AIN'T LIVE GRAND? by Brenda Whiteside

I'm writing this post two days ahead, sitting in a McDonald's with blurry eyes, and having a tough time blotting out all the hubbub around me. But I won't have access to the Internet as we help our son and family settle in Colorado in two days. And my hotspot is about out of data.

How the heck did things get crazy enough for this? I've asked myself that many times over the course of my adult life...at least since I've been married. And since I was a baby when I got married, that question has always been a joint query with my husband. We've reinvented ourselves several times. Looks like we're off on another adventure.

We've been city folk most of our lives. And we've had one heck of a good time living in six states and two countries, sharing life with all makes and models of friends and acquaintances. We've lived in a variety of domiciles from a funky little apartment in the back of a condemned house, to a three story one hundred year old German farmhouse, to a beautiful home with a view of the Pacific...except you had to hold down anything breakable when the trains went by.

Boating with the granddaughter

Most recently, we transitioned to farm life on an Arizona prairie. It lasted three years...sharing the home and land with our son and his family. Well, the farmer left! The farm didn't make enough money before he received an offer he couldn't refuse.

So, here we are again. Everyone keeps asking us "what's next?" We don't have an answer yet. I know I'll keep writing. My husband knows he won't be too far from fishing waters. Beyond that, we're still figuring it out. Some of my more, um, stable friends, shake their heads at me. "How do you do it?" "Why are you so calm about not knowing?" "How can you just up and go somewhere else?" It's all about the adventure. We don't mind change. Gosh...I don't have to worry about getting bored! And another adventure is bound to give me more fodder for my books.

Last ride for farmer and farmer's daughter

Ain't life grand?!
P.S. You know if I don't answer your comments right away, it's a lack of Internet.








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There Once Was A Time When I Was A Plotter by Margo Hoornstra

As noted in my last post here on the 11^th, I’m a pantser not a plotter. I write my books on a wing and a prayer. Open them with a character on the way to some place, or in conversation with someone, and go from there.

I don’t write in any particular order either. Take the book I’m working on now. The one I just yesterday completed - the first draft of anyway. (Short time out here for a brief happy dance!) I knew exactly how that story ended a while ago because I took time out of writing the middle to finish the last couple of chapters. Then all I had to do was go back and write the other chapters just ahead of those last ones in order to believably get my characters to that already established THE END.

Except, I wasn't always like this.

 

At one time I was a plotter. Plotting my books from beginning to end was how I wrote my first book. Well, HONORABLE INTENTIONS, my first book to be contracted and published, that is.

 

We won’t even mention the six, or was it eight, books I wrote that never did sell…yet. But back to my point. To be honest, you could say the events in HONORABLE INTENTIONS were plotted out for me.

A few years ago, my husband and I took an Alaskan cruise. HONORABLE INTENTIONS takes place, for the most part, on an Alaskan cruise.

 

We had a travel itinerary to follow. Hero and heroine Chase and Samantha had a travel itinerary to follow. We marveled at all the splendor that is Alaska. Chase and Samantha marveled at all the splendor that is Alaska. We enjoyed fabulous meals in a variety of culinary venues, even dined with the Captain. Chase and Samantha enjoyed fabulous meals in a variety of culinary venues, even dined with the Captain. My in-laws were in the state room next door. Chase and Samantha...well, that's where the similarities departed.



Samantha is a retired policewoman who is serving as the chaperone and roommate on the trip to the single dad Chase’s impressionable and slightly rebellious teenaged daughter. He finagles his way into the adjoining room, which made for a moonlit, romantic encounter on their connected balconies.

The peaceful Alaskan night was a welcome contrast to the turmoil of her thoughts. Soothing waves whispered against the ship’s hull, a mild reverberation in the stillness. Strands of multi-colored lights, strung stem to stern on the decks above her, reflected in shining ripples on the smooth surface of the water. Beyond that faint light, a blue black haze hid any landscape they might be passing.

Elbows rested on the short railing, she allowed the surrounding darkness to bring her into the comfort of its folds, until thoughts of where she was going and who was along started up again. Serenity vanished, and she lifted her eyes skyward, huffing out a sigh of annoyance. The restless toss of her head from one side to the other did little to dispel her irritation, then a movement to her left caught, then held, her total awareness.

