. Most of my stories have been drafted and revised over the course of many years. Sometimes, rarely, a story will come to me fully formed, so to speak, and in this case the revision process goes pretty quickly.
4) What was the best thing that happened with regard to your writing career? The worst?
The best thing that happened with my writing career was the discovery, after many important and formative experiences such as an MFA program and working with a mentor in Portland, that I could write a story that resonated with my internal vision all by myself, and that others would like it too. A few of my most well-received stories never went through any workshop or critique, ever. Of course, I’m not opposed to those processes; they have been extremely helpful, too.
The worst thing that happened was my own fault, spending about 8 years doing almost no writing after I graduated from my MFA program. I was teaching middle school and throwing myself into it, but I was getting a diminishing return. By the time I went back to writing, I was extremely rusty, starting from scratch.
5) What part of your job do you love the most? Hate or dislike the most?
The part I love the most is when a story acquires a sense of compelling reality that feels more real than the reality that surrounds me. I have heard athletes talk about “flow” or “being in the zone,” and I think this must be something akin to that.
The part I dislike the most is structuring narrative out of raw notes. Plotting a story remains the part I resist the most. It is hard labor, a battle between commitment and skepticism. I have a few tricks to make it go better, but it’s still extremely difficult.
6) What do you like to read? Do you read while working on a novel? Favorite authors?
Reading is a necessary component of writing new work. It is a reciprocal process. You get ideas from what you’re reading, and you read differently when you’re writing. My all-time favorite authors are Hemingway, Barry Lopez, and Garcia-Marquez. This year, I’m trying to read the entire catalog of Propellor Press, a small press in Portland, Oregon.
7) What was the best advice you received as a writer? The worst?
The best advice was from a retired editor at Esquire, who was teaching a class at the University of Montana. He had four pieces of essential advice, of which I only remember two, but I go back to them all the time: 1) Know your own secret and 2) Seize form. I like the advice because it is suitably vague that I can bend it to my purposes. But it is also rigorous; one has to maintain certain disciplines.
The worst advice was probably something that someone said during a badly run writing workshop.
8) Who has influenced you the most in terms of developing your personal writing style?
I wouldn’t say that my writing sounds like Hemingway, not even close, but reading Hemingway’s stories taught me how the flow of language on the page doesn’t just relate a story in a neutral way, but rather becomes the story.
9) Do you have a good luck charm or superstition?
I have a “special pen” that I found in a load of used office supplies that the BLM donated to my school. It’s somebody’s retirement pen, with a tortoise shell finish and gold accents. The lettering on the side said something about the “Interagency Fire Team,” but it has worn off.
10) What’s next up for you, writing-wise?
I am working on a neo-noir novel, set in 1980s Los Angeles, about a young Japanese interpreter who gets caught up in someone else’s scheme. I am still early in the process, but I enjoy the convenience of noir: everyone is corrupt, compromised, complicated. Every character is capable of contradicting their type.
11) If you could do anything over again, would you and what would it be?
If I could turn back time, I would buy that beautiful Craftsman house at 23d and Sherman for 67k in 1994.
12) What advice would you give beginning writers?
Write a lot. Read a lot. Immerse yourself in a supportive community of writers, and give as much as you get. Develop a thick skin because there will be a lot of rejection, but also develop a strong internal editor because a lot of that rejection will be deserved. Be very clear on how ambitious you want to be; the writers who get published have worked really hard to make it happen.
13) Something we don’t know about you?
I believe that cake is tawdry and that pie is sacrament.
And: what’d you like us to know about your latest release:
My book of stories, Thorn, is realistic fiction, set mainly in the Pacific Northwest. It features an ethnically diverse cast of characters: men, women, rich folks and poor, each having to make difficult choices. Five of the stories are set on the coast. The book won the Chandra Prize at BkMk Press (University of Missouri-Kansas City)
Rain or Showers; That is the Question
When we were contemplating a move to Oregon, we were warned about wind and rain. “Stay away if you don’t like the rain,” we were told. “It rains there every day.”
Well, not really. It doesn’t rain every day, but yes, it does rain a lot. In southern Idaho rain is scarce. We were lucky to see ten inches of rain a year. In Oregon we see that much rain in one month. Idaho weathermen talk about wind and drought. Oregon weathermen talk about rain and showers.
“What is it?” my husband asked me the other day. “Rain or showers?”
Thus began the debate. Was it raining, or was this a shower? We asked our resident son. “It’s raining,” he said.
“No,” his wife said. “It’s a shower.”
Which sent me to the Internet and dictionary. What should be easy to differentiate appears to be tricky. Even though “showers” are indeed rain, there’s a subtle difference as far as weather forecasts go.
This is what I learned.
“Rain” as in “a rainy day” or “occasional rain” is more widespread. Most, if not all, of the area will see rain and it will last for a while. Unlike rain “showers” the duration of rain is steady and prolonged. Rain tends to be light to moderate in intensity and generally comes from stratus clouds. Rain usually lasts longer than showers.
“Showers,” on the other hand, are more scattered. It could be raining in Lincoln City, but dry in South Beach. Showers tend to be shorter in duration, while rain could last all day. “Showers,” also known as “rain showers,” tend to be quick and come in bursts. Showers come from puffy clouds or cumuliform clouds like cumulus or cumulonimbus. Compared to rain, showers cover a smaller area but can be more intense. Conversely, showers are more dispersed than rain. Isolated showers are those that are divided during a certain time frame. Local showers is rain that happens in a much smaller area of coverage. There are also patchy showers, which happen irregularly within a specific area. Showers often start and end more abruptly compared to rains.
Yesterday we drove to Lincoln City and it started to rain. “So,” I said. “Is this rain or showers?”
My husband turned on the windshield wipers. “Showers,” he said. “Anything over three clicks on the wiper switch is showers, not rain.”
So there you have it, if you ever get caught in a debate about rain or showers. Either way you’ll need an umbrella.
15 Things You May Not Know About Lauren Kessler
This weekend Nye Beach Writers Series is hosting Lauren Kessler, from Eugene, Oregon.
Kessler is an award-winning author, (semi) fearless immersion reporter and self-designated guinea pig journalist who combines lively narrative with deep research to explore everything from the seemingly romantic but oh-so-gritty world of ballet to the wild, wild west of the anti-aging movement, from the stormy seas of the mother-daughter relationship to the hidden world of Alzheimer’s sufferers. She is the author of nine works of narrative nonfiction, including her latest, Raising the Barre: Big Dreams, False Starts and My Midlife Quest to Dance The Nutcracker. Her other work includes Counterclockwise: My Year of Hypnosis, Hormones, Dark Chocolate and Other Adventures in the World of Anti-Aging; My Teenage Werewolf: A Mother, A Daughter, A Journey Through the Thicket of Adolescence, and Pacific Northwest Book Award winner Dancing with Rose (published in paperback as Finding Life in the Land of Alzheimer’s.
