One Lovely Blog Award

My friend and fellow author, Ginger Simpson, surprised me with the One Lovely Blog Award yesterday. She made the announcement on her blog, Dishin' It Out.

I was really touched by the reason she chose me and this is what she wrote about me: A great friend and confidante, and a very smart lady. She has some amazing articles on her site. Maryann is one of those people who comes into your life for a purpose, and she's certainly served hers well in mine.

So it is with the same gratitude that I pass this award to three authors who have enriched my life with their friendship and support.

Helen Ginger -- who has a terrific blog and newsletter packed with helpful information for writers. She is so generous with her time and expertise, and I really admire her for that. She is also a terrific editor.

Dani Greer -- another lady who shares her expertise graciously and frequently. She was the founder of The Blood Red Pencil blog, and can also be found at Blog Book Tours blog. I also chose Dani because she so appreciates my humor.

Morgan Mandel -- I chose Morgan primarily because I admire her courage in publishing her own book, Killer Career. Not only did she take the publishing bull by the horn, so to speak, she did so with an attention to detail and professionalism that I respect greatly. She shares advice, resources, and book reviews on her blog.

All three of these ladies also manage to do more in 24 hours than most people I know. I stand in awe of all of them. So ladies, I pass the honor along to you.

Here are the rules:

1) Accept the award, and don’t forget to post a link back to the awarding person.
2) Pass the award on.
3) Notify the award winners.

Guest Blooging Today

I'm a guest today at the blog for Backspace.org, which is a site filled with good articles, resources and advice for writers. The blog site is called and my topic today is tenacity.

A long time ago I learned that tenacity is as important for success as a writer as talent. So many writers get discouraged and give up, and I understand the temptation. The rejections, the steep uphill climb to get published, the demands of promoting, and all the other not-so-glamorous aspects of the writing game can wear anyone down.

I have been lucky to know some writers who have persevered despite even greater challenges, and their examples have kept me going when I was ready to throw in the towel.

Change of Pace - A book Review

Thought I would share with you a review I did for a book that was released early this past spring. River of the Arms of God was written by Irene Sandell, who is a retired Texas History teacher in the Dallas area. This is her second novel, and it was just nominated for the 2009 Willa Award, given by Women Writing the West.

River of the Arms of God is a story of two women held against their will in the harsh Texas frontier. Sarah is held by Eli along the Butterfield Stage Line in the mid 1800s, and a hundred years later Kate is the emotional prisoner of a rancher in those same Texas plains. She thought Colby loved her, but he only wanted her to bear him a son. When she failed to provide him one, he lost interest in her.

Against great odds, Sarah manages to survive in the isolated cabin for almost two years and makes a daring escape with her son, Edward. She leaves behind a diary and some stone carvings that Kate eventually finds. Reading about Sarah’s courage gives Kate the courage to demand a divorce.

As the story unfolds, the parallels between the two women become more obvious, as does the emotional connection that Kate makes to Sarah. It is written in a style that captures the look and feel of cattle country in Texas, and the characters are well-drawn and endearing. In introducing Kate, the author explains how she came to call herself that. “The people in Wheeler, Texas, would have been shocked to know that shy Kathryn Rowley had defied her father and chosen her own name. It was her secret and an uncharacteristically rebellious decision on her part. It hinted at strength that even she could not imagine.”

This is an enjoyable tale of two strong women who fight against all odds to escape the tyranny of their men and their circumstances.

---------------

Ms. Sandell is a fourth-generation Texan and has written and produced 16 documentaries on Texas history.

Pretty Flowers

I've been having fun with my camera again. The first flowers pictured here are Mexican Petunias. I have a bunch of them in my back flower bed. I had no idea that they multiplied like bunnies.

The other flower grows wild on vines that stay pretty close to the ground. I have no idea what they are called, but they sure are pretty. Looks almost tropical. They are native to East Texas, so if anyone out there knows the name, do let me know.

Join us in the Blog-A-Thon

There's a Blog-A-Th0n going on at Ginger Simpson's Dishin' It Out blog, where a bunch of us writer-types are talking about promoting. Some good tips being shared there, as well as little touches of humor.

The blog is running all day today, so stop by when you get a chance and see what all the talk is about.

Hope you find something of interest there.

More Nonsense From My Latest Book

Here again is another excerpt from my book in progress A Dead Tomato Plant and a Paycheck. It is a mix of humor and memoir, and this offering is from a chapter "The Silly Things We do."

Enjoy......

While I may not be the brightest intellectual around, I’ve always considered myself intelligent, educated, and capable. As a parent, I’ve handled situations that call for ingenuity, like explaining to a five-year-old what keeps the moon up in the sky -- l told her God glued it up there and figured her teacher could explain all that scientific stuff after she got to school -- and talking my way out of hosting a slumber party for15 young teenage girls.

The fact that I even survived raising the twins speaks for itself.

So, I wonder. Why is it that I can't open a simple "easy to open" package? I faced the most demanding jobs of motherhood from potty training to summer vacation, but I m reduced to a 97-pound weakling at the sight of "press here and pull back along dotted line."

The last time I opened a box of detergent, I had to get a hammer and chisel, and I ended up with soap powder all over the floor and a smashed thumb. It was not a pretty sight, or a pretty sound.

Considering the highly technological society we live in, along with truth in advertising, shouldn't an "easy open" package be just that?

We shouldn't have to wrestle our way through boxes of cereal and individually-wrapped cheese slices.

We shouldn't have to gnaw our way through potato chip bags or get tennis elbow from opening jars of peanut butter.

We shouldn't have to ask the same kid who gave us the blinding headache to open the bottle of aspirin so we can ease said headache.

And we shouldn't have to visit the local blacksmith with our canned ham.

Toning it Down Again

Seems to be a pattern here the last week or so, rant one day, and mellow out a day or so later.

The mellowing is so much better.

Yesterday, my husband noticed this bird standing guard at the nest in the birdhouse. He had seen this bird a number of times fly in and out of the nest and figured there were babies in there.

Sure enough, there are, but even with my telephoto lens -- which I am such a klutz at using I kept losing the birdhouse and would be focusing on our security light pole -- I couldn't get a good shot of the babies. For obvious reasons, I didn't want to get too close.

This morning when I was weeding the flower bed near the birdhouse, I could hear the little peeps. That was so cool. And the guard bird gave me a look that said, "Keep your distance, lady."

The birdhouse is one of several we have around our property, but the only one that is currently occupied. It was a present to my husband, who enjoys the birds a lot, and he has spent quite a bit of time watching this daddy bird tend to his babies.

We're not sure what kind of a bird it is. We think it may be some kind of finch. Do you recognize it?

Another Rant

I hate to go from the fun of talking about pets to another rant, but you know me, I can't help myself.

A proposed bill to ban texting while driving has been all over the news today and reading about it made me stop and wonder why we need a law to tell us not to do something that is so obviously dangerous. Are we all that dense that we can't figure that out for ourselves?

In another part of one of the news stories on CNN, the reporter quoted from a recent study that found that "drivers who text while on the road are much more likely to have an accident than an undistracted driver."

Again, I have to say, "Duh?" Did we have to pay for a study that came to the same conclusion a five-year-old would have for the price of an ice-cream cone?

When I first heard about the study on the national news the other night, I burst out laughing. There was Charles Gibson in all his earnestness giving the story his all, quoting the statistics and issuing the warning. Watching him, I couldn't help but wonder if under the facade of seriousness there wasn't a part of him that found the story as absurd as I did. Of course distracted drivers are going to have more accidents than drivers who are not distracted.

Now I want my ice-cream cone.

Writers and Their Pets

What is it about writers and their pets? I don't know a single author who doesn't have a dog or a cat or some other animal friend who is almost as important in their lives as their people friends. You'll note I said, "almost."

We do keep a distinct line drawn there, although that line sometimes gets a little fuzzy.

While I have not gone to the same extremes as some celebs who carry little dogs in fancy purses and bequeath millions to them in wills, I do love and enjoy my animals.