Too late she discovered Chase was out there too. Reclined in a deck chair, feet propped up on the railing with a blanket across his lap, he looked to be asleep. As far as she knew, she hadn’t bothered him…yet. Not wanting to disturb him now, for his sake as well as for hers, she turned to go inside.

“Don’t leave.”

The softly spoken words stopped her progress and stilled her heart. She glanced toward the avenue of her escape, the room she shared with his daughter. Their ship’s light cast a muted shadow on the girl’s peacefully sleeping form. Torn between her two options—retreat to the safety of that room, or do as he asked and remain out here with him—she hadn’t been able to budge to do either.

In the end, he made the choice for her as he set the blanket aside and walked over to stand beside her. “Please.”

“I didn’t want to wake Lisa.” She spoke as if she owed him an explanation for being out there. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me either.”

Tufts of sea chilled air blew upward in response to the ship’s movement, yet his closeness, not the cool night breeze, caught her in a shiver. Saying nothing, he retrieved the blanket and settled it around her shoulders. She snuggled into the plush material which still held his warmth, and his scent.

“I owe you an apology for…my actions our first day on board.”

She looked at him, not sure what her response should be, but he went on before she had a chance to form a thought.

“I should never have kissed you. I regret that.” He studied her for a second then averted his gaze.

“That’s okay,” she managed, a little sad he could be sorry for a kiss which had come to mean so very much to her.

“We sort of got off on the wrong foot.”

She turned to lean her back on the railing. “It’s been a long week.”

“And, it’s only Tuesday.”

They both laughed and the simple, companionable sound echoed like a peace offering between them before silence descended.

Chase’s voice broke into the night. “There must be a way to make this easier.”

“I’m sure we’ll find it.” Her words rode a delicate mist that rose up to touch his cheek.

 

 

My days to blog here are the 11^th and 23^rd. For more about me and the stories I write, please visit my WEBSITE

“Hair” today, gone tomorrow? ~ Leah St. James

For those of you who are still in the vibrant days of youth, you might not be aware of the rather dramatic changes the body undergoes as it ages...you know, before the mail carrier mysteriously delivers the unsolicited membership card from AARP. You might not be aware that once you hit that threshold, your body parts morph into something unrecognizable, as if some alien creature has infiltrated your body at its lowest cellular level. (Yes, there are real-life shape-shifters, and they live in each of us!) 

Luckily, with a healthy diet (rabbit food served in kiddie-meal portions) and daily exercise—not to mention Spanx—we can maintain a modicum of control over the body’s changes, or at least an illusion of control. Clothing also can cover, camouflage and trick others into thinking we’re still among the demographic age group that advertisers actually care about. (Sagging skin is a whole other issue that I will not be addressing in a separate post.) 

But then there’s the hair. Sigh. 

I’m not a vain woman and never have been, but my hair was one part of my physical self I’ve always been content with. As a teen when I stared into the mirror and bemoaned the never-ending “fat girl” bullying from the boys, I took comfort in my hair. It’s always been fine, but with good body and some wave. “Styling” was wash-and-let-air-dry easy. (It also helped that I grew up in the '60s and ‘70s before the big-hair era.) 

This is me, four days after giving birth to Son No. 2.
Even my pregnancy-ravaged body produced hair I was happy with. 

Then came age and the unstoppable change in body chemistry that somehow stripped my hair of its bouncy sheen and replaced it with dull...frizz. I had noticed the change, of course, but tried to ignore it. Then one day a coworker (she of shiny, bouncy, waist-length honey-gold curls) stopped me as I passed her desk and said, “Oh my gosh, Leah, WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR HAIR?! It looks HORRIBLE! Frizzy and dry and...what happened?! 

I kid you not. This actually happened. 

After a panic stop in the ladies’ room, I called for an emergency appointment at a highly recommended hair stylist. When I got there, she circled my chair, her face scrunched in concentration, and said, “It has to come off.” Onto the floor fell inches of frizz, leaving me with a pixie-ish boy cut. And joy of joys, no frizz!  