Please join us February 20, 2016 at 7 p.m. at the Nye Beach Visual Arts Center. General admission is $8; students are admitted free. Open mic to follow.
15 Things You May Not Know About Lauren Kessler
1) Why did you become a Writer? How did you get started?
I write for many reasons, but mostly I write because I am intensely curious about…well, about most everything…and writing funds my curiosity and gives legitimacy to my nosiness. It allows me to ask questions without being a nuisance (usually). It allows me to immerse myself in people’s lives without being arrested for stalking. I can even eavesdrop. At one point early in my writing career, I thought maybe I should specialize. But I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t set those boundaries. And so, during the past decade, I’ve written about exotic plant smuggling and assisted suicide, about communist spies and women’s basketball players, about a whorehouse in the Mojave desert , about my mother. About Alzheimer’s. About 21st century teen girl culture. About ballet. I write to learn.
2) What is your writing routine? How do you discipline yourself to keep at it?
When I am writing (as opposed to researching, traveling, immersing myself in the world I am going to write about) I keep to a strict routine. A routine means I can focus on the work itself and not waste energy on thinking about how my day will or should go. I wake early, go for a run, then work for about 5 hours. I stand when I work. I drink many many cups of green and herbal tea. When things get tough, I chain chew Orbit Sweet Mint Gum. I don’t have a problem with discipline. This is work I love. I am intensely aware of the privilege I have to do it.
3) How many drafts before you feel the book is finished?
I have never counted. And it is actually impossible to determine, given the every day fiddling, tweaking, revising, rewriting that is a normal part of the process.
4) What was the best thing that happened with regard to your writing career? The worst?
The best: When Stubborn Twig, which won the Oregon Book Award, was chosen as the first statewide “Everybody Reads” selection to celebrate Oregon’s sesquicentennial. I had the opportunity to travel to 23 cities and towns across the state to talk about the book, about writing and about our state’s history. Second best: Appearing on the David Letterman Show for Happy Bottom Riding Club.
The worst: When, mid-book, my editor at Viking — whom I loved and had worked with on other projects — left the publishing house.
5) What part of your job do you love the most? Hate or dislike the most?
I love the act of writing, how alive I feel when I am making connections, when it feels as if I am truly truly using my brain. And I equally love diving into the worlds I want to write about, immersing myself fully, learning by doing.
I dislike pitching book ideas to my agent because sometimes what grabs me is not what grabs him.
6) What do you like to read? Do you read while working on a novel? Favorite authors?
I am a voracious reader. When I am researching a book, I immerse myself in the literature of that world — narrative nonfiction, novels, memoir, poetry, film — as well as, of course, the research and writing of experts. I read, alternately, narrative nonfiction and novels, trading off. All-time favorite authors: May Sarton, Joan Didion, Raymond Chandler, Vladmir Nabokov.
7) What was the best advice you received as a writer? The worst?
Best: Sweat the small stuff.
Worst: Stick with what you know.
8) Who has influenced you the most in terms of developing your personal writing style?
The iconic narrative/ literary nonfiction writers: John McPhee, Gay Talese, Joan Didion
9) Do you have a good luck charm or superstition?
Nope.
10) If you weren’t a writer, what would you be?
Unhappy.
11) What quote or personal saying do you live by?
Apply the seat of the pants to the seat of the chair.
12) What’s next up for you, writing-wise?
I am at the beginning of a new project, another immersion into a fascinating world…but it’s too early to talk about it.
13) If you could do anything over again, would you and what would it be?
I would not wait at Penn Station for three hours for my then-boyfriend Phil who missed the train (as I too-much-later found out) because he was busy romancing another girl.
14) What advice would you give beginning writers?
Read, read, read.
15) Something we don’t know about you?
I know all the lines to Vachel Lindsay’s poem, The Congo. Also TupTim’s speech in The King and I.
(this is adapted from the flap copy and back cover)
The mother of three grown children who hasn’t had a ballet slipper on her foot in forty years, Lauren Kessler launches herself, full-force, on a journey to dance in the world’s most popular ballet with a professional company.
The result is a midlife quest at turns harrowing and hilarious, an exploration of what it means to venture far outside your comfort zone, to truly test your own limits and raise the bar(re) on your own life. Lauren’s quest to dance The Nutcracker with the Eugene Ballet Company tackles the big issues: fear, angst, risk, resilience, the refusal to “settle in” to midlife, the refusal to become yet another Invisible Woman. It is also a very funny, very real look at what it’s like to push yourself
further than you ever thought you could go—and what happens when you get there.
Kessler blogs at www.counterclockwisebook.com about health, wellness and living an engaged life. For more information, visit her website at laurenkessler.com.
Diabetes and Me
I just returned from the doctor. There is good news and there is bad. The good news is that the new doctor was personable, asked lots of questions, talked to me instead of a computer, and gave me a good sense of well being. The bad news is that my A1C reading was 9.1.
I have an autoimmune disorder that acts like Lupus without the rash. Most days I feel like crap. On the outside I look great and full on energy, but on the inside I fight to function. I’ve had this disease for many years and I don’t run to the doctor every time I feel sick. But a few years ago I was scheduled to fly to Portland to see my grandchildren and I felt awful. Too sick to get on a plane. So I called my doctor and made an appointment. Eight hours later I had a diagnosis. Diabetes Type II. Yeah, happy birthday to me.
That was four years ago and it’s been a daily battle. The first two years I was able to keep my A1C numbers in the 6.1 range with diet, exercise, and oral medications. Then the numbers started climbing and no matter what I did I couldn’t bring them down to a healthy level. So I wasn’t surprised when my new doctor told me my A1C was high. What surprised me was that it had jumped two whole points in six months in spite of a low carb diet and exercise.
People with diabetes have bodies that don’t use insulin properly. Over time their pancreases can’t make enough insulin to keep their blood glucose at normal levels. Their pancreases may even stop working.
According to a recent report, there are about 27 million people in the U.S. with Type II diabetes. Another 86 million have prediabetes, which means their blood glucose is not normal, but not high enough to be diabetes yet.
So why am I telling you this? To bore you? To make you sad? To scare you?
To warn you. To encourage you to pay more attention to your health so you won’t end up like me, pricking your finger twice a day, counting carbs, and wishing you didn’t have to watch every thing you put in your mouth.
I was naïve. I knew lots of people with diabetes. I knew so many I began to believe diabetes was innocuous. People didn’t die from diabetes. Well, yes, they DO die from organ failure and heart disease, all a result of diabetes. Television commercials lead you to believe living with diabetes is no big deal. You can go to picnics. You can eat hot dogs and corn on the cob. You can smile and dance and have fun.
The reality is living with diabetes is HUGE. It’s hard work. Even with diet and exercise most days it feels like I’m are playing Russian roulette. I’m afraid to test my blood sugar because I don’t want to see the high numbers. It scares me and makes me depressed.