So do all the authors who are guests on a wonderful blog Pets and Their Authors. The blog is hosted by Amigo, a delightful golden retriever who owns author Mayra Calvani.

My cat, John, is the guest blogger today, so if you are interested he'd love for you to stop by.

Finding Old Friends

I've just recently started re-reading some of William Kent Krueger's books, as well as reading a couple of his newer ones. His books are some that I have enjoyed a lot, but then I'd forget to look for his latest and a few years would go by before I thought of how much I like his work.

In reading Blood Hollow, I realized one of the things I like most about the Cork O'Connor mysteries. They are set in Minnesota, in the land of the Anishinaabe and Ojibwe Indians, and Native American lore and spirituality are an important part of the characters' lives and the stories they are part of.

This morning I read the following passage and found it so fitting for a Sunday -- a day that many people consider holy.

"Whenever Cork entered the deep woods, he knew he was stepping into a sacred place. This was much the same way he'd felt entering the church. It was not just the peace, although it was truly peaceful. It was more than the incense of evergreen all around him and the choir of birds in the branches above and the cushion of the pine needles like a thick carpet under his feet. There was a spirit here so huge it humbled the human heart."

I am not in a deep forest like Cork, but I have felt the same connection to the spirit of the land when I step out into my little "ranch" and see all the beauty around me. It is certainly how I felt when I saw those egrets the other day. What a wonderful gift from God or Mother Earth, or whoever is responsible.

Right or Wrong?

What a tangled mess this whole situation is revolving around the arrest of Harvard Professor, Henry Louis Gates, Jr. at his home in Cambridge. In case you have been on a desert island somewhere for the past week and have not heard the news, Professor Gates was arrested for disorderly conduct by Sgt. James Crowley who was responding to a report of a break in at the house on July 16th.

Since then, the incident has been a topic of debate on national news, radio talk show, and on the Internet. People are weighing in on both sides, including President Obama who said he thought the police acted "stupidly." When he was taken to task for that comment, he defended it on ABC's Nightline, " I think it was a pretty straightforward commentary that you probably don’t need to handcuff a guy, a middle-aged man who uses a cane, who’s in his own home.”

Many people agree with that, and if there were no other factors to consider in the situation, the debate could end there. But on the other side of the coin is a police officer who has a record of being even-tempered, racially sensitive, and one of the highest commended officers on the force.

In Sgt. Crowley's official report, he states that Gates refused to cooperate with him and repeatedly accused him of racism. Allegedly Gates told the officer that he "had no idea who he was messing with" and was so loud that it disrupted Crowley's attempts to give information to dispatch when he was calling in.

So, obviously, this will play out in a case of "he said" "he said" , but what I would like to know is who called in the possible break in? Was it a neighbor who should have recognized Professor Gates as he was entering his own home? What made the neighbor suspicious? Is that where the real problem of racism exists?

This is also an example of how not to respond in a situation like this. It appears that Professor Gates and Sgt. Crowley both let emotions get out of hand. Granted, I'm not sure if I could have kept my cool if a police officer came to my door and started questioning me, especially if that officer brought any kind of attitude with him. But I also know that reason trumps anger every time.

What? No More Sears Tower?

Here's another bit of nonsense from my friend Tracy Farr, who when he is not writing or playing banjo or watching Oprah, drives a school bus.

I know that talking about the Sears Tower in Chicago has absolutely nothing to do with driving a school bus, but Chicago is in America, Sears is an American company, my bus was built by an American company probably using Sears tools, so indirectly, it all makes sense (and if it actually makes sense to you, can you explain it to me later?)

The Sears Tower, one of the most iconic buildings in America, was recently renamed The Willis Tower. The London-based Willis Insurance Company bought the naming rights for the next 15 years, painted a new sign, and that's that. But I don't like it. Why couldn't they have renamed Oprah instead?

Willis is a money-grubbing insurance company. Sears invented Craftman tools. They probably used some Craftman tools to actually build the tower. That alone should have been enough for the tower to retain its name. But I guess in the end, money always prevails.

"And now ladies and gentlemen, if you look out the left side of the bus, you can see The Tower Formerly Known as Sears! Some people call it The Big Willy, but...Oh, look -- there's Oprah!"

The Sears Tower has 110 floors. Willis will only occupy three of those floors. The American law firm of Schiff Hardin already occupies nine. If possession is nine tenths of the law, why aren't we calling it the Schiff Hardin Tower? And why doesn't Schiff Hardin know about "nine tenths"?

Finally, I believe that if foreign companies can come to our country, buy our stuff, rename it to what they like, then we should be able to do the same. We could see the changing of the guard at Sears Palace. We could sing, "The Sears Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down..." We could even listen to Big Sears as it chimes the hour.

Okay, this is just one bus driver's opinion, but the next time I'm in Chicago, I'm not going to let some stinkin' tour guide suggest I go see some stinkin' Willis Tower. I'm going to the Sears Tower. And that's that!

Read more of Tracy Farr's stories at www.busno6.com or www.stinkycreektexas.com

A change of Pace

After yesterday's rant, I decided to mellow out this morning. Got up early and did some gardening, then took my dog for a walk. There's nothing like a brisk walk in the countryside to give you a whole new perspective on life.

Across the road from us is a large meadow where a neighbor grazes his cattle, and the egrets were swarming. What a beautiful sight to see the birds lifting off en masse and then settling again in another part of the meadow.

Good thing I had my camera with me. Now if I could just figure out how to place the
pictures in blogger in some kind of order. :-)

Socialism Taking Over Democracy

Appearing on the NBC's “Meet the Press,” Health and Human Services Secretary Kathleen Sebelius said a tax surcharge on wealthy Americans is one of several options under discussion in Congress to help pay for overhauling the nation’s ailing health system.

That didn't exactly come as a news flash. The "tax the wealthy" option has been bandied about a lot in this whole debate over health care reform and how to pay for it, but this is not a good move. It is just one more step into the quagmire of socialism.

For some people, that might be okay. Let the government take over running everything in our lives, and we just have to sit back and enjoy the benefits. Nothing for us to worry about, right?

Wrong.

What little control we have over things that are important will be lost, and every facet of our lives will be handled with the same care and concern and efficiency as we now enjoy while dealing with the IRS, Medicare, Social Security, Veterans Affairs, and the good old Postal Service. When was the last time you settled an important issue with any of these agencies is a timely and efficient manner?

Reams and reams of documents are created to administer all these fine agencies -- documents rift with rules that cannot be bent, broken, or ignored even when they don't make sense. That means that we are pretty well stuck with whatever the government says, and if we don't like it, too bad.

According to some polls and public commentary, most Americans are in favor of the current health reform plans, as well as the idea of taxing the biggest earners to pay for it, but I question those results. Nobody I know is in favor of a government controlled health system. Nor are they in favor of imposing an unfair tax on a certain group, even though there are some members of that certain group who deserve having something stuck to them.

What do you think?

More From the Road Trip

Back in June I started posting excerpts from my new book and this latest installment is a continuation of the chapter dealing with one of our our family vacations. To read what precedes this click HERE


Everything was peaceful for an hour or so, then the kids started squabbling, which soon deteriorated into full fledged fighting, and parts of the car bingo game were flying around the back of the van. Danielle refused to take a nap, no matter how hard we tried to get her to lie down, so I went to the back of the van to keep game parts from hitting the back of Carl’s head. The twins took that as an open invitation to use me for a trampoline, so considering the noise, the jumping, and the crushed Cheetos all over the mattress, I quickly retreated to the front seat, leaving the mess with the kids.

By lunch time, we were all more than ready to stop for awhile to see if we could straighten our cramped bodies from the sitting position to a standing one. But somehow the kids weren’t nearly as anxious to run around and make noise as they had been in the van. In fact, meal times were the only real quiet times of the whole trip.

When we pulled into another rest area for supper, it was an instant replay of the lunch break. The kids sat quietly at the picnic table, ignoring all the grass that just called for little feet to scamper all over it.

