Cynthia Harrison's Blog, page 31

Life Without Wine

Recently I’ve given up wine. It’s been two months since I’ve had any alcohol at all, which for some people might not be a big deal but for a frequent wine drinker who loves the occasional martini…well, it’s been interesting. And not as difficult as I thought. The reason I was forced into a life without wine is simple: a new medication that absolutely cannot be mixed with any form of alcohol. The meds are short-term, so I sincerely hope to have a glass of wine again soon. But for now, no.

I wondered when I first realized I’d have to give up wine for a bit if I’d have some sort of withdrawal symptoms. I didn’t, which was a relief. I thought I’d at least suffer minor psychological withdrawal, like when I quit chocolate, or bread. Wine has been my relaxation method of choice for most of my adult life. Wine makes a party or social occasion much more fun. It creates a festive feeling when out on a dinner date with my husband. I was sure I’d miss those couple of glasses in the evening, winding down with a favorite television program or a movie.

But in the last sixty or so days, there might have been maybe one or two times that I really got all wistful and wished I could just stop with the medication already. It’s necessary for now. When I mentioned to my doctor’s assistant that I’d like to be done with the medication as soon as possible because I missed my wine, she said “oh nobody pays attention to those warnings!” It’s true. Almost everyone I know who takes similar meds also drinks alcohol. Still, I’m not going to combine them.

The medication I’m taking short-term is for insomnia; the irony is alcohol has been known to cause sleep disruption, so it’s probably not something I should be indulging in quite so often anyway. For me, now that I’m getting proper rest, sleep is not the biggest surprise of this alcohol-free existence. The biggest surprise is that my weight has stabilized in a most dramatic fashion. All my jeans fit, every single day. There are no more five pound weight gains during a hectic week. Every day, even if I eat a little sugar or splurge on carbs, my weight is the same, or within a pound of what it has been since I quit wine.

I shouldn’t be too surprised. I remember when I was in Weight Watchers one of the leaders said she always had a problem reaching her goal weight until she quit wine. “I didn’t drink that much,” she told us during a meeting. “A glass or two every other night, maybe. But the minute I stopped indulging in wine, the rest of my weight came off.” This was her secret weight loss trick. I needed a trick of my own, as I never did reach my goal weight on Weight Watchers. At the time, I didn’t want to hear about quitting wine. I liked my wine more than I liked being at goal weight.

I’ve kind of hit the pause button on achieving the goal weight of my earlier days. I’m a size ten or twelve and while that is not svelte, it is okay. I never like to say never–as far as never hoping to lose that last ten pounds or never having a glass of wine ever again. I might lose the weight some day, if I want it enough. And I am sure there’s at least one more glass of wine in my future. But I also know that if I find my weight starting to creep up and the pounds are harder to lose, I will look first toward the Chardonnay consumption.

Tagged: insomnia, medication, weight, wine

More Writer’s Block Fixes

Life is like a novel: full of unexpected twists and irony. For example, several years ago, I wrote a series of posts on writer’s block. Through 45 years of writing,  I’d never had writer’s block, so Ten Fixes For Writer’s Block could have been arrogant nonsense. But as a creative writing teacher, I had come across so many kinds of writer’s block in my students that I felt compelled to write about ways to fix it. After all, it was my job to help young writers.

Little did I know when I was writing those fixes that one day I would need my own advice. A surprise: my younger self knew things my older self forgot. Because, yes, I have been struggling with writer’s block for a few months now. I’m not completely blocked. Obviously, writing this post proves that. Which is a relief because I really don’t know what I’d do with myself if I didn’t write, having no other hobbies except binge watching Longmire on Netflix.

(Photo credit: A&E)

For so long, I was absolutely sure that I would write until I died. I couldn’t imagine a time when I would not wake up in the morning with my current novel perking in my neocortex. That is just the way it has been for so long, I thought it would always be true. Especially when I retired from teaching. I couldn’t wait to write full time. How productive I would be! How prolific! Instead, I struggled to write and I struggled to understand why I was having to struggle. Finally I remembered a series of posts I compiled way back when I thought I’d never have a serious problem with writer’s block. Maybe I should look that up, I thought. I might learn something from myself.

