Monthly Archives: April 2017

Lucy, I’m home!

Wheeler Historic Farm, Salt Lake City, Utah

Lobby of the Grand Geiser Hotel in Baker City, Oregon

We’ve returned from our three-week road trip to find our home intact, our possessions still here, and everything functioning as it should. There’s always that moment of apprehension just before opening the door: will we find the windows smashed? The basement flooded? The fridge full of rotten food, thanks to a power outage? But all is well.

There’s nothing like a break in the routine to refresh the mind. I’m ready to tackle old projects with renewed vigor, and to jump back into the manuscript I finished while on vacation.

Vacation from retirement? Yup. Whether earning a paycheck or not, I need the occasional escape from the familiar. Every time I return from a trip, there’s a delicious whiff of newness in the air, a promise of a fresh start. I feel like tackling neglected chores and projects, trying new things.

Specifically, talking with my husband’s son the brand-new doctor has pointed me toward a new eating plan. For the next month, D and I are trying the high-protein, low-carb route to shed ten or so pounds. I don’t give two cold dog turds what people think of my middle-aged bod on the beach, but I do worry about the impact this plump tum will have on my health.

And D’s brother, a gifted guitarist, has lent me a lovely smaller-sized guitar to try. After a year of learning to play the ukulele, I’m ready to graduate to six strings. My hands are small, though, and big-bodied guitars are not comfortable with my injured right shoulder. I hope this size will work for me.

I hope the warm part of the year brings some lovely vacation time for you. What are your vacation plans?

Dancing with Jessica

(Names have been changed to protect the innocent.)

D and I are enjoying our drive-about through the Western U.S.  So far, we’ve visited friends and family in Northern and Southern California, Las Vegas, and now Salt Lake City. Four of the five G brothers are converging here in the town where they grow up for a day of talk, food, drink and guitars. I’ll do my best to keep up with my little ukulele. I’m lucky to have married into such a musical family, and such a welcoming one.

The chance to travel like this is one of the prime blessings of retirement. Of course, a little just-us time between visits is an important component of a successful road trip. On our way through Nevada, D and I spent the night at the Virgin River Casino/”Resort” in Mesquite, on the Arizona border.

Everything you’d imagine, good and bad, about a budget casino-hotel was on offer. Lots of lumpy, sad-looking old folks with various infirmities, staring glumly at their slot machines. Chatty, cheerful waitresses who call you Hon as they bring your bargain plate of prime rib. A cloud of cigarette smoke that permeates everything and clings to your clothing. Squealing kids splashing in the pool. Passers-through staring in wonder at the blinking lights, ringing bells, electronic music, and weird, wonderful artwork on the gambling machines. Jaded-looking croupiers and dealers in polyester vests, awaiting the next bunch of suckers—er, gamblers. Cocktail waitresses squashed into tight mini-skirts, trudging through the rows to deliver cheap alcohol. Just watching them made my feet hurt in sympathy.

I must say, though, that the food was tasty, the hotel room clean, and the bed comfortable. At the bar, a very competent quartet played rock standards and country tunes from the 80s to the present. The dance floor was filled with white people in their sixties and seventies doing the same complicated line dance to every tune and clearly having a good time.
And behind them, doing her own funky thing, was Jessica. I learned her name during the band’s break, when she staggered out to shout greetings to the gamblers. Many called her by name, and someone said, “She’s gonna get her ass thrown out of here again.”

Probably fortyish, Jessica wore a red ribbed tank top but no bra. She was short and thick, and her mussed blond hair hung loose around her stocky shoulders. The length of her white pants suggested that she’d been wearing heels earlier but had discarded them somewhere along the way—perfectly understandable while dancing, though probably not the best idea while trailing across the casino floor.

On the one hand, I felt sorry for her. She was making a spectacle of herself and, judging from the way the waitresses rolled their eyes as she passed, this was not her first time doing so. She gyrated and spun and tottered across the dance floor, throwing her arms wide at the band, and then at the crowd, and then shooting leering grins at the few lone guys in the bar. Every few minutes she’d plop down onto the edge of the stage and strike a pose, probably to catch her breath. The line dancers ignored her, as did the band.