After we finished eating, we tried to get everyone to get one last drink, and go potty so we wouldn’t have to stop again for awhile. No matter haw hard we tried to avoid frequent stops, nobody had to go potty when we needed gas, but fifteen minutes later one of them simply wouldn’t be able to wait another second.

We made two quick stops between six and ten, and then the kids finally fell asleep. Thank you, God.

Of course, at this point, Carl and I were too tired to have a meaningful conversation, and we avoided the music so we wouldn’t disturb the kids.

About midnight, we decided to do a drive-through for a cup of coffee. We realized we were hungry and wanted something other than stale Cheetos, so we decided to get hamburgers, too. We thought if we didn’t turn off the engine the kids would not wake up, but that was a short-lived dream. The cashier had just handed Carl the coffee and burgers when the kids popped up, one at a time like they were all trying to be a jack-in-the-box.

They also appeared to be quite wide awake.

Since we hadn’t planned to get them hamburgers, we tried to hide ours in the front until the kids went back to sleep. But that wasn’t happening.

“What do you have?” David asked.

“Coffee.” I answered. “We need caffeine to stay awake to drive.”

“What else?”

“Uh,,,” Do I lie so I don’t have to explain why we don’t have burgers for them? Or do I try to figure out how to share two sandwiches among seven people? I’m good, but not that good.

“I smell food.” Michael said.

I glanced at Carl for help.

“um… I don’t think so,” he said, hastily dropping his burger in the center console. “Must be your imagination.”

Keeping my eyes straight ahead, I slid the McDonald’s bag to the floor between my feet and leaned my head against the window. Maybe if it looked like I was going to sleep, the kids would take the hint.

Yeah, that would happen about the same time that cats would do what they’re told.

Uncommon Decency

A teenager wrote a letter to the Dallas Morning News recently defending the crassness of the new movie, "The Hangover". She wrote, "In today's American society, which is anything but conservative, it takes more than a dry innuendo to stir up a laugh. Vulgarity is natural and expected. If people are offended, they can choose to stay home."

Not long afterward, David Brooks wrote a column titled In Search of Dignity. He was referencing the code established by George Washington that was comprised of a list of 110 "Rules of Civility and Decent Behavior in Company and Conversation."

Among the many edicts in Washington's code were commands to "endeavor to put national interests above personal interests, never degrade intimate emotions by parading them in public, and to distrust rashness, zealotry, fury and political enthusiasm."

It's not surprising that the teen who wrote that letter hadn't heard of Washington's code. It is all but forgotten in modern society, and we are much poorer as a result. And I do mean that literally. We are a morally bankrupt society, and that debases us on all levels.

Anyone who doesn't believe that the current global financial problems were caused as much by greed as economic factors, raise your hand.

Anyone who doesn't believe that the increase in teen pregnancies is caused in part by a proliferation of movies and television shows that present sex as just another "game" to be enjoyed, raise your hand.

Anyone who doesn't believe that politicians care more about their party and re-election than the good of the people, raise your hand.

I could go on and on, but I think you get the point. I lament the fact that we no longer have a general consensus of right and wrong, civil discourse, or a sense of what is proper behavior in public. As David Brooks put it in his recent column, "Americans still admire dignity, but the word has become unmoored from any larger set of rules or ethical system."

Someone get a rope and tie us back up.

Away From My Office

I always wanted to be able to say that, "Maryann Miller is away from her office." Somehow that makes me sound so much more important than the person who leaves the room to clean a toilet or feed the animals.

But I digress. I'm out of my office today because I'm doing a guest blog at Christine Duncan's Blog . It's a piece about rejection -- as in an editor does not want my work, not a personal rejection. In the business of writing, it is important to make that distinction when an editor says, "Thanks, but no thanks."

If you have a minute and are so inclined, stop by Christine's blog and share with us how you deal with the rejection slips.

Connecting to the Past

For years now members of my family have been telling me that I am a great deal like my paternal grandmother. I knew there were similarities, but the real connection didn't hit me until this morning, when I came in from working in the garden and had a biscuit for breakfast.

Let me explain.

My grandmother, Emma, had a great, huge garden sprawling up the hill in back of her house in West Virginia. Every morning during growing season, she would be out on the hill tending to the garden. She'd sit down on her heels and scootch down a row of beans weeding and picking at the same time. When she got to the end of one row, she'd stand up and stretch, then start down the next row.

In addition to beans, Emma grew tomatoes, peppers, corn, beets and all kinds of greens. She could have set up a vegetable stand in front of her house and made a small fortune. Instead, she canned what she didn't give away. Family and friends always knew where to come for fresh produce.

Emma spent endless hours in her garden, and when she broke for breakfast or dinner, her food of choice was always a biscuit. Not just any old biscuit, but a baking powder biscuit that she could make like no other, except for my Aunt Opal, Emma's oldest daughter.

Accompanying the biscuit for breakfast might be an egg or a piece of fruit. I had mine this morning with a peach. Dinner -- lunch to city folk -- was biscuits and beans. Supper, the biscuit might give way to a pan of cornbread with the beans and a sliced tomato.

Like Emma, I am drawn to the outdoors and to gardening. Even in this Texas heat I am out early in the mornings weeding, watering, trimming, or whatever needs to be done. And I have a pasture to maintain. Grandma never had large animals. Just a few chickens, and they don't leave great gobs of stuff that have to be shoveled and carted off.

My garden isn't as big as hers was, but every time I go out to do some weeding, I think of her. Sometimes I even sit on my heels and try the scootching thing. And this morning when I broke the biscuit into my bowl, the connection to her was so strong it stopped me for a moment.

What an amazing thing to know that people are never really gone forever. Some part of them still lives on through us.

I hope you enjoyed the biscuit, Grandma.

Internet Marketing

More and more authors are turning to Internet marketing for their books. They are doing virtual book tours, blogs, maintaining Web sites, and whatever else they can do to increase visibility on the Web.

This is all well and good, but according to Don McCauley at Free Publicity Group, many authors miss a major component of all this which is making sure that they are consistantly positioned high in search engines.

Some key ideas that he covers in his article are:

1. Over 70% of the population now PREFERS to get their buying information from the engines.
2. However, they do not sit around and wait to get hit with a commercial or an ad. When they go to the Internet, they have ALREADY DECIDED what they might be looking for and intend to purchase
3. They will look for that item using search terms
4. They will only purchase what they are made aware of through these engines
5. If you are not there - for a GENERIC SEARCH TERM, you will be invisible

Remember - your buyers will not Google your name. They will not Google your company name. They will not Google your brand. They will, however, Google words like 'book' or 'kids toys' or some other very generic set of terms.

That's why it is important to use the right keywords and labels on all that we post on the Internet. Anyone have any suggestions as to what has worked well in getting good search engine placement?

The Party's Over

The last of my company left today, so now I have no more excuses for not working. Darn. I sure was enjoying myself. I guess that is one reason that I like having my birthday on the Fourth of July.

I was playing the "It's my birthday" card all weekend until one of our sons reminded us that it was America's birthday, too. And since he is American, he could play that birthday card. Double Darn. .

In addition to lots of company and lots of good food, I got lots of neat presents. New books to read. An exercise mat so I can work off all this good food. Some lotions to make me all soft and pretty, and a new camera.

This is a Nikon Coolpiix P90, so I can no longer blame the quality of the pictures I take for WinnsboroToday.com on the old camera I was using.

One of the neat features this camera has is a setting for taking pictures of fireworks automatically. My daughter has that feature on her camera, too, so Saturday night we shot a whole bunch of pictures as the guys set off the fireworks.

Here are a couple of the better shots I managed.



My husband gave me the camera, and as I was shooting the pictures that night, I realized that he had given me a 35mm camera about 40 years ago, and one of the first things I did with that one was take pictures of fireworks.

I still have those prints in an album, and it was really neat to make that connection from so long ago to the present.

I'm A Yankee Doodle Dandy

Today the United States is celebrating a birthday, and so am I. The country is 233 years old, but I won't tell you my age.

For many years I thought all the parades and fireworks were in my honor, and it was quite a let down when I found out they weren't. To read all about that visit the Blood Red Pencil blog.