Be smarter than me. Any type of diabetes is a big thing. If your doctor says you are prediabetic, pay attention. Stop eating flour, sugar, and high carb foods immediately. Begin an exercise program and stick to it. Keep your blood glucose numbers between 80 and 100. That way you can truly be happy and healthy and smile and dance and have fun.
15 THINGS YOU MAY NOT KNOW ABOUT BRITTNEY CORRIGAN
There is always something artsy or literary happening on the Oregon Coast. That’s one of the reasons I picked Newport, Oregon, to retire. This weekend the Nye Beach Writers is hosting Brittney Corrigan, poet and writer from Portland, Oregon. (Jan. 16, 2016 at 2.p.m. at the Nye Beach Visual Arts Center. General admission is $8; students are admitted free. Open mic to follow).
Brittney is the author of the poetry collection Navigation (The Habit of Rainy Nights Press, 2012) and the chapbook 40 Weeks (Finishing Line Press, 2012). Her poems have appeared widely in journals and anthologies, and she is the poetry editor for the online journal Hyperlexia: poetry and prose about the autism spectrum (http://hyperlexiajournal.com/). Brittney lives in Portland, Oregon, where she is both an alumna and employee of Reed College. You can find all this information in her bio, but here is something you may not know.
1) Why did you become a writer? How did you get started?
A writer was not something I became – it’s something I always was. I’ve been writing since I was a kid. I started with short stories and poetry, and over the years my focus turned to poetry almost entirely. But it was my high school English teacher who most encouraged me and made me believe that it was who I really was at my core.
2) What is your writing routine? How do you discipline yourself to keep at it?
I don’t have a specific routine. I have two children and a full time job, so I write in bits and pieces whenever I can make the time. I carry poems around in my head for a long time before they make it to the page. Being part of a writing group that meets regularly also helps to keep me motivated and generating new work.
3) How many drafts before you feel a poem is finished?
Since my poems gestate in my head for quite some time, they usually only go through 1-2 drafts.
4) What was the best thing that happened with regard to your writing career? The worst?
The best thing was seeing the publication of my first book and first chapbook both in the same year. I wouldn’t say that I have a worst thing, but the most challenging part is finding large stretches of time to focus on writing, especially now that I’m working on a new manuscript.
5) What part of writing do you love the most? Hate or dislike the most?
I love the excitement that comes when a new poem is pouring out of me onto the page after turning it over and over in my mind for so long. If I have to pick a dislike, it would be how difficult it is for new poets to get books published and find an audience.
6) What do you like to read? Do you read while working on poetry? Favorite authors?
I read plenty of poetry (which is very inspirational for my own work), but I also love fiction, particularly novels written in the magical realism style. My favorite poets are Sharon Olds, Joy Harjo, Naomi Shihab Nye, Natalie Diaz, and Deborah Digges. My favorite novelists are Tom Spanbauer, Barbara Kingsolver, Erin Morgenstern, and Ann Patchett.
7) What was the best advice you received as a writer? The worst?
The best advice I’ve had over the years is to just keep at it when it comes to both writing and publishing. The world of a poet is stacked high with rejection letters, but it’s important to keep sending the work out there into the world. I don’t have any specific memories of bad advice.
8) Who has influenced you the most in terms of developing your personal writing style?
I would say the poet Maxine Scates, who I have worked with off and on since college in classes, workshops, and on my senior thesis at Reed College. She is a gifted poet and teacher, and her guidance has been invaluable to my own writing process.
9) Do you have a good luck charm or superstition?
Not specifically, but I’m riddled with OCD tendencies, so superstition runs strong in my veins!
10) If you weren’t a writer, what would you be?
Well, my day job is an event planner at Reed College, where I work with faculty members on the public lecture series on campus. And I absolutely love it.
11) What quote or personal saying do you live by?
From Henry James, “Try to be one of the people on whom nothing is lost!”
12) What’s next up for you, writing-wise?
I’m working on a new manuscript titled Daughters, a series of persona poems that reimagine characters from mythology, folklore, fairy tales, and pop culture from the perspective of their daughters—characters such as Bigfoot, the Mad Hatter, Medusa, and Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. Taking on such topics as aging, rebellion, loss, abuse, and judgment, the voices of Daughters aim to turn the reader’s conceptions of the characters on their ends and throw light upon what it means for a girl to come out from under her parents as a woman of her own making.
13) If you could do anything over again, would you and what would it be?
I would travel before having children. I would love to see Ireland in particular.
14) What advice would you give beginning writers?
Find a writing group or partner, develop your writing discipline, and read, read, read!
15) Something we don’t know about you?
I have a soft spot for rescuing feral cats.
And, what would you like us to know about your latest release?
Both of my books were released in 2012. Info on those is at http://brittneycorrigan.com/. A sample poem from Daughters can be found at http://brittneycorrigan.com/poetry/daughter-poems/. Published poems available online and forthcoming can be found at http://brittneycorrigan.com/about/publications/.
For more information about Brittney visit http://brittneycorrigan.com/ or https://www.facebook.com/Brittney-Corrigan-Writer-293186861938/?fref=ts
Do You Blog?
The first thing an agent, editor, or publisher asks a writer is, “Do you have a blog?”
Blog, you say. What is a blog? Why do I need a blog?
Social Media and WordPress Consultant Barb Drozdowich wants to tell you. She just released her book The Essential Marketing Tool for Authors: Book Blog Tour, a helpful guide in making sense of all the shoulds, woulds, and coulds.
Barb has taught in colleges, universities, and in the banking industry. More recently, she brings her 15+ years of teaching experience and a deep love of books to help authors develop the social media platform needed to succeed in today’s fast evolving publishing world. She owns Bakerview Consulting and manages the popular blog, Sugarbeat’s Books, where she talks about Romance – mostly Regency.
She is the author of six books and over twenty YouTube videos all focused on helping authors and bloggers. Barb lives in the mountains of British Columbia with her family.
I am so happy to have Barb Drozdowich here today. Please ask her lots of questions about blogging, and just in case you already know Barb, here are some things you may not know.
Fifteen things you may not know about Barb Drozdowich
Why did you become a Writer? How did you get started?
I’ve always been required to write quite a bit in my various jobs. After doing a survey of book bloggers in 2013, I decided I needed to publicize the results – to create a bit of a summary to accompany the results and make it available to anyone who was interested. The best way to do that was by creating something to publish on Amazon. As I created a summary of the results, I decided to make the book so much more. There was and is a lack of understanding of the role book bloggers can play in the promotion of books and I decided to use the book to be a comprehensive guide rather than just survey results. This first book, The Author’s Guide to Working with Book Bloggers started what would become a series of 6 books all aimed at helping authors and bloggers with various technical subjects.
What is your writing routine? How do you discipline yourself to keep at it?