I got home, eager to show off my frizz-free hair to hubby. He circled me, his face scrunched and said, “You look like a man.” 

Now, I know my hair is my own business, and if I like it, who cares what anyone else thinks? But this was my HUSBAND who thought I looked like a MAN. My happiness fizzled. (In his defense, he's usually my top cheerleader, and defender.)

So I grew it out, and here I am several years later, back with dull, frizzy hair. I’ve tried multiple products to battle Mother Nature—including those “age-defying” concoctions that promise to resurrect “dull, lifeless hair.” 

Then my current hair stylist said, as she circled my chair, face scrunched in concentration, “You know, you have perfect ‘wild, sexy beach hair.’” 

“Huh?” I answered. 

And she proceeded to massage some sort of goop into my hair, scrunch the ends, then dry it with a diffuser until my head was a halo (hahahaha) of wild, sexy-ish waves. And joy of joys, I liked it! The frizz was there, but looked like it was supposed to be! 

That was three months ago and I’ve been trying ever since to replicate the process/look. I’ve tried a diffuser (an implement of torture, if you ask me), a slew of products (most donated by caring, pitying friends), and have finally come up with a process that is semi-successful. 

• Wet hair –and by all that is holy, DON’T SHAMPOO. 
• Condition the you-know-what out of it with special age-defying conditioner that costs twice as much as conditioner for you younger ladies. 
• Hit it with the blow dryer (cool setting) for about a minute while rolling the ends with a round brush. 
• Squirt two pumps of a stickier goop onto hands, run hands through hair while scrunching, and let it dry naturally from there. And by all that is holy, DON'T BRUSH!

Finally, frizz camouflaged...sort of. And bonus—I don’t look like a man. I’m calling it a success. (If you're wondering what my present-day hair looks like...you can just imagine Jennifer Lopez in her cop TV show, only darker hair, with gray streaks...and more frizz.) :-)

 Anyway, if you have any hair care tips for those of “my generation,” I’d love to hear them! 

*********************

Leah writes stories of mystery and romance, good and evil and the power of love. Visit her on Facebook or learn more at her website.

It's not easy to write by Barbara Edwards

Barbara faces the bear

It’s not easy to pick-up my writing routine after spending the past five months dealing with my husband’s health issues. Some writers could say there is no reason to keep from writing and I tried. 

I found there aren’t enough good hours in the day. You know. Those minutes where the ideas flow and the words pile up are precious as pearls. I didn’t have many. I was driving him for medical appointments, picking up prescriptions, helping him with daily activities, cooking, extra laundry, shopping for groceries and sitting at his side for hours when he needed support or love.

I would sit in the evening after leaving him in the hospital and stare at the television as a blur moved over the screen. All I wanted was a good night’s rest. Most nights I fell into bed.

So now he’s recovering. The cancer has been removed. He’s doing exercise to regain his strength and I’m desperately working at returning to the routine I had before.

I will always be a caretaker along with being a wife.

Sculpture in Montana, 

I’ll never be the same.

I was surprised by the ax that fell on our lives. And I find that I missed writing more than anything. Writing is what I do. A writer is who I am.

The process is important. The regular hours doing what I do have been hard to regain, but I’m slowly forcing the other demands into place. 

I’m dreaming of my characters. I’m giving myself space to find my creativity. I’m letting go of the guilt for missing so much time.

Bundled against the weather

Do I have any advice for anyone else trodding this road? Hell, yes. Do you?

Please follow, friend or like me. I love to hear from my readers.

Blog http://barbaraedwardscomments.wordpress.com/

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The Falls on Shoal Creek - Joplin MO

As I continue to introduce myself to the other Roses of Prose and our readership, I decided to show you some of my old stomping grounds. Moving back to southwest Missouri after so many years sent me on an odyssey of sorts. One of the first places I had to see was Grand Falls on Shoal Creek.