I've gotten over that fit of pique, but I still get all misty-eyed and goose-pimply when I hear the Star Spangled Banner and see Old Glory waving in a gentle breeze. And I drive my family nuts by singing "I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy" off and on all day long.

Happy Birthday to Us!!!!

Another Excerpt From My New Book

Some of the readers here who have been following my excerpts from my newest book, expressed a desire to know more about our vacation, so here is the next segment of the chapter: ROAD TRIP - Or Are We There Yet, Papa Smurf....

To read the first part of this chapter, click HERE

By the time school was over for the summer, I’d saved up enough for gas – keep in mind that this was a long, long time ago and it didn’t cost a hundred dollars to fill the gas tank of a van. I even had enough to pay for one or two nights in a motel if I couldn’t talk Carl into camping along the way.

Yeah. Like that was going to happen. Carl has never been an outdoors man. His idea of roughing it is to drive a Winnebago from motel to motel, so it didn’t look promising for the camping idea. But I could talk him into picnics instead of restaurant meals, especially on the way to Michigan. We sure didn’t want to run out of money on the way home. Who wants to be stuck in the middle of Missouri with empty wallets? So my fist was tighter than Mr. Potter’s as we finished planning the trip.

The kids were bouncing off the walls with excitement for the entire week before we left. They made all kinds of plans for how much fun they were going to have, not realizing that hours and hours of riding in the car would precede that fun. The way they talked I’m sure they thought it would only take a half hour to get from Texas to Michigan. A thought I’m sure Carl wished was true. Driving with the kids is not his idea of a good time. Sometimes he doesn’t even fare well with a two-mile trip to church on Sunday.

Finally the day arrived. We packed the van, and created a place in the back for the kids to play, and when the time came, to sleep. (This was long before mandatory seat belts or car seats for kids, and lots of families traveled this way.) We had one bench seat across the very back of the van, and the rest of the space up to the captains’ chairs was empty. That’s where we put a small mattress and several sleeping bags, and all the kids.
We counted heads, to make sure we hadn’t left anyone behind, and headed out. I had this idyllic vision of the kids playing quietly in the back, while Carl and I listened to music and had a meaningful conversation.

Ha.

The kids were wild as Tasmanian devils, and we’d barely gone a mile before I started to wonder if taking five kids on a 1200 mile trip was really such a hot idea. Not to mention the fact that we would have to go another 1200 miles to get home again.

The thought of saying, “Oh, hell, let’s go home and paint the garage” was tempting. But I knew Carl would rag on me forever for changing my mind. Plus, one look at the eager young faces of the kids quelled any thought of abandoning the adventure.

I settled back in my seat, and we went another 30 miles before things got too bad. Then the kids started asking every five minutes if we were going to cross the Mississippi River soon. Then they wanted to know if we were still in Texas. Then they wanted to know if we’d be in Kentucky in time for dinner. We finally told them not to call us, we’d call them.

I Cannot Tell A Lie

I received the I Never Tell A Lie meme from Helen Ginger at her Straight From Hel blog. Here are the rules:

Sometimes you can learn more about a person by what they don’t tell you. Sometimes you can learn a lot from the things they just make up. If you are tagged with this Meme, lie to me. Then tag 7 other folks (one for each deadly sin) and hope they can lie.

Now it's time for me to answer the questions, and since my mother always taught me my nose would grow if I lied -- and it really doesn't need to get any bigger -- I will answer with the absolute truth.

Pride: What is your biggest contribution to the world?
My family. This is so important to me I can't even think of anything funny to add.

Envy: What do your coworkers wish they had which is yours?
Coworkers? Nobody told me I had coworkers. Jeesh, and here I've been doing all the work myself. Well, okay, I'll fess up. The cat helps sometimes.

Gluttony: What did you eat last night?
I ate a hobo sandwich with carrot sticks on the side. Good little girl that I am. Then I countered that with a bowl of chocolate almond ice cream.

Lust: What really lights your fire?
Chocolate.

Anger: What is the last thing that really pissed you off?
Other than government, politics, greed, celebrities, and stupid people. Nothing.

Greed: Name something you keep from others.
My chocolate.

Sloth: What's the laziest thing you've ever done?
I sat for an hour at my daughters with nothing to clean. Seriously. My son-in-law cleaned the kitchen before we arrived for a visit. When my daughter asked why he didn't leave it for me as I really love to stay busy, he said "I know, but I want to watch her twitch."

I'm not sure I know seven people who might not shoot me for bothering them with this, so I will send the meme to Ginger Simpson and Terry O'Dell. I don't think they own a gun.

Critique --Guest Blog by Christine Duncan

As I have been doing this blog tour, I have been amazed by the questions other writers ask me. One question I get a lot is, "Do you really think critique groups help?" Yes.

Okay, that should be the end of the questions, don't you think?

But it seems that many writers have had bad experiences with a critique group or two. Or to put it another way, there are a lot of mean and crazy people out there willing to tear their fellow writers and their work apart.

So here, in my (not so) vast and wonderful experience, is what to look for in a critique group.

1. Manners. Any critique group that advertises that it is not for the thin skinned (yes, I've seen that put just that way) knows exactly what it's talking about. Don't go there. They're not for the rest of us either. You should not have to grow scales to be able to take critique. Honestly.

2. Sandwich Critiques: I've seen this put a couple of different ways, but the gist is this. The critiquer starts by telling the author something good, then tells the author something that needs work, then ends with something else they liked. This is very important. A critique group that practices this, believes in telling you what is good as well as what is not working.

Many of us are uncertain about our work, so when we hear that this or that is wrong, we are apt to want to throw out the whole thing. Hearing that someone loves your description but thinks you should take out the description of the old lady on Third street since she never appears again is helpful. If the whole group says it, you should probably ditch the description of the old lady on Third street. Groups that believe in some form of sandwich critique tend to have writers who grow.

3. Size: Critique groups can be too small, too big, or just right. Size does matter. Meeting with just your writing buddy can be helpful. But sometimes, he or she may be thinking fuzzy and just not getting anything. ther times, everything looks wonderful to her.If there are only two of you, then you can't get perspective on anything. And what happens when she just can't make it? On the other hand, a critique group with 12 or more members may be too busy to get to your stuff every week or even every month but you still are putting in the time, without getting any new writing done.

4. Time Requirement: (Closely Related to size) Some groups prefer to read all of the manuscripts before hand and just give critiques during the meeting. This seems to occur with bigger groups. Some groups prefer to read each manuscript and then critique right there in the group. Some groups want the author to read the manuscript out loud and then they critique as it goes along. It's all preference.

The important thing here is that someone is the gatekeeper. In other words, if you all agree you will only exchange 8 pages and will be out of there by 9:00 p.m., someone needs to make sure that Eager Annie does not sneak in 14 pages making you all stay until midnight. Groups can break up under this one. Some groups I've been in have had a timer that they passed from person to person to make sure that no one went over their agreed-on time. Whatever works and keeps people content.

You'll see other preferences. Some people prefer to stick to just one genre in a critique group. Some like to mix it up. I've seen groups where they exclude anyone who is not published. I don't think the quality of the writing in these groups was necessarily better, but it made them feel good. I do believe in having people submit a bit of their manuscript before they are accepted in a group but I came by this belief the hard way.

One group I was in did not practice that, and a lady joined who wrote in computer code: You know If/Then followed by the arrows and boxes and lines? I never did figure out what she was trying to say. After about 3 weeks of the group telling her she needed to write it out, she quit the group. I think we all offered up prayers of thanks for that.

I have been in groups with beginning writers and published folks and I don't think you can spot a good critiquer easily. One woman I was in critique with had not only never been published, but she wasn't sure she wanted to write either. Consequently she wasn't strong on the terminology of craft but she knew when something stopped her, and by listening to her critiques, I was able to smooth out many a kink in my manuscript. I dedicated book two, Safe House, in part to her memory.

So you can see, I'm a big fan of critique. I know it has helped me grow as a writer And by being a little careful in choosing a group, I believe that it can help you too.