I have a house with young children, so my writing fits into whatever spare time I can find. And sadly, I’m not very disciplined but I respond really well to deadlines. 🙂 I can produce an amazing amount of material just in the nick of time. I think that will be my reality, until the kids are grown.
How many drafts before you feel the book is finished?
I create a rough draft that is hopefully pretty complete in terms of content and fire it off to some wonderful beta readers. I get them to tell me if the content is complete, and whether or not it is understandable. Usually they have some changes that they feel need to be made. Once I make the changes that my beta readers suggest, I fine-tune the language and grammar and I then send the book to my outstanding editor. She typically does two rounds of editing followed by proofreading and we are good to publish.
What was the best thing that happened with regard to your writing career? The worst?
The best thing that has happened to me because of my writing is getting notes from authors thanking me – helping them to understand the subjects I cover. I haven’t had a worst yet. Even the critical reviews that I’ve gotten have been well balanced and constructive – no trolls yet!
What part of your job do you love the most? Hate or dislike the most?
I LOVE working with authors. My background is as a technical trainer and I can easily break down technical subjects and explain them in a way that non-technical people can understand.
I’m a voracious reader and anything I can do to help authors sell more books, write more books, I’m happy to do! Often authors spend writing time trying to figure out the various technical tasks that they need to do as part of their job. If I can help them understand various tasks or help them do things more efficiently, they have more time to write books – it’s a win-win for us both.
What do you like to read? Do you read while working on a book? Favorite authors?
I always have a book or two on the go. My genre of preference is Historical Romance and I have many favorite authors! I read a lot of technical information to help me stay on top of my regular work so the escapism of romance helps me shut my brain down at the end of a busy day.
What was the best advice you received as a writer? The worst?
The best advice is to keep writing. I haven’t really gotten any bad advice. I’m often the one that is explaining why advice is bad that authors get from other sources. 🙂
Who has influenced you the most in terms of developing your personal writing style?
My biggest influence is my mom, hands down. She’s now a retired English teacher with a wicked red pen – literally – she’s old school with pen and paper and is militant about proper grammar and sentence structure. She was the first person who saw a lot of my writing and there was a sea of red ink at the beginning. I’m learning. 🙂 Now she has to hunt to find something for her red pen.
Do you have a good luck charm or superstition?
No. I’m not really a superstitious person.
If you weren’t a writer, what would you be?
I think I would still be a technical trainer and a voracious reader!
What quote or personal saying do you live by?
I really like two sayings: “Do onto others as you would have them do unto you” and “It is what it is…”
What’s next up for you, writing-wise?
I currently have a box set (combination of the Book Blog Tour book and my Author Platform book) in proofreading and my Book Blogger Platform book is in formatting and should be available any day now. I have a re-write of my Goodreads for Authors book in the hands of some beta readers and I am currently polishing my new book “Blogging for Authors,” in preparation of submitting it to my editor. There should be quite a bit published in the first half of this year.
If you could do anything over again, would you and what would it be?
I don’t think I would do anything over again. I feel that things happen for a reason and whether it is a good experience or a bad experience, I have learned from everything. The sum of my experiences has made me the person I am today.
What advice would you give beginning writers?
Everyone else will tell them to keep writing – which is very true. From my point of view, I would encourage them to create a platform – create a community of friends and supporters that will help with the marketing side of writing a book!
Something we don’t know about you?
My favorite job of all time was working at Toronto’s Metro Zoo driving the trains.
And: What would you like us to know about your latest release?
My latest release is me explaining Book Blog Tours from the point of view of an author as well as the point of view of a book blogger. There is a lot of misunderstanding out there about Tours, and I have written this book to cover all aspects of tours and clear up all the misconceptions. This is a second edition book. In this edition, I have added quite a bit on DIY tours as many authors prefer to set up their own tours.
to learn more about Barb go to :
Author Website: http://barbdrozdowich.com
Business Blog: http://bakerviewconsulting.com
Facebook Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/BarbDrozdowichAuthor
Twitter: http://twitter.com/sugarbeatbc
Google+: https://plus.google.com/110824499539694941768/posts
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/sugarbeatsbooks/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7234554.Barb_Drozdowich
YouTube Channel: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCSgVt36XlVAHWj5dkSd0Zyw
Tech Hints Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/DfCRj
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Barb-Drozdowich/e/B00EN3CIDM/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_2?qid=1437240887&sr=1-2
Barb, thanks for joining us today, and thanks for all you to do help writers!
Transitioning – Hello 2016
December 31, 2015
While everyone is celebrating New Year’s Eve I’m taking a moment to reflect on the last twelve months. In one short year so much has happened. Weddings. Graduations. Illnesses. Deaths. Loss. Relocation. I might be tempted to write a sappy blog about the highs and lows of a hellish year, but all I feel is gratitude.
Tonight as I tip my champagne glass at the television, I say to my husband, “Just once I’d like to do that.”
He stares blankly at the TV. “What?”
“Watch the ball drop at Times Square.”
He turns toward me. “Really.”
No, I guess not. That’s a lot of people. Over a million, the commentator claims. People yelling and pushing and probably exhausted from standing in line for thirteen hours to save a spot. But there really was a time when I would have stayed up all night to join that crowd and welcome in the New Year, to dance and sing with Frank Sinatra, “New York, New York.”
But not anymore. If I were to make that trip today I would be jet-lagged and ill. The change in altitude would rev up my Meniere’s disease sending my head spinning. Nonetheless, it would have been an exciting way to welcome in 2016.
This time last year I was sitting with family in a vacation rental near Moolack Beach. We call it our Griswold Family Christmas. Most of us were sick. To make matters worse a valve in the holding tank was broken. Baby Ellie was sick. So were her parents. There was an ocean full of water outside but inside there was not a drop to drink. Twice we drove into Newport for water. We bought all the bottled water Thriftway carried, then hit up Safeway and Fred Meyer’s. In more ways than one it was the Christmas from hell. We tried to laugh, but we were miserable and ready to go home. By 10 p.m. we were all in bed, our plans to celebrate the New Year abandoned.
Fast forward a year and once again I have an opportunity to welcome in the New Year on the Oregon Coast. But this time I’m eating fresh crab and sipping champagne. There is no vacation rental; there is no broken valve. There is plenty of fresh water. This year our family Christmas was awesome instead of a disaster. Celebrating with our son and family in Happy Valley we baked cookies, beaded snowflakes, and drove into Portland to see the lights at Peacock Lane as well as the red and green lights on the bridge. We celebrated the Winter Solstice at Milwaukie’s Riverfront Park, sang carols, drank hot chocolate around a huge bonfire, and watched the fire reflect in the water. Everything was magical; it truly felt like Christmas.
That Griswold Christmas seems a long time ago. So much has changed. Now when I open my front door I hear the ocean instead of traffic. While friends in Idaho bundle up against single digit temperatures and inches of snow, the ground in my front yard has yet to freeze.