Today, I checked over the list. It seems I have ALL of the ten reasons I listed. Maybe what I missed when I was busy being prolific is that writer’s block is complex and involves many moving parts, not just one thing you can tick off and be done with. I also read my advice on how to “fix” these problems and it’s solid. I should take my own advice, but first I am trying an additional experiment given to me by my awesome therapist, Dr. B.

Last session, I brought up my growing worry that I was done writing novels. In the past couple of months I had started and stopped two novels. I lacked the passion, the intrinsic motivation, the drive. It just dried up on me and I wasn’t sure why. Dr B suggested an experiment: go two weeks without working on a novel. She said something so wise “If you find yourself missing it, that will tell you something. If you find you don’t miss it, that will tell you something, too. Either way, you have more information.”

Isn’t she a genius? Because I have come to believe that there may be a time when I stop writing novels. I’m not sure when, but I can see now that day might come. That’s what the next two weeks will tell me. In the three days since Dr. B gave me this advice, I have learned one thing: I am not ready to stop writing books yet. I want to finish those two novels I started. I want to write more novels after those, too. The question remains: do I want it enough?

Here’s the irony: I found my younger self’s answer to that question embedded in the original post. I called it a “Reality Check” and went on to say “People can become blocked because they dread the time and effort involved to really make their writing shine. In that case, your writer’s block is telling you something important. You might have a bit of talent for writing, but you don’t have the passion it takes to bring that talent to the next level. And that’s okay. It’s good to know exactly why you’re blocked, what your options are, and whether you might be happier doing something else with your creative energy.”

I felt this bit of advice like a slap in the face. One thing age teaches you is that vital chemicals (hormones) deplete as you grow older. This is why older folks suffer from insomnia: their melatonin levels are low. Women in menopause lack powerful hormones that impact many areas of joyful living. Men lose testosterone. And bones become brittle because the calcium is not there anymore. What if passion is also finite? What if mine is gone forever?

I don’t really believe this. Passion is a feeling, not a hormone or a vitamin. There are ways to restore passion for writing, and I’ve found a few. There’s Dr. B’s advice, which I think could work for anyone. Julia Cameron suggests Artist Dates. Writing prompts can be can be useful. Deadlines too. NaNoWriMo is coming up in November. That’s always inspiring. Lists help. For example, I got the idea for writing this post from Molly Greene’s terrific list of 101 Fabulous Blog Topic Ideas.

I have not given up hope. I plan to rekindle my passion, and I’ll keep you posted on my progress. Meanwhile, if you are now going through a dry spell, or if you’ve had writer’s block in the past and broke through it, I’d love to hear your story.

Tagged: creativity, writers block, writing

The Long Road to Print

My first published novel, Sister Issues, is finally in print. It only took a dozen or so years after I wrote it for this to happen. What took so long? Paradoxically, my impatience to be published is what held this book back from seeing print for so long. Readers of this blog know that I’m a fan of publishing online. When the Kindle came out, I already had one book in print, an indie non-fiction title I used to teach creative writing. My campus bookstore kept it in stock, so I had a built in distributor in a brick and mortar store.

In 2007 not many people even knew about the Kindle. E-readers had been around for awhile but only a few tech savvy readers were on to them. Amazon popularized e-readers, and I took notice. One day I decided to upload my own book to the Kindle Digital Platform (KDP) for students who preferred an online version. I think I may have charged 99 cents, a significant savings. What I found was other people, not just students, bought that book. Which amazed me. And gave me an idea.

I’d been writing novels and knocking on the doors of traditional publishers for a long time. I’d also been blogging for five years. I knew how fun it was to be published digitally. Maybe I should just by-pass all the traditional publishers and put my most polished book out on KDP. I well remembered the hassles and the long months of indie publishing a print book from my experience with the creative writing manual. Had I known the work and time involved, I don’t think that first book would have ever seen print.