--------------
Christine will appear on July 5th on Chester Campbell's Blog
Check out her books on her Web site

Guest Blogger- Christine Duncan

This coming Monday, June 29th, Christine Duncan will be my guest and will share her thoughts about critique groups. Please try to stop by in your busy day to see what she has to say.

Christine is an Arvada Colorado mystery writer. She got her start in writing for the Christian market, writing for Sunday School magazines. Her credits include Accent Books and Regular Baptist Press.


Her Colorado based, Kaye Berreano mystery series debuted in 2002 with the book, Safe Beginnings, which deals with arson in a battered women's shelter. Safe House, the second book in the series is due out this spring.

Although the Kaye Berreano mystery series is set in a battered women's shelter, Ms. Duncan's husband wants the world to know it's not because of anything he did!

Visit Christine at Http://www.ChristineDuncan.com
Or at her blog Http://www.globalwrite.wordpress.com

Another Excerpt From My New Book

ROAD TRIP
Or, Are we There Yet, Papa Smurf

My husband’s idea of a vacation is two weeks of puttering around the house and watching what day-time television he can stand. My idea of a vacation, however, is to go somewhere, preferably to Michigan, with stops along the way in Kentucky and West Virginia to see relatives.

My father is from West Virginia, and he felt a need to go home at least twice a year. So, when I was a kid we’d all pile into the back of an old station wagon and head south from Michigan. I loved it, even though I was usually car sick from Detroit to Pittsburgh. Some of my fondest memories are of those trips.

I have always shared my father’s need to go home as often as possible, so one year I suggested we take a road trip.

"Are you nuts!? You want to drive twelve hundred miles with five little kids?"

"We can do it. It'll be fun."

"Fun? We can't even drive to the store without World War Three breaking out."

"We can drive at night, while they're asleep."

Since he didn't have a quick response to that, I knew he was weakening. He did offer one or two other feeble arguments, which I countered easily. Financing the trip wouldn't be a problem. I had six whole months to scrimp, and I was a master at getting pennies out of the grocery budget.

I started saving right away, shaving the budget closer than I shaved my legs. No more brand name cereal, and we’d eat hot dogs twice a week for dinner. The kids didn’t mind the dinner menu so much, but balked at the store brand oats.

When the balking got to be too much, I would dangle the vacation carrot and suddenly they loved Toasted O’s.

Making Music

This past Saturday I attended the Northeast Texas Music Festival in Winnsboro. There were a number of great performers starting just after noon and running until late that night. It made for a long, hot day, but it sure was worth it.

I was given a press pass, which is always nice, so I got to go backstage and meet the artists. It was quite a thrill to talk to T. Graham Brown and The Bellamy Brothers. I've been fans of both for years -- which I guess means we are all getting old -- and they never fail to give an audience a great show.

The music was a mix of country and gospel, so at times it was toe-tapping and other times it was heart tapping, especially when T. Graham Brown sang "Wine Into Water." And who couldn't love The Bellamy Brothers' "Guardian Angel".

Luke Williams and his band was quite a hit, and he had a tremendous command of the stage even at the young age of 16. This is a singer/songwriter that we are going to hear a lot more of in the future.


Here is a link to the story I did for WinnsboroToday.com.

A Father's Day Tribute

A popular sentiment on mugs and tee-shirts says, “Any man can be a father. It takes someone special to be a Daddy.” Those words have always impressed me, perhaps because they express something I’ve always wanted to convey. My father is, and continuously has been, a ‘Daddy’ to me, even though I didn’t always view him with an objective eye.

When I was a child, I saw him as a saint or super-hero. The source of Sunday afternoon movies and ice-cream cones, he rarely stepped into the dull routine of my daily life. Our times together were marvelous adventures and I never questioned that they were largely determined by a divorce decree that granted him visitation rights.

But if he'd remained that fantasy figure, I don't think I'd be writing this today. Possibly I wouldn't even be writing today. I’d like to say this enlightenment came to me out of one of those Hallmark moments that resound with emotion; but in reality, it emerged from an incredibly frustrating experience.

Daddy and I were working together to rebuild an old bike to meet my need for wheels. He took all the working parts home to clean, grease and reassemble. My job was to sand the frame to get it ready to paint.

My enthusiasm for the project dimmed considerably when I discovered how hard I had to work. Sanding away multiple layers of old paint and rust demanded more effort than I’d anticipated, so I quit. I rationalized that the new paint would cover what I missed and nobody would know the difference.

Daddy could have let me quit. Or he could have belittled me by pointing out how foolish my choice had been. Instead, he asked if I’d noticed those few spots of rust still clinging to the metal. We could paint it that way if I wanted to, but give it a week and the new paint might peel. The final decision was up to me. It was my job and if I was satisfied...

Something in his manner told me I shouldn’t be satisfied.

Every day for a week, I sanded until my muscles ached and my fingers had blisters. There were still times I wanted to quit. I was also tempted to wrap that old frame around my father’s neck. But I stuck with it.

Now I know that Herculean effort is called tenacity. Then I thought it was torture.

That’s the first lesson I can clearly recall learning from my father, but there were more to come once I left the idealism of childhood. Like how my father never cheated the grocer or the IRS. Or how he always stopped at a red light even if the intersection was empty. And how he always treated people with respect until they proved they didn’t deserve it.

I don't know if that learning could have taken place had I kept my father up on a childhood pedestal. When I allowed him to simply be a man, it took a lot of pressure off us both.

We still probably won’t qualify for a greeting card commercial. Neither of us is perfect in our relationship. But that’s okay. My father no longer has to save me with an ice-cream cone or Sunday matinee, and I don’t have to struggle to live up to something I’m not capable of. We can just be the people that we’ve become. And when we fail somehow, we can always pick up the sandpaper and turn our mistakes into something bright and shining.

Happy Father’s Day to all the men who have been that special ‘Daddy’ in someone’s life.

Wonderful Writing Tips

I just read a great article by Elmore Leonard with some great writing tips. Many of them are ones we have heard before, but he has a knack for restating them with a bit of a punch.

He starts his article with, "These are rules I've picked up along the way to help me remain invisible when I'm writing a book, to help me show rather than tell what's taking place in the story. If you have a facility for language and imagery and the sound of your voice pleases you, invisibility is not what you are after, and you can skip the rules. Still, you might look them over."

What a polite way of saying, "Pay attention."

Here is a link to the article for those who are interested.

Let the Government Do It

A common knee jerk reaction to some accident or natural disaster is for people to call on the government to enact new laws to protect us. Some people think that "It's time for us to hold our lawmakers accountable for keeping us safe," as one person wrote in a recent letter to the editor in The Dallas Morning News.

Okay, let me get this straight. A law is going to somehow change an accident or a natural disaster. Accidents are called accidents because they occur by chance. They are undesirable or unfortunate happenings that occur unintentionally-- according to a dictionary definition - - so how is a law going to help?

I know, I know. There have been laws enacted that were of benefit. The main one that comes to mind is speed limits. Numbers of traffic accidents decline along with a decline in speed limits.

But we have a tendency to overdo what can be helpful from government. Some people try to legislate common sense and/or morality, and that simply cannot be done.

Sure, we can ban cell phone use while driving -- the issue that spawned the recent commentary in the Dallas Morning News -- and give law enforcement one more thing to look for on the road, but that won't change the facts. Some people are still going to speed. Some people are still going to drive or ride without seat belts. Some people are still going to drive while talking on a cell phone, or eating, or changing CDs.

Until people take responsibility for their own safety and the safety of others, we can legislate until pigs fly and not a whole lot is going to change.

How Low Can We Go?

Just when I thought I'd heard it all when it comes to the absurdity of people, I run across a story like one I just read in The Dallas Morning News.

It seems that a woman in North Texas who was selected to be on Bridezillas - a show that should be on the bottom rung of the most stupid reality show ever conceived - was upset that her minister, her vocalist, her deejay and her bridesmaids all backed out of the ceremony.