“Happy New Year.” I clink my husband’s glass as he heads off to bed. It’s 9 p.m. We’re not going to make it to midnight.
Welcome to Newport I hum as Kathy Griffin and Cooper Anderson razz each other at Times Square. I laugh at one of their jokes. The camera zooms in on the ball. The crowd behind them cheers.
I tip my glass toward the TV and finish my champagne. I am warm. I am happy. I am safe.
I turn off the television and put Emily, Riley, and Boo to bed. “Happy New Year,” I pat them on their heads as I retire. They waggle their tails. I turn out the lights.
I am filled with gratitude.
I am filled with awe.
I am humbled.
Transitioning – Welcome to Winter
When I moved from Idaho to Oregon my biggest fear was how well I would adapt to the wet climate. I’m a sunshine girl. I’ve spent most of my life living on a high desert plain. I know about wind. I know about dry air. But I knew nothing about wet and gray. That nagging voice in my head kept harping, You’re not going to like it. You’re not going to like it.
But this week as I watch the temperatures in Jerome, Idaho, drop to below zero, I’m not so sure. Here in South Beach it’s a misty 52°. Last night temperatures dipped to 45, not 18. This week I didn’t have to wake to -1°. And yesterday I was able to get outdoors and take a walk between raindrops without snow boots and gloves. The air was fresh; the roads were wet, but not icy. And this is December.
Idaho Decembers can be treacherous, especially the first snowfall and freeze. Cars run off the freeway, pileups happen, summoning a parade of tow trucks until people slow down. December in Oregon is also dangerous. There may not be snow on the road, but there is plenty of freezing rain. You can drive along at normal speed and then bam! you round a corner and hit ice. I’ve had my share of driving winter roads. I know how to maneuver. But between you and me, I prefer snow-covered to ice. Ice is impossible, even with chains.
So though some thing’s change, some things stay the same. It’s winter, and time to take it easy. Maybe it’s nature’s way of telling us to slow down and enjoy the season.
My life in seven years.
#14. Your life in 7 years.
What’s that you ask? My life in seven years? Hmm. What will my life look like or what will have transpired between 2015 and 2022?
The first thing that comes to mind. Will I still be walking Earth when I turn seventy-two? What’s that you say? I have a fifty-fifty chance? Hmm.
My mother passed at age 63 of causes unknown but suspected relating to high blood pressure and hypertension. She died sometime in the night and from the drugs found on the kitchen counter, the coroner suspects she may have had some pain that sent her in search of her meds. A heart attack, maybe. No autopsy, so we’ll never know. The last year of her life wasn’t so great, being married to an alcoholic who broke her arm the day before Thanksgiving. Still, she loved him in that way women do when they settle. I suppose she was as happy in her relationship as she allowed herself to be. I suppose she was content to spend hours on the sofa crocheting while she watched TV.
My father died at age 78 from complications related to kidney failure. The last week of his life was filled with excruciating pain and I remember him popping pain killers like M & Ms. They didn’t help and there’s no doubt that his passing gave him nothing but relief.
Which brings me back to the question and me sitting here talking with you. Where will I be, what will I be doing the next seven years?
Turning sixty-five was no big deal for me emotionally. In my head I’m still forty. But in the United States sixty-five means Medicare and at my age that’s a milestone because, unlike some of my friends who have aged well, I have struggled with an autoimmune disease and Ménière’s for more than twenty years. I know the meaning of a good day; I don’t have them often. With any chronic illness there are days when you would just rather stay in bed buried deep under the blankets because sleep provides the only comfort, until it doesn’t. What’s that you ask? What’s all this mopey talk about death, pain, and dying? Let me explain.
Time has always been a huge issue with me. Never enough time to read, to work on projects, to take that special vacation, to enjoy my surroundings. Three years ago one of my writing buddies succumbed to cancer. She was writing her memoir and excited about sharing it with the world. By exploring her past she was changing. Acknowledging the wrongs she endured opened her up. She was happier, more friendly, more excited about facing tomorrow. When she passed, still hoping to finish that memoir that explained what it felt like to be the younger sister to a mentally ‘retarded’ brother—her word, not mine—it broke my heart, and I will always remember her as someone who left this earth too soon with work undone. But I suppose that applies to most of us.
What’s that you say? I’m rambling and avoiding the question? Hmm. Perhaps, but I don’t think so. A college professor once posed the question, “Would you like to know when you are going to die?” I was taking a literature in the Bible class. He was staunch Catholic. A few students said, yes, they wanted to know so they could prepare. Others like me had no desire to know.
Here’s the thing. I just made a major life-changing move. Nothing about it was easy even though in my heart I had already left my current home with visions of how wonderful my new home and surroundings would be. Major life-altering realities tornadoed around me, not the least of which were leaving behind specialists who had cared for my husband and me most of our adult lives.
But life is fluid. It ebbs and flows, and when it doesn’t you begin to die. Like my mother. Like my father. Like my writing buddy who was just learning to love herself. Life is not stagnate. You keep moving or you start to decay.
So, you say. Get to the point.
My life in seven years. Yes, I can give you a bucket list.
- See New York, Times Square, and the Statue of Liberty.
- Publish three more novels.
- Take a European vacation with my husband, my son and his wife.
I know how to make lists. I used to do it all the time. In five years I want to be retired. In ten years I want to visit Spain. But I don’t really expect my life to look like that. With any luck it will look like my life today. Ticking away too fast. Reminding me to declutter. Reminding me to let go of things that don’t really matter. Pushing me to follow a new path and challenging me to enjoy the journey.
But here’s the truth. At this moment, with my dogs cuddled at my side and a pen in my hand, I can think of nothing else I need or want. I can think of nowhere else I’d rather be, not even seven years from now.
Transitioning — I ♥ Newport
Yesterday I received an email from my brother. So, it said, do you still like it there?
Let me think.
I’m headed into the third month in my new house. The boxes are unpacked. Everything has been put away or donated to Goodwill. Most of the pictures are on the wall, with the remaining three in a dining room chair waiting for me to find the perfect place. Finally there is time to take a walk through the wooded neighborhood or sit in front of the window and sip coffee. Finally there is time to take in some community events, which are many.
In spite of the loud clothes my husband sports, we are quiet people. We don’t like a lot of hustle and bustle or big crowds. Newport is anything but quiet during the summer months, but come September vacationers return to their homes and things settle down here. But not too much. In fact, not at all. We’ve discovered there is always something to do on the Oregon Coast. From Lincoln City to Florence, there is always something going on: farmer’s markets, mushroom walks, kite festivals, writing workshops, woodworking classes. This is not a community of old people. This town is very active.