So I was not anxious to do that again. Enter KDP. Suddenly, everyone was using it to self-publish their novels, why not me? So I went ahead and did it. What a thrill. Then the bigger thrill came when The Wild Rose Press (TWRP) accepted another novel I’d written. Soon I had a book contract with a bona fide publisher and didn’t have to worry about cover art, formatting, ISBNs, uploading or printing a book. All that was done for me. As I continued to polish my manuscripts and publish them with TWRP, I never forgot my first novel. I couldn’t submit it to my publisher because it was already published online. If only I’d waited!

All this time I was teaching too, so life zoomed by pretty fast. Before I knew it I had ten books to my name. Amazing! And yet…I really wanted to publish a print edition of Sister Issues. I wanted to hold it in my hands. A decade into my career as a published author, specialized companies run by tech savvy entrepreneurs sprouted up everywhere. These companies helped indie authors do all the zillions of things I had to do myself when I self-published my first book. I started to see the impressive results of friends who worked with one such start up here in Detroit.

Another idea was born. I could hire Woodward Press to bring Sister Issues out in print! Really, how much could it cost? I was sure it would be less than the $3000 I’d paid to order a modest print run of 500 books on my first endeavor. After all, with POD there is no need to order a print run. A single book is printed as it’s ordered. So I called Woodward Press and found out that the costs were significantly lower to publish this way, even a decade later. Working closely with Woodward Press, I began the process of preparing Sister Issues for print. From start to finish the project was significantly less anxiety provoking than doing it myself. And it only took two months for me to receive a copy of Sister Issues and hold it in my hands.

If you still prefer print books to e-books, and many many people do, now you can order Sister Issues in print from Amazon.

Tagged: Indie Publishing, KDP, Kindle, POD, Woodward Press

Retirement So Far

Yesterday I had to drive down by the college campus where I used to teach for an eye doctor appointment. This is the first feature that pops out at me about retirement: a lot more doctor appointments. I don’t know this for sure, but it seems like now that I’m retired (ten months and counting!) my body has realized I have more time to tend to its needs, so it is taking the opportunity to quietly go haywire.

The good news is there is nothing significantly or terminally wrong with my eyes. I have a chronic inflammation of the upper eyelids which is causing the pain and the blurry vision. I am not going blind, I do not have glaucoma or macular degeneration or any of the other horrible things I’d been imagining for last six weeks as I waited for my appointment date to arrive. The other horrible thing I imagined is eye cancer. I have a “freckle” on one of my eyeballs that my ophthalmologist is keeping an eye on (sorry bad pun). He says it is nothing to worry about but when your eyes go wonky, you worry. Well, perhaps YOU don’t, but I do.

I am a champion worrier. Always have been. I practice not worrying, relaxing, deep breathing, living in the moment, thinking good thoughts. But when the body acts up, which mine has been doing quite steadily for several months now, one thing after another like a cascade of age descending since I hit the big 6-0, or since I retired and now have time to pay attention, worry kicks into high gear and just keeps on racing along the highway of my mind. I step on the brakes but it’s like driving up and down hilly terrain, I really can’t maintain a steady speed. So I zoom between wild optimism (60 is great! Retirement is awesome!) and crazy worry (I knew that freckle on my eyeball was going to be trouble!)