 Here's the history...
 Grand Falls is the largest, continuously flowing natural waterfall in Missouri, plunging  25 feet to a solid ledge before flowing further south.
The cascading waters provided the energy for Joplin's first electrical power plant. Constructed on the site in the 1890's, in 1903 Grand Falls Park was further developed and featured a theater, boat houses, a German Village, and a dance pavilion. The Missouri Pacific Railway established a rail spur to the power plant and offered hourly round trip tickets to Joplin's best known tourist attraction. 
Today you can only see the remains of one of the power plant's cement walls. It stands abandoned on the west side of the waterfall. The dam itself still stands and spans the entire width of the river right above the natural falls.

Driving along Shoal Creek reminded me of the hours I spent playing, swimming, and floating in its waters. Wonderful memories from my childhood began flooding my mind.

Several times a summer my parents would wake me and my three siblings early on a weekend morning. Sleepily we'd pile into the red and black Rambler station wagon and  head to the river. As the sun rose, burning strands of lacy fog off the surface of the water, we kids explored the gravel bar. Rocks were overturned in the hope of spotting a crawdad or two. Every flat stone we found was skipped, the number of hops often hotly debated. 

While we enjoyed these simple pleasure, my parents fixed breakfast over a campfire.
Mouthwatering scents of frying bacon and eggs filled the air and overtook the more pungent scents of river water, fish, and vegetation. 

At least once each summer my dad would take me on one of his float trips. I loved those floating on the river with him as my captive audience. We'd start before daylight...and that's something else. To this day I've never understood my parents complete obsession with such early starts. Every single vacation, fishing trip, and riverside breakfast started before dawn...but I digress.

On one such fishing trip, Dad generously attached his favorite lure, a red and white Lazy Ike, to my rod and reel. I felt so honored. I began casting like crazy, and I don't think I had the lure on my line for an hour before I got my line tangled in an overhanging tree limb. At that moment our little, flat-bottomed, aluminum boat entered the first of a set of rapids. 

I will never forget Dad frantically trying to paddle against the current while at the same time attempting to jerk my line free. Needless to say, he never saw his lucky lure again.
 It was one of the only times I ever heard my dad cuss. He said, "dammit" and I was so shocked I couldn't wait to get home and tell on him.

Guilt over losing his lure, however, had me buying him a red and white Lazy Ike every holiday for many years afterwards.

Shoal Creek was an important place for my family. Dad knew all the best swimming holes and precisely where to look to get a peek of 'the castle' near Redings Mill. We always drove down after heavy rains to see how the river had flooded, often swollen beyond belief and completely covering the low water bridge. 

Later, as a teenager, my first real boyfriend would take me on picnics along the river bank near Wild Cat Park. We head out to McClelland Park, located on the hillside above the falls to watch Fourth of July fireworks.
 
Returning to these places as an adult filled me with nostalgia. I had a happy childhood. It  pleased me to see the area was still popular. People still using the area to walk or jog, swim, and fish. I'm glad more memories are being made. 

This area has always been so special to me that I included several of Shoal Creek's landmarks in my books. The river-walk and Low Water Bridge are featured in IT'S A WONDERFUL UNDEAD LIFE. I describe the river in and its little tributaries in VAMPIRE IN THE SCRYING GLASS, and I mention the falls and revisit the Low Water Bridge in A VAMPIRE TO BE RECKONED WITH.

You can visit me on my FB author page: REMullins, Goodreads, Amazon or
The Wild Rose Press
 

The Flight of Time by Alicia Dean

(This is the article I wrote for this month's Novel Notes Newsletter (an author newsletter that Leah, Diane, myself, and my critique partners put out together)...I hope it's okay that I cut corners :))

It cannot be April, 2016 already, can it? Where has the first quarter of this year gone? Where have the last 10 years gone? The last 30?  I know it’s an expression, that time flies by quickly, but it really, really does. Is it just because I’m getting older or is it the insanely busy world we live in today? Or…what? I don’t know, but I’m truly amazed at the way time literally speeds by. It seems as though my children were babies only moments ago, and now they are 32, 30, and 23...impossible!

As it turns out, studies have been done on this very topic (surprised? I didn’t think so, what topic HASN’T been studied?)

Some of the theories on why time zips by so quickly as we are are...

1. We gauge time by memorable events.

In 1890, psychologist William James hypothesized that humans measure time by memorable events. Since so many exciting and new experiences take place when we’re younger (first kiss, driver’s license, prom, graduation, etc), the events seem to have happened over a much longer time span.