Newport isn’t as big as Jerome, Idaho, which boasts approximately eleven thousand people. Newport has a population of about ten thousand after tourist season. Newport has a great medical facility and the library is awesome for such a small town. Just this week the Newport Public Library Foundation sponsored author Marja Mills, who spent her day talking to Newport students and then, that night, read from her book and shared with the community what it was like to live next door to Alice and Harper Lee in Monroeville, Alabama. The evening was interesting, and it was free.
Today the sun is shining. Outdoors it’s a balmy 50 degrees. There is no wind. There is no snow. There is no freeway traffic.
So, to answer my brother. Yes, I still like it here. No, wait, that’s wrong. I not only like it here, I think I’m in love.
Things That Go Burp in the Night
I am pleased to have as my guest today Kathleen Irene Paterka and to participate in the blog tour for her new book, Secrets of The Royal Wedding Chapel. Kathleen is an Amazon bestselling author of numerous women’s fiction novels including Fatty Patty, Home Fires, Lotto Lucy, and For I Have Sinned. While her novel The Other Wife is set in Chicago, Secrets of the Royal Wedding Chapel takes place in Las Vegas. Kathleen lives in Northern Michigan with her husband Steve, where she is busy working on her next James Bay novel. Today we are talking about Halloween. Please help me welcome Kathleen.
Things That Go Burp in the Night
Halloween is a great time for ghosts and goblins, freaks and frights, spooks and scares, and things that go burp in the night.
Burp? Wait, was that a typo? Didn’t I mean ‘things that go bump in the night’?
Nope, I meant burp. As in: I spent all of my post-trick-or-treat Halloween nights burping from all the candy I gobbled up. Trick-or-treating door-to-door has been a staple of American tradition for as long as I can remember. When I was a kid, the focus on Halloween was all about trick-or-treating. Halloween has since been hijacked by adults, and is now the second most popular holiday of the year (Christmas remains #1). Spooky decorations and adult-themed Halloween parties gain in popularity every year. But kids still love trick-or-treating. FREE CANDY! What’s not to love about free candy?
I ate a lot of candy when I was a kid, and Halloween was one of my favorite nights of the year. We used to carry pillow sacks to haul around the candy we collected. Pillow sacks were great; they didn’t break like the regular brown paper sacks from the grocery store. At the end of our trick-or-treating night, my sister and I would dump our pillow sack hauls all over the living room rug and sort through our candy. I usually ignored the candy corn, the wrapped hard candy, the individual Hershey kisses, and went straight for the hard stuff: the little candy bars, especially Butterfingers. I’d devour each and every one of the candy bars before I went to bed. And then the burping began.
So did the overeating.
Back then, I wasn’t worried about calories. I was eating the candy as fast as I could. And guess what happened? I gained weight. As in, I was one of the chubby kids. A plump baby, a chubby kid, and a fat teenager. By the time I graduated from high school, I weighed 300 lbs. Granted, when you’re 5’11” like I am, it’s easier to carry the weight… but people still noticed. Most of all, I noticed. And I hated myself for being fat. I swore to myself that someday, once I lost the weight, I’d write a book about what it felt like to live fat in a thin world.
It took some years before I managed to achieve those goals. First I had to lose the weight. Part of it (most of it) happened while I was in college. I met my future husband, we married, and eventually had a daughter. Life was good… if you were on the outside looking in. But from my viewpoint (inside, looking out), I was still messed up. I couldn’t deal with the constant dieting, the yo-yo binge eating. Here’s how bad things got: when our daughter was little and would go trick-or-treating, I’d ‘steal’ her Halloween candy after she went to bed. “Who ate my candy?” she’d ask the next morning when she checked her stash. “You must have done it before you went to sleep,” I’d reply. Do you know what it feels like, lying to your own child? The guilt kept me eating. I couldn’t tell my daughter the truth. I couldn’t even tell myself the truth. I ‘played’ with an extra 35 lbs. And finally, one day, after I grew sick and tired of being ‘sick and tired’, I finally said, “No more.”
That was the day – May 29, 1989 – when I turned my back on sugar. That was the end of my Halloween candy binges. And that was the day I started writing the book that had been in my heart for years.
Fatty Patty was my debut novel. It’s the story of Patty Perreault, an overweight school teacher who’s been looking for love at the bottom of a cookie bag all her life. When one gorgeous hunk of a man takes up residence behind the desk of the adjoining 5th grade classroom, Patty decides it’s time for some serious dieting. Add an overweight accountant with romance on his mind to the mix cooks up a recipe for a dieting and dating disaster. Patty needs to learn to put down the fork and give her heart a try if she ever hopes to become the woman she wants to be …emotionally and physically.
Does Patty figure out how to put down the fork? I’ve included an excerpt from the novel for you to see how she struggles with food. Patty loves her chocolate. Saying ‘no’ isn’t easy. Putting down the fork isn’t easy. It’s simple, but it’s not easy. But for today, I’m here to tell you that putting down the fork made a huge difference in my life. I lost the extra pounds 27 years ago, and they no longer haunt me like ‘candy-ghosts-of-Halloweens-past’. No more burping my way through Halloween (or any other holidays). I’m free of food obsession. I can wheel my cart down the candy aisle of the grocery store without being afraid of what might happen. Not only am I sane and happy, I’ve also written five other novels; my latest book, Secrets of the Royal Wedding Chapel, is an October 2015 Booktrope Editions release. For today, I’m living a life beyond my wildest dreams, and every day is worth it.
Halloween candy tastes good, and gives you a sugar high… but nothing tastes as good as being high on life.
Excerpt from Fatty Patty:
I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, I don’t do drugs. If chocolate is like a drug, I probably qualify for Chocoholics Anonymous. But first, I’d have to be willing to give it up. Which I’m not. I’m not an addict. Besides, everyone deserves a treat now and then. And I’ve been good for so long—how many days now?— and I’ve only lost four pounds.
Tyler offering me that cookie on the playground earlier this morning started the ball rolling. All day long, I couldn’t let go of the thought of chocolate. And instead of hitting the pool on my way home from school, I detoured to an out-of-the-way party store on the other side of town where I grabbed a six-pack of my favorite candy bars. Why? There’s got to be a reason. But at the time, I didn’t want to think about the why. I didn’t want to think, period.
I just wanted the chocolate.
The first candy bar was gone as soon as I hit the car, before I even fastened my seatbelt. I barely tasted it as it slid down my throat and it only whetted my appetite for more. I ripped into the lush caramel and rich dark chocolate of the second one as I nosed the car out of the parking lot. I gnawed through the third wrapper with my teeth as I pulled into traffic.
And now that Priscilla’s finally off to bed, the other three are waiting.
I creep up the stairs, school bag in hand, and slip through my bedroom door. I throw the lock, then flop on the bed in the darkness. Moonlight filtering through the window is my only witness as I peel the wrapper off the fourth candy bar, settle back in the pillows and savor the lush sweetness filling my mouth. I’ve deprived myself far too long. The second gooey bite is even better than the first. Chocolate bliss. I’ve died and gone to heaven.