What did she expect? I can't believe that she thought they would all love to be on the show and have their five minutes of fame.

Thank God some people had the good sense to decline.

It used to be that people would do silly pranks for the notoriety or maybe a cash prize, but they weren't pranks that crossed a line between funny and demeaning. What we often see on reality TV now has left that line in the rearview mirror.

Such as Bridezillas.

When I first saw teasers for this show, I thought they were for some new comedy. I just couldn't believe that women who were entering into this "most holy state of matrimony" would stoop so low as to be part of this farce for real. The premise is to show the brides at their worst in terms of demands, tantrums, and maybe even drag-out fights, while preparing for their weddings.

And the audience is supposed to enjoy this? To me, there is nothing funny or redeeming about this show and others like it.

What about you? Do you think anything goes when it comes to reality TV?

If Life is a Bowl Of Cherries, What Am I Doing in The Pits?

I remember when I first read Erma Bombeck’s wonderful book I thought she made up all the craziness she wrote about. But I also thought that maybe somewhere in the midst of her jokes would be some tidbit of wisdom that would help me get a handle on the insanity at my house. Alas, all I got was a good laugh.

Looking back on those early years when the kids were young – five between the ages of 7 and 1 – I wonder how we survived with sanity intact. Or maybe that’s the deal. Our sanity is not intact. We only think it is.

But also looking back, I don’t know that I would have changed much about it. Oh, maybe it would have been nice to be rich, or even comfortable financially. I would have loved a bigger house to contain a growing family. And we could have done without some of the turmoil along the way. What I would never want to change, however, is the fun we had, or even the nonsense that became funny long after the fact.

Such as the morning my doorbell rang at six o’clock. I didn’t think anyone would be paying a social call at that hour, so it had to be an emergency. I jumped out of bed, tripped over the dog, stubbed my toe and jump-hopped to the door. Opened said door to see my neighbor, Jessica, holding the hands of my twins. “Do these belong to you?”

Yikes. No doubt. There they were. Paul and Dany dressed in Sesame Street PJs and nothing else. Well, actually they each also had a diaper, hanging low from a night’s accumulation.

“Oh my gosh,” I said, pinching myself to make sure I wasn’t still asleep and having a nightmare.

“I found them walking down the street,” Jessica said. She was holding the twins away from her suit, the effort making her look like a scarecrow—if a scarecrow would ever be dressed in a Brooks Brothers suit.

I reached out to take their hands. “I am so sorry. I have no idea how they got outside.”
Her look said, “Of course not.” But she offered a smile. One of those “we are both women in this rat race together” smiles.

But we weren’t in the same rat race at all.

Jessica, without child, was a financial advisor. She went to work everyday. If we lived in New York and not a suburb of Dallas, she might have been on her way to assault Wall Street in that finely turned out suit. I, on the other hand, was dressed to assault the kitchen in my tee shirt and Capri pants. She didn’t even have a hair out of place – despite the wind whipping down our street at about 25 MPH – and mine was a tangled mess. Her make-up could have been applied by a pro, I didn’t even know where my make up was.

“It’s a good thing I found them,” Jessica said, putting a great deal of emphasis on the “I”. “Otherwise God knows what could have happened.”

“Yes, you’re right.” What else could I say? Her logic was perfect. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

I hurried the twins inside before Jessica could say anything else to make me feel lower than a worm.

In the twins’ bedroom, I discovered how the great escape had occurred. The screen was pushed out of the low window facing the porch. No doubt, thanks to Dany. She was the reason there was no furniture in the room and the crib mattresses were on the floor and the bureau was turned against the wall. At nine months of age, Dany had started walking. And climbing. She climbed over the crib rails to get in bed with Paul.

Then she discovered that she could pull the dresser drawers out and use them like a ladder to get to all the interesting stuff on top of the dresser. Forget curtains. She’d pulled them down so many times it wasn’t worth the effort to put them back.

And don’t you dare ask me where the discipline was. I challenge anyone to try to discipline a one-year-old. Especially since most of these shenanigans occurred in the middle of the night. When was I supposed to sleep?

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NOTE* This is more from my new book in progress

The Writing Life

Years ago when I first started writing my children were all young and the formidable task of ‘writing around them’ was daunting.

I remember one time in particular when one of my two-year-old twins, Danielle, known lovingly as Chicky, had just settled down beside me to help or hinder my writing. She contributed a few words of dialogue consisting mainly of a few well-placed “Mommys,” spiced with a few unintelligible words or praise or criticism.

When she left the room, I breathed a sigh of relief and raced to get a few thoughts on paper before she came back. But alas, she’d gone into the kitchen to get the box of cereal I left on the counter and was off sharing it with her brother.

Should I have been delighted she was sharing for a change? Or angry because she snitched the cereal and hid in the laundry room? If I hadn’t beaten our dog with my child-psychology book years before that, I could have looked for the answer. (A note to all the dog-lovers who are about to call the Humane Society. Our dog was much larger and harder bound than the book, and he loved the extra attention.)

That’s the way my writing life went for years. The moment I thought I had the most subtle, cynically amusing thought, matching the excellence of an Erma Bombeck or a Judith Viorst mapped out in my head, I was interrupted.

I remember thinking that if it weren’t for my kids, I would’ve been famous years ago. I could’ve sat beside Johnny Carson when he was still doing the Tonight Show and chatted amicably about my latest thought-provoking novel or my charming little anecdotes on life, If it wasn’t for the endless “MOMMYS”.
“Mommy, Mommy, Mommy…”
“Mom, what is…?”
“Mom, can I have a snack?”
“Mom, would you tie my shoe?”
“Mother, if you don’t keep those twins out of my room…”
“Mom, why is it raining outside?”
“Mom, where is my homework…my lunch…my shoes…my coat?”
“Mom, if you’re not doing anything important, can you…”

And, believe it or not, I was a lot more prolific back then.

Congrats to Grads

I am getting ready to go to our grandson's graduation party. This is an exciting time for all the high school and college graduates as they end one phase of their lives and move into another, and we are thrilled for Justin, who had a stellar high school career and is going to SMU in Dallas to study theatre and political science.

There have been, and will continue to be, commencement addresses that will contain kernels of wit and wisdom for the graduates to carry with them into this new adventure, so I won't try to write an entire treatise here. But I do offer this bit of advice.

Stay focused on the ultimate goals you have set for yourself, but don't forget to enjoy the journey. That takes a bit of delicate balancing, but worth it when you reach the destination and you know you haven't missed anything along the way.

And specifically for Justin, "Break a leg."

I'm Psyched

Been away from my blog for a couple of days -- as you may have noticed due to the lack of posts since Monday - and came over to find I have two new followers. And these aren't family or friends or people I've bribed to follow me.

The first one is Joe R Lansdale, and if you have not read his books, hustle over to the closest bookstore and check one out. He's written a jillion, so there is a wide variety to chose from. I did a panel discussion with him at an author event in East Texas a couple of months ago, and that was my first introduction to this great writer. His books can't be categorized. In fact, he said during the presentation that he just writes stories. Some of his books are listed as horror, and he does admit to taking a Stephen King approach to some stories, but the ones I've read are novels with a mystery element. The Bottoms for one. Great story.

My other new follower is Joe M O'Connell another terrific writer with a book Evacuation Plan, that I had the priviledge of reading and reviewing. The book is called "A Novel From the Hospice" and is an intriguing look at death and dying that is anything but morbid and sad.

Having two such acclaimed writers following my offerings here is a bit daunting. I know we're supposed to be so cool and professional and act like we're so used to hobnobbing with such talent that it is no big deal. But it is a big deal to me, and I am honored that they chose my blog to follow.

My New Book

My husband and I raised five children, and I think we got through the challenges of a large family by using humor. It can pretty well diffuse any situation, although the humor might not always be apparent right away. Some things have to age somewhat before they take on comic proportions.

For instance, spilling a pan of chicken broth on the kitchen floor didn’t make me laugh until I quit sliding past the sink as I took my first step into the room.