2. The amount of time passed relative to one’s age varies.

For a 5-year-old, one year is 20% of their entire life. For a 50-year-old, however, one year is only 2% of their life. This “ratio theory,” proposed by Janet in 1877, suggests that we are constantly comparing time intervals with the total amount of time we’ve already lived.

3. Our biological clock slows as we age.

With aging may come the slowing of some sort of internal pacemaker. Relative to the unstoppable clocks and calendars, external time suddenly appears to pass more quickly.

4. As we age, we pay less attention to time.

When you’re a kid on December 1, you’re faithfully counting down the days until Santa brings your favorite Hot Wheels down the chimney. When you’re an adult on December 1, you’re a little more focused on work, bills, family life, scheduling, deadlines, travel plans, Christmas shopping, and all of that other boring adult stuff. The more attention one focuses on tasks such as these, the less one will notice the passage of time.

5. Stress, stress, and more stress.

The feeling that there is not enough time to get things done may be reinterpreted as the feeling that time is passing too quickly. Even older individuals (who are, more often than not, retired from work) may continue to feel similarly due to physical handicaps or diminished cognitive ability.

SO...when you wake up tomorrow, and it’s already Christmas, just know that it happened so quickly due to your advanced age. Feel better? :) 

Since our time IS so limited, I have been sharing weekly 'Two-Minute' tips on my blog for a while now. I decided to publish these tips in a book, and it was just released last Friday. It's 99 cents for a limited time...

In today’s busy world—and writers are far busier than the average human being—there is little time for lengthy, detailed, intensive writing courses and writing manuals. 

Knowing how rare and fleeting a writer’s time is, Alicia Dean posts a weekly ‘Tuesday Two-Minute’ writing tip on her blog where she shares her knowledge, experience, and wisdom in tiny, bite-sized pieces so as not to squander more than 120-second increments of a writer’s precious time. 

Now, you can get those tips all in one convenient place. In simple, quick and easily digestible servings, this book shares loads of advice for writers. Tips such as… 

• Recognizing and eliminating filter words that distance your reader 

• Understanding Point of View – How to fix it and why 

• Writing Faster Drafts 

• Clearer, concise writing 

• Tips for more effective Tweeting 

No matter your level, from novice to experienced author, you will find something beneficial in Alicia’s handy, quick reminders. 

Purchase from

AMAZON

Barnes and Noble

Photo Op! Emerald Bay by Jannine Gallant

I've had a busy weekend and was scrambling to put together my blog post by Sunday night. On Friday, my youngest, Kristen (a high school junior) and I spent the day driving all over Northern California to look at colleges. Okay, maybe it just seemed like all over... We checked out Sonoma State in the wine country then stopped at UC Davis (my alma mater) on the way home. Both beautiful schools, but it was a looooong day. On Saturday, a group of Austrian exchange students arrived for a week long stay in Tahoe. We're keeping two girls for the whole week but had two extras Saturday night since their host family wasn't home from spring break yet. This is the second time we've hosted Austrian students, and it's always fun for our kids to learn a little about a different culture.

Sunday morning a group of us took some of the kids down to Emerald Bay for a hike. Emerald Bay is one of the most photographed spots in America. A real "gem" on the south-west corner of Lake Tahoe. I've used the Tahoe area as a setting for a few of my books and mentioned Emerald Bay in a couple of them. Take a look at the photos, and you be the judge. When it comes to sheer natural beauty, our little corner of the world is hard to beat!

Austrian exchange students with a few of our kids. Kristen is front row in the blue windbreaker.

Emerald Bay from the top of the hike down. Fannette Island is in the middle.

Beach at Emerald Bay.

A goose who thought I was going to feed him. Didn't happen!

Vikingsholm, a small Scandinavian castle built just behind the beach at Emerald Bay in 1929.

Cascade Creek feeds into the lake at Emerald Bay.

I hope my pictures have brightened your Monday morning! If you want to "experience" Lake Tahoe in my books, check out Every Move She Makes and Road To Serendipity. Or visit my Website for info on all my books. Have a great week!