Polishing off the fifth candy bar takes a little longer. The craving is gone and I force myself to finish. I’m in no rush to unwrap the sixth candy bar. My stomach feels queasy. Maybe it would be better to stash it somewhere and save it for later. But if I don’t eat it now, that one last candy bar will be staring me in the face tomorrow morning… a big gooey reminder of what I’ve done. I rip off the wrapper and stare at the chocolate. Tomorrow, I promise myself. Starting tomorrow, I’ll put myself on a brand new diet. Starting with breakfast.
Food. Ugh. My stomach lurches and I drop the candy bar. My breath reeks of chocolate and I stumble into the tiny bathroom off my bedroom. I use my toothbrush like a weapon, attacking the enemy sugar on my teeth, scrubbing away the contraband. I swish water back and forth under my tongue, around my teeth, spit it in the sink. Somehow I find the courage to face myself in the mirror. It’s not a pretty picture. Hollow, bloodshot eyes; mascara staining my face. I don’t recognize this person.
What is wrong with me? Why in God’s name did I do this? What happened to my resolve? What happened to my dreams of being thin?
What would Nick think if he saw me like this?
No more chocolate. Never again.
I pull off my clothes, drop them in a heap on top of the bathroom scales. Pulling a cotton nightgown over my head, I shuffle back into the bedroom, flop on my bed, and set the alarm. School again tomorrow. If only I didn’t have to go.
If only…
If only I hadn’t given in. Why did I crack? Now I have to start all over again.
What a horrible feeling.
But not as horrible as knowing when tomorrow dawns, there’ll still be that one leftover candy bar taunting me from the bedside table. Suddenly I grab it, crinkle the wrapper around the candy so I won’t smell the chocolate, then toss it in the trash, burying it under some used Kleenex and an old magazine.
I hit the light and try to settle down. Nick’s face dances in the darkness. What is it with him? Why is he being so nice to me? I don’t know anything about men. The three guys I dated in college turned out to be losers. So what do I do now? I’ve never chased a guy in my life. And Nick isn’t just any guy. He’s gorgeous and available—the type who attracts women wherever he goes. Nick is in the big leagues and way beyond my reach.
Isn’t he?
I punch the pillow and flop on my side. If only I looked like Priscilla. If only I could lose ten pounds. If only I had the courage to try.
But I’ll never find it if I don’t get myself back on track.
And back on a diet.
Brand new diet. Brand new beginning. Brand new me.
Starting tomorrow.
I sit up straight in bed. Damned if I want to wake up tomorrow, knowing that last candy bar is hanging around to haunt me.
I fumble through the wastebasket in the darkness. My fingers snag the wrapper, then curl around the candy. I take one bite, force down another. The craving is gone. I’ve already brushed my teeth and the chocolate tastes like chalk. I choke down the last bite, throw away the wrapper, and head back into the bathroom for one more bout with my toothbrush.
This hasn’t been the best day. I’ve broken my diet, upset Priscilla, shamed myself… and all for what? Why did I buy that chocolate in the first place? It’s not like I even wanted it.
What I really wanted was cookies…
Thanks for stopping by, Kathleen. I love the pictures.
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Transitioning . . . Trial and Error
September 1, 2015
The boxes have arrived and I’ve started the daunting task of putting things away. This is the third major move for me, and by far, feels like the hardest. At the Idaho house, I knew where everything was. If I needed a jar of peaches, all I had to do was walk outside to the pantry in the three-bay shop. If I needed a roll of string or a nail, I knew they were in the bottom drawer in the laundry room. Easy peasy. Here, in Oregon, not so much.
Here there is no pantry in the shop. Here the shop consists of a one-car garage crammed with my husband’s yet to be situated table saws, hammers, and routers. Here there is no bottom drawer in the laundry room. In fact, there are no drawers in the laundry room, which is half the size of the laundry room left behind in Idaho.
True, the house in Oregon is larger, a triple wide modular home instead of a double. With vaulted ceilings and an extra living room I can convert into an office, freeing up one of the bedrooms so the grandkids don’t have to sleep on the floor. The Oregon house sits on half an acre instead of ten, and it’s three minutes from the ocean instead of a noisy freeway. In Idaho, I could hear the din of traffic twenty-four hours a day. Here it is the ocean, which is a sound I recorded to fall asleep, and a sound I listen to to write. One “white noise” replaces another, but this white noise is nicer, and here I don’t mind being outside.
It isn’t the outside that is tricky though. It’s the inside, and the cupboards, and where to put everything. The bedrooms and bathrooms aren’t too hard, towels and sheets go in closets, as do the clothes. We were ruthless in downsizing, and here everything fits. No extra blankets to store under the bed. No extra shoes taking up space. Our packing motto, “use it or lose it,” paid off. There isn’t a lot of extra stuff looking for a home.
But it’s the kitchen that’s giving me fits. Yes, I have more cupboards in this kitchen. But they are arranged differently than those in Idaho. There’s a long floor to ceiling cupboard I can use as a pantry. But it’s so deep I have to be careful what I put in the back. And there’s a small cupboard by the stove instead of the double one I am used to that held all my spices.
Moving is like being on an adventure. Open this door, what will you find? And that’s what I’ve been doing for weeks as I adapt to my new home. What doesn’t work so well in one cupboard gets moved to another. What doesn’t get used every day gets moved off the kitchen counter. As I move things around, I feel like I’m spinning, and I’ll be glad when this “moving” part ends.
Moving at any age is hard, but it takes a toll on someone in their sixties. At times I feel like I am playing hide and seek. Like today. It’s time for lunch and I have no idea where I put the salt. I see I put the butter in the cupboard. Hopefully I won’t find the salt in the refrigerator.
Transitioning . . . Welcome to Oregon
August 8, 2015
The dutiful son and I leave Happy Valley and merge with traffic heading south on I-5. It’s early enough roads aren’t crowded, and no one is tired and enacting road rage. I’ve driven this road before, several times, and the good thing about I-5 is that it’s a straight shot to Salem, no twisty turns to slow the pace.
We take exit 228 toward Lebanon and Corvallis and begin the windy drive toward the coast. According to mapquest, the trip to Newport is 139 miles. By comparison, a trip from Jerome to Boise, Idaho, a 120-mile drive, would take less than two hours. But here the trip takes almost three as the single-lane road winds at a slow 50, 55-mile pace. Idaho recently raised the freeway speed limit to 80 miles an hour, which makes sense in southern Idaho where there isn’t anything to destroy but desert. Here you couldn’t drive 80 miles an hour if you wanted to, not when curves warn “slow down,” and there are almost as many curves as trees. But the drive is beautiful, and every time I make it I think of Lewis and Clark and how primeval everything must have been 200 years ago. Even now, if road crews didn’t trim back foliage, the blackberries, deer fern, and juniper mistletoe would devour the road, and I would be searching for a way through the forest.