It was difficult to laugh about one of my kids storing her unwanted sandwiches in the bench next to the table, especially when it was my neighbor who found them a few weeks later.

It took me a good two weeks to find anything amusing about the youngest two playing dress-up and taking all the clothes off the hangers in their closet.

I was sure I would never see the humor in our son losing one of his tennis shoes or the 15 futile trips he made to the creek to look for it. And to think, when I saw a shoe in the street, I used to wonder how someone could lose just one shoe.

I knew I could live to be at least 90 before I’d laugh about the fact that I couldn’t get my kids to go outside and play until I mentioned that it was time to clean house.

It took six months to see the humor in the time that one of my kids swept the kitchen floor, and later I went in to find six spoons, three bowls, two dried up old sandwiches and the contents of at least two boxes of cereal under the table.

Equally difficult to laugh about was the time that one kid threw his cereal bowl at his brother, who ducked, so the bowl hit the window and broke it.

At least that's the story I got.

I used to wonder if all the spilled milk, chairs covered with soggy cereal, buttered bread dropped on the floor face down, or the macaroni noodles that have squished through my toes as I walked across the kitchen floor, would even qualify as fond memories when I'm old and gray, let alone be funny.

Now that I am both, I’ve decided that all those family escapades are funny. And to tell the truth, they were pretty funny back then, too. In fact, I used to write about the family nonsense in a weekly column. It was along the lines of what Erma Bombeck used to write, and I always thought some day I would combine the collection in a book.

Well, it’s “someday” now.

I'm working on a book that I describe as "The Devil Wears Prada, meets Erma Bombeck." I'm not sure if it will get published. I'll worry about that later. But I sure am having fun going through all the old columns and revisiting the nonsense that we called family.

I'm about halfway through the project, and I will periodically post a segment here when I don't have anything to rant about.

Crazy Turtle Lady

That's what many people call Suzan Lakhan Baptiste who has worked to save the leatherback sea turtle on Trinidad's Matura Beach. Every year, female leatherbacks return to the beach where they lay their eggs. They dig deep holes to deposit the eggs, a long difficult process that leaves them easy prey for poachers who kill them for meat, fins and eggs.

By the 1980s, nearly one in three turtles that nested on Matura Beach were killed. When the government asked for volunteers to help protect the endangered creatures, Baptiste stepped forward with several other people. They patrol the beach during the mating season to protect the turtles from poachers, and their efforts have been successful. Now, the leatherbacks are able to come to the beach to lay eggs and close to 100 percent of them survive.

What a wonderful accomplishment, and certainly worth remembering when we think that one or two people cannot affect a problem.

Promoting For Pennies

I am pleased to announce that I will appear on The Author Show on WNB NetworkWest.com, an Online radio and television station on May 29, 2009. This is a wonderful site that hosts authors of fiction and non-fiction, and a good place for authors to promote their work, fiction and nonfiction. The interview will run all day, so stop by at your convenience if you have a chance

Online marketing via virtual book tours and guest spots on Internet radio shows is an effective way to reach readers all over the world. And the real beauty of it is that you don't have to travel any further than to your home computer.

I did a virtual book tour in September 08 and saw the hits to my Web site double for several weeks, so I know this is an effective way to reach people.

I should also mention that I have purchased a number of books after following someone for a while on a virtual book tour. As Don McCauley of Free Publicity Group says, marketing it is all about building trust, and through a virtual book tour I have come to know authors well enough to become interested in their books.

Don McCauley is the host of The Author Show, and in addition to conducting a great interview, he offers writers a lot of free material to help them with their marketing efforts. It is a connection well worth making for any author who wants to promote for pennies.

Memorial Day

In a little cemetery in Fairmont, West Virginia there are headstones for a number of Van Gilder men who served in the U.S. military, going back to the Revolutionary War. I had the opportunity to go that cemetery two years ago for a reunion -- my father's family - and I was amazed to see so many military men noted. I felt both awed and thrilled to be in such company.

While I may not hold with killing and really wish there was some other way to handle global conflicts than war, there is something noble and stirring about the men and women who have sacrificed their lives for our freedom.

So I take this time to thank them for their service and remember all the military men and women in our family, both living and dead.

Thank you.....

Beware of Goat Profiling

Another offering from my friend Tracy Farr... He really has a goat fetish...

I, like many of you, watch television whether or not there is anything good on, not because there isn’t anything better to do, but because it’s our God given American right to do it. But to be honest, I spend most of that time thinking about an epidemic that is sweeping the nation – an epidemic so profound, it could change the world as we know it. I’m talking about Goat Profiling.

Do you have any idea how many men and women have lost jobs just because their employer discovered they were raising goats? Me neither, but it’s bound to be huge. And what business is it to them anyway? Does raising a goat in the back yard solely for the purpose of getting rid of a few shrubs indicate that a person is a sub-standard worker? Of course not.

But word is out that some employers are outright asking in job interviews whether or not we have goats. Just ask Harold Bright.

“I went on a job interview the other day, everything was going great, and then the employer asked if I have goats,” said Bright. “When I indicated that I did, you could tell in his eyes that the interview was over. I never had trouble getting a job before I owned goats.”

In a recent survey, people who have a few goats in the back yard are half as likely to get a job than non goat owners, but it’s very hard to prove goat discrimination said Lawyer Judith Best.

“Every day we hear stories about men and women who are denied a job solely because they have goats,” Best said. “But in most states, it’s not illegal for employers to ask the goat question just as long as they ask it of all job applicants.”

And that’s what gets Harold Bright’s goat.

“Does the fact that I have a few goats make me a less-dependable worker? I don’t think so,” said Bright. “But until Congress passes a law stating that goat profiling is illegal, we goat owners will forever be passed over for employment.”

Do you believe you have encountered discrimination at work because you have goats? If so, call the I Have A Goat But No Job Hotline, and voice your concerns.
_______________________________________
Stinky Creek Texas -- An equal opportunity employer

Accidental Millionaires

I just read an item on CNN news online about a couple in New Zealand who have been dubbed the "Accidental Millionaires" after a bank employee mistakenly gave them NZ$10 million when they applied for a loan of just NZ$10,000.

This happened early in May, and apparently the couple have absconded with the money. New Zealand authorities have now asked Interpol to assist in locating the couple, who are believed to come from the resort of Rotorua and wanted the loan to buy a station there.

Wow! On a level of pure greed, I can understand this duo taking off to someplace where they can live in the lap of luxury with this windfall. The temptation is strong. Who hasn't dreamed of winning the lottery or inheiriting a fortune and planned all the wonderful things we could do with the money?

I've even been tempted on a smaller scale when given the wrong change at the grocery store. It would be nice to keep the few extra dollars. What could it hurt?

Well, it hurts the person who made the mistake. They will have to pay the shortage.

But it also hurts me if I'm dishonest. It takes a chink out of my character. And that is what this is about. I am dismayed that this couple did not have the strength of character or a sense of morality that could override the greed. Did they really think it was okay to take the money and run? Can they look at themselves in the mirror and feel good about what they did?

What about you? What would you do in the same situation?

But on another level, I'm dismayed that some sense of morals did not override the greed.

The Best Laid Plans

The power went out here for a couple of hours this afternoon, which sure messed with the plan I had for today.

We have had such beautiful weather the past few days, I have been outside in the mornings taking care of the gardens and picking berries. Then I come inside and start my day in the office about 10 0r 11. I schedule an hour or so to update WinnsboroToday.com and then I work on my latest book for at least an hour. After that, I try to update this blog, do some promoting, or prepare something for The Blood Red Pencil blog.

This afternoon, the minute the power went out and my computer sighed to a close, I was adrift. What can I do? I can't write without my computer.

I know, I know. Haven't I heard of pen and paper?

Actually, I have, and I even started out as a writer with notebook paper and a pencil. Then I graduated to a pen. But I have become so acclimated to writing directly on the computer that I'm stymied when I can't.

Kind of weird when you think about it. Tolstoy wrote War and Peace with a quill pen. You'd think we modern writers could suck it up and get out a ballpoint.