On the other hand, she seemed so joyful, so determined to wring every last drop of fun from the occasion. When the line dancers left, Jessica kept dancing. Her swirling, zig-zag path across the dance floor reminded me of a little girl dancing at a concert or wedding. Her infectious grin was adorable, and I so wanted someone to get up and dance with her. Or maybe take her home—which was probably what she was hoping for. Who knows?

D consented to one dance with me, and afterward I contented myself with wiggling in my chair. Of course, the movement caught Jessica’s eye, and she trotted over like a happy puppy and held out her hand.

And so we danced, Jessica and I. I twirled her across the dance floor, nearly dumping her on her behind—not deliberately, mind you. It’s just that she was pretty unsteady on her feet. But it was fun, and I was glad to share her energy for a few minutes.

There’s something to be said for exuberance, and a lot to be said for dancing. And I wonder—how big of a change in my circumstances would it take to make a Jessica of me? After all, I love to dance, and I like my wine. If I were all alone, could I resist drinking too much and tearing up the dance floor?

Here’s to Jessica. I hope she finds a dance partner.

So, when can I read your book? Also, two new books for you.

The first Wednesday of the month brings our monthly question from the Insecure Writers’ Support Group. IWSG is a great resource for all us scribblers, and I’ve really enjoyed meeting other writers via this blog exchange. Give them a look here and join the conversation: http://www.insecurewriterssupportgroup.com/p/iwsg-sign-up.html

This month’s question: Have you taken advantage of the annual A to Z Challenge in terms of marketing, networking, publicity for your book? What were the results?

Um, yeah. About that…

There comes a time when an as-yet-unpublished writer starts to wince when asked “What have you published?”

Nothing, okay? I’m still flogging the query circuit, submitting to competitions, tweeting like a sparrow, and hoping for a bite. I’m cheered by tales from traditionally published writers who received fifty, a hundred, even more rejections before getting that golden ticket.

And I’m starting to educate myself about self-publishing. The steamy romance novel I’m working on? If I don’t get a publisher for that one within six months of completion, I will self-publish. So there. But I won’t be one of those self-published writers who flings a half-baked, poorly edited story out into Kindle Land, so that means beta readers, and editor, and more time…

But it takes so long! And I was feeling okay about that, continuing to plug away, a thousand words or more each day, until, over the weekend, I received a text from a critique group member whose work I enjoy and admire: “Do you have a book out?” We’d talked about his previous book publicity events, and discussed doing one together. That was several months ago. At our last meeting, he showed me the pre-order page on Amazon for his latest self-published novel, a speculative fiction tale called The Secret Deaths of Arthur Lowe. If you enjoy creepy, eerie tales in a realistic setting, check it out here:

https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_1_21?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=the+secret+deaths+of+arthur+lowe&sprefix=the+secret+deaths+of+%2Caps%2C241&crid=2JTP5BUK2GDVS

Meanwhile, on I plod, perhaps the slowest runner on the track, and using this blog to connect with other writers and practice creative non-fiction. Happy scribbling to you!

And speaking of publishing, my blog buddy Stephanie Faris has a new children’s book out in her charming Piper Morgan series.

Piper Morgan tries her hand at acting in the fourth book of the charming Piper Morgan series.

Piper’s mom is helping out at a local pool shop, and the owner wants to shoot a commercial for his store. Piper thinks it’s the PERFECT opportunity to get in front of the camera and experience a little bit of showbiz. But will Piper’s contribution to the TV commercial make a splash—or will it go belly-up?

Bio: Stephanie Faris is the author of the middle grade books 30 Days of No Gossip and 25 Roses, as well as the Piper Morgan chapter book series. An accomplished freelance writer, her work has appeared in Writer’s Digest, The Writer, Pacific Standard, Mental Floss, and The Week, among many others. You can find this latest book here:

https://www.amazon.com/Piper-Morgan-Makes-Splash-Stephanie-ebook/dp/B01GD9CQC6/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/piper-morgan-makes-a-splash-stephanie-faris/1123861540?ean=9781481457170

http://www.indiebound.org/book/9781481457170

And here’s where you can meet Stephanie: https://stephaniefaris.com/