I roll down my window and enjoy the pine-scented air. Back in Idaho temperatures are three digits, here it is cooler, and where I am going the average daily temperature is 64 degrees. That’s part of the reason for this move: no more harsh winters and no more blistering summers. But that’s a lie. The reason for this move is simple. I love the ocean. I want to live on the coast.
It seems like fall, and I’m surprised at how the colors are already changing to red and yellow. It’s the drought my son says when I comment. It’s hard to believe this lush land is experiencing a drought, not with all the green around me. But there are signs everywhere with dead trees and straw-colored grass. And I understand drought. In Idaho, everything is brown and much of the terrain is on fire.
I have a lot to learn about this state that supports the right to die, medicinal marijuana, and mandatory recycling. This green state meshes with my personality. I believe in leaving a light footprint, if I must leave one at all. And I love to play in the dirt. My Idaho friends have placed bets. How long will it be before I put my nose in a nursery? Surprisingly, my list is small: star jasmine, blue hydrangea, peace lilies, and a white magnolia, none of which survive harsh Idaho winters.
Even before I pull into Newport, I smell the salt air. I inhale. It’s comforting, and welcoming, and feels like home.
Transitioning . . . So Long, Idaho
August 6, 2015
Papers signed, money spent, and I’m headed to Oregon. At 6:30 a.m. I drive down the lane that leads away from my home in Jerome, Idaho, and try to focus my sleep-blurred eyes. Even though I’ve been awake most of the night waiting for the minutes to pass, I’m sleepy, and reluctant to go. I kiss my husband goodbye and wish that he could come along on this journey. But he has to stay in Idaho to tend the ten acres we call Pauly’s Folly until it sells, and I have to establish our new home in Oregon. This isn’t a new story; many couples commute long distance, but it is a new story for us. In forty-five years of marriage, this is the longest time we will spend apart.
Driving slowly, I attempt to take it all in. Goodbye linden and lilacs. So long walnuts and apples. The squirrels and magpies get to enjoy you this year without interference from me. I let my eyes scan the ten acres. If all goes as planned this is the last time I will drive down this lane.
Once I leave Pauly’s Folly, I pack away my reminiscences and get down to business. I have an 8:40 appointment with the Boise Airport. My son is flying in to help drive the many miles toward my new home.
There is no word for what I’m feeling. Not bittersweet, not lost. Not even afraid. More apprehensive than excited, a little bit void like an abandoned chrysalis. This trip might feel different if I weren’t making it alone, and technically I’m not alone; I have my three rescue dogs riding in the back seat. But they can’t sing to pass the time, and they can’t tell me that I’m doing the right thing, so I flip on a CD and sing as loud as I can with Taylor Swift as I head toward the ocean.
I know the road to the Boise Airport better than I know my own name and with any luck I won’t have to travel across this high desert plain again any time soon. I won’t miss the dusty miles of sagebrush, or the wash-boardy road between Mountain Home and Boise. I won’t miss the semis zooming by, or the giant windmills scarring the landscape. But I might miss the Snake River and Three Island Crossing near Glenns Ferry. And maybe the rock shop my friend had in King Hill where we dreamed of holding writing workshops in one of the rooms upstairs.
My son waves when I pull up to the terminal, and says, “Get over.” I happily relinquish the driver’s seat.
“Ready?” he asks as we leave the terminal and take I-84 to Ontario. We are lucky this morning. Yesterday this highway was closed due to the many wildfires between here and Washington.
“Yup,” I say, as the darkness that has edged my heart lifts a little. Today we will have to take no detours, today is good. Today we fly.
Down the Oregon Trail
Facebook asks, “What’s on your mind” and my first reaction is, “What mind?” Because there have been times in the last month that I feel like I’ve lost my mind, or rather left it in the gutter somewhere between Newport, Oregon, and Jerome, Idaho.
Sixty-five is a golden age, right? Sixty-five is when you retire and take it easy. That’s what I say to the stranger looking back at me in the mirror. The one who decided sixty-five was the perfect age to take on a new adventure.
This mind-blowing escapade wasn’t planned, but a trip to Oregon to celebrate my grandson’s high school graduation turned into a life-altering event. Tack on two extra days to visit the Oregon Coast and thirty days later I’ve signed an offer on a house, and I’m moving to Oregon.
“What?” my friends say in surprise. My closest friend shakes her head in disbelief, and no one is more surprised than I am.
The last time we moved, we moved to be closer to my husband’s work. We bought a place on ten acres, planted fruit trees, and made our home. Everything here has a place. Here everything is comfortable and settled. Apples and peaches are ripening, and soon squirrels will fight over walnuts and filberts. I should be relaxing with a book, or having coffee with friends. Instead, I’m facing mountains of boxes as I plan my move.
Taping a box of dishes shut, I catch myself singing, “Hurry up old pioneer, keep a-movin’, your gallant little band must never fail. Riding side by side ‘cross the great divide, down the Oregon Trail.”
As I sing, I think about the women who made the trek to Oregon over a hundred years ago and how they had to narrow their life into a covered wagon. It’s hard, heart-wrenching work. What to take? What to leave? The task is daunting and often I have to walk away from the packing. I have to take a deep breath and practice meditation to calm my anxiety. Or play a couple hands of spider solitaire, brew a cup of calming tea, and consider a tall gin and tonic.
Moving at any age is scary. But moving at sixty-five feels like nothing I’ve ever done before. Questions ricochet in my head. Am I making the right choice? What about doctors? What about medical insurance? Will I miss Idaho? Will I like the rain?
There is a bright side to my madness. Now, when I want to see my grandkids, I only have to drive two hours instead of ten. Now, when I want to attend a conference in Portland, I don’t have to hassle with airport security. When I want to have a dinner with my son and daughter-in-law, or take in a Broadway musical, I can without having to justify the cost of a two-day trip. And best of all, no more holiday dinners on Skype.
Yesterday a picture came across my Facebook page that said: Stress is two forces moving in opposite directions. Sit still.
I’m going to keep that in mind the next time I feel my head exploding. I’ll take a deep breath, sip a gin and tonic, and try to sit still. But I’ll also be humming, down the Oregon Trail.
Wagon train go rollin’ cross the prairie
Winding onward through the storm and gale
Towards the land of dreams trudge the old ox teams
Down the Oregon Trail
Through the night the Lord is in the saddle
Riding herd beneath the moon so pale
Watching o’er ach stray till the break of day
Down the Oregon Trail
There’ll be cattle on each ranch in Oregon
There’ll be valleys filled with golden grain
There’l be apples on each branch in Oregon
For there’ll be plenty sun and rain
Hurry up old pioneer, keep movin’
Your gallant little band must never fail
Riding side by side ‘cross the great divide
Down the Oregon Trail
-Down the Oregon Trail by Burl Ives
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