Miracle Cat Update

Orca, our injured cat I wrote about the other day, had his surgery and came home yesterday afternoon. He is already hobbling around and using that leg. Unbelievable. The leg is pinned with an apparatus on the outside that the veterinarian calls a Tinker toy. It looks ungainly and certainly has to be uncomfortable, but Orca doesn't seem bothered by it.

The other cats, however, are extremely bothered by it. They both - including Orca's mother -- hiss at him whenever we let him out of the bathroom where he is confined. We have to do that periodically just to save our sanity.

Orca is not thrilled with being locked up in a small space and lets us know in loud protests. That cat has the loudest meow I have ever heard, and when he's upset, he really cranks it up. He yowled most of the evening yesterday, and I had visions of him keeping us up all night, but thank goodness, he went to sleep and we didn't hear from him until early this morning.

Then he really wanted to go outside. I let him come out of the bathroom while I got his food and the pill I had to shove down his throat. Orca went to every door and meowed to go out. I think he wanted to use the great outdoors instead of the litter box -- he's always preferred that -- but he finally gave in when I put him back in the bathroom. A little later I checked and the box had been used.

He just gave me a look that said, "Okay. I did it. I didn't like it, but here it is. Are you happy? And who's going to clean up this mess. Certainly not me."

At least I think that's what he said. Cat speak is so hard to discipher.

Let's Sit Around and Do Nothing

Another piece of nonsense... er... great writing ... from my friend Tracy Farr:

People like Oprah are always busy, always doing something, always in the middle of whatever is going on because that's what they do, and to NOT do it would mean the end of civilization as they know it. To them, doing absolutely nothing is a fate worse than death.

Well, I've done absolutely nothing (many times), and I kind of like it.

It's not that hard to do absolutely nothing. You just get out of bed, fix yourself a huge cup of coffee (which sounds like you're doing something, but isn't), then find a comfy place to relax (a couch or wing-back chair would do fine) and concentrate! Yes, to do absolutely nothing requires concentration because what you'll WANT to do is think about what you SHOULD be doing -- and we can't have any of that!

In your mind you've got to forget about mowing the yard. Forget about paying the bills. Forget about calling your parents so they'll know you're still alive. Forget about the economy and Swine Flu. Forget about how good Marylou looks now and how you wish you'd dated HER in high school instead of Imagene. Forget about digital TV and iPhones. Forget about all the things that drive us absolutely bonkers but we put up with them anyway because "that's progress."

Yes, indeed. Doing absolutely nothing is not for wimps. And that's why you'll never see Oprah doing it!
____________________________________________________________
Stinky Creek Texas -- Where we're experts at doing nothing!

The Miracle Cat

We have this cat named Orca -- for obvious reasons -- and he has had a tough life for only being three years old. Of course, out here in the country the lifespan of a cat is much shorter than that of their city cousins. But we try to give them as much help as we can.

When Orca was just a kitten, he got into the engine of my husband's truck to take a nap and got caught up in the fan belt when my husband started the truck. Orca survived that, to the amazement of the farmer next door who came to help us get the cat out and to the vet who repaired the broken leg.

Last week, Orca disappeared late Monday afternoon. Well, actually we didn't know he had disappeared for sure until late Tuesday when he still had not come back to eat. He likes to go outside - preferring that to a litter box - and then there are all the moles and gophers and mice to hunt. But he doesn't often miss the feeding times with the other cats, so we started to worry that he met up with a coyote or a truck speeding down the road.

For three days we tried to keep the worry at bay and hold out a small hope that he might come back, but, by Friday, had to admit that probably wasn't going to happen.

Then late Sunday, we heard a mewing on the front porch, went to the door, and there was Orca. He sauntered in - as best he could saunter with a broken leg - went right to his food dish and asked for supper. He ate, then went to take a nap on our bed, as if nothing had happened.

We were in a state of shock for an hour or so, taking turns looking at him on the bed to make sure we weren't dreaming.

We weren't dreaming. Somehow he managed to suvive six days out there and didn't even look too malnourished. We couldn't see any other injuries, either, and he didn't seem to be in much pain so we didn't do an emergency vet visit, opting to take him in this morning.

Orca has a nasty, splintered break below the knee and a dislocated knee, so it is going to cost a lot to repair all that. We briefly considered not repairing it, but then we figured if this cat could survive a truck engine, another car accdent, and then being out in the wild for 6 days and avoiding coyotes and other predatory animals, he deserves the other seven lives he's got left.

That may not be practical, but sometimes it feels good not to be practical.

Happy Mother's Day

In honor of Mother's Day, I thought I would dust off a column I wrote when my children were young and I was writing for a Dallas publication. The sentiments are just as true today as they were those many years ago....

Chocolates all around. Enjoy!!!!

“Sunday is Mother’s Day and in this time of feminism and ERA it’s hard to decide what to write about. Do I mention all those hart-tugging gifts I’ve received over the years, like the dead tomato plant in a tin can and the wilted dandelions clutched tightly in a grubby little hand?

On the other hand, maybe it’s unfair to offer only one side of motherhood. Maybe I should say a word of two about all the daily frustrations that threaten to make me seek cover in the nearest rest home. The cleaning; the car pools; the laundry; the endless sibling infighting; more cleaning; and cooking and….

Who’s the joker who started the myth that housewives spend endless hours in front of the television eating chocolates? Not that it’s a bad idea. But let’s get real. The last time I watched daytime television I was sick with the flu and couldn’t have eaten a chocolate if Godiva herself brought me one.

While I’ve been trying to sort out all these things associated with motherhood, I keep wondering why there is so much unrest among women today, even those who have had a satisfying career outside the home before deciding to become full-time homemakers. Then I realized the unrest comes out of a loss of pride. Modern thinking has managed to strip us of any glimmer of the kind of pride our mothers could feel for their role.

It’s true that modern ideology still advocates free choice, but somehow the choice of full-time homemaker doesn’t garner the same respect and interest as choosing to be an astronaut. When was the last time an anecdote about your five-year-old drew a crowd at a cocktail party?

Under the circumstances, it’s no wonder women are in such turmoil. Society has force-fed us its version of the “modern woman” -- exciting, sophisticated, fulfilled, and working outside the home. So when a woman finds her fulfillment at home, she automatically starts questioning and comparing. That is especially true of the women who had a different career first.

As someone who has managed to straddle the fence for a number of years, I don’t feel qualified to advocate one over the other. I’ve managed to have the best of both worlds, and I must admit that my early success with writing came as a balm at a time when I felt like I was drowning in custodial duties for the family. But a painting class the year before had been just as therapeutic.

So I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m a mother and homemaker first. And somewhere down the line when I may be sitting in a rocking chair looking back over my life, I think the dead tomato plant will mean more to me than my first paycheck as a writer."

I'm not dottering yet, but I do have a rocking chair, and the dead tomato plant does mean more to me than the first paycheck I received as a writer.

Wishing all the other mothers out there a day destined to be remembered with such fondness.

What's Wrong With This Picture?

I saw this report on CNN Online and couldn't believe it....

"Wal-Mart has agreed to pay nearly $2 million and take extra safety precautions after a stampede killed a store employee in Long Island, New York last year. It happened as the store opened on the day after Thanksgiving last November, which is traditionally among the busiest day of the year for retailers.

Wal-Mart agreed to pay $1.5 million for community programs in Nassau County and another $400,000 to compensate people who were injured in the incident and repay them for out-of-pocket expenditures.

The retailer will implement a crowd management program at each of its 92 stores in New York for after-Thanksgiving shopping. The plan was developed by experts who have worked on crowd management at Super Bowls and Olympic Games. ...."

Okay, so a bunch of people act like maniacs to get into a store ahead of everyone else and the store has to pay? I remember when this was first reported last November and hints were given that it would go to litigation. Why not? Wal-Mart has deep pockets. But part of me was hoping the case would go in front of a judge who would see that THE STORE WAS NOT AT FAULT. (Pardon the shouting, but is this not ridiculous?)

Deep breath.... mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Okay. Better now. Back to your regularly scheduled program.