Anyway, another worry put to rest. I was so relieved for a little less than 24 hours. But of course the cascade continues, as it has been doing. And yes I’m retired but I really don’t have time for this today. I have a book to proof and a luncheon to attend and how am I supposed to do either when I have a crashing migraine? I know all those bright lights the ophthalmologist flashed into my eyeballs yesterday triggered the migraine. So this is the way it works, I patch up one leak and another sprouts. Luckily, migraine is an old friend and I have the meds. I just don’t like using them as they really aren’t great for driving. And I had that lunch to attend…

Before I retired I imagined many lunch dates and much writing and several vacations. I have not taken a vacation since the ill-fated trip to the west coast to visit the grandbabies in May. Which is when I tore my knee muscle and fractured a bone and had to wear crutches and stay off my left leg as much as possible for three long months. Not even a weekend away. Been too busy dealing with the cascade. Because the stress of dealing with a bum knee gave me shingles and then I got a sinus infection and the steroids caused my insomnia to flare up and the medication I had been taking for years to help me sleep stopped working and I had to get an entire new set of meds not to mention the pain pills for the knee and so there was a lot of trial and error because my body hates most pills so that was fun.

Mostly everything is sorted now. The migraine will pass. I don’t get them much anymore. Well, I had a two day session when I quit my beloved coffee. Yes, I love coffee. But I love sleep more. So there’s that. I won’t even begin to explain about the anxiety all of this has caused to flare like fireworks over the Detroit River in July. That’s not even worth going into and the new meds seem to be helping with that anyway. Despite popping a dozen or so pills this morning, or perhaps because of these pills, I feel confident the worst is over and the real fun of being 60 and retired can begin. Tomorrow, I assume. Because it helps to be hopeful.

Of course there is that one stubborn area of my brain that insists on filing a complaint on behalf of aging, and it is this: why doesn’t anybody warn you that bizarre problems like inflamed eyelids are a thing? Or that insomnia is just a fact of life for older people? Or that medication used for years stops working and also has recently been discovered to cause “cognitive decline” in older persons? Yesterday the physician’s assistant actually said the word “dementia” — not that I have dementia but that the life-saving pill I had blithely taken for many years that recently stopped working was actually a good thing because it meant I had to stop taking it and thus would not be at risk for dementia. This is the same pill that my neurologist assured me was perfectly harmless lo these many years ago.

Did you know heroin got it’s name because when it was invented it was seen as a savior (or heroine) from morphine addiction? Yes. Drugs are funny things. They are miraculous and treacherous. A pill that cured all ills can turn on you like a bad boyfriend and begin to cause the very symptoms you took it to escape from. Like insomnia and anxiety. Crazy, right? But hey I’m retired and what else do have to do but monitor this body that is suddenly quite a handful. Or maybe it always was this way and I just fooled myself into thinking that retirement would solve all my problems, mental, physical, and emotional. So far, that has not happened, and yet I could not suppress a squeal of glee when I passed the campus without turning in to faculty parking.

Beware of Darkness

A year ago, after a lifetime of being an advocate for gun control, a switch flipped inside my head. I decided I needed to learn how to shoot and own a gun. I discussed it with my husband who agreed to take lessons with me and to purchase a pair of handguns. As an older American, I felt vulnerable. A gun (or two) could protect us. This thinking was such a huge departure for me. I ruminated over it long and hard, talked it over with plenty of friends and family. I was surprised to learn how many already had guns and knew how to shoot them.

At the same time, my writing also took a darker tone. As often is the case, a character I loved acted out things I had been thinking, like taking shooting lessons and buying guns for self-protection. She also felt vulnerable. The title of my upcoming novel reflects this blacker mood in my world view. I finished that book, which I am proud of despite its darker themes. That’s the way it works with writers, or with me anyway. Whatever is on my mind finds its way into my current work. The books, in my view, are always stronger for it.

Still in the pro-gun frame of mind, I began another novel with my same beloved character. I wanted her to find a way out of her darkness. I thought it could be a psychological thriller with a victorious turnaround for my damaged character who had suffered so much. There were two shootings in the first chapter. Of course my character is on the side of the righteous and wants to find the shooter and see justice done. It was my job to help her do that.

Meanwhile, in real life, I never did push for those shooting lessons. I started to think maybe we didn’t need guns in the house after all. And I noticed I was reluctant to continue with the draft of this more violent novel. I thought I was being silly, and, ignoring my inner voice, forced myself to continue writing, telling myself It’s fiction! It’s not real! It’s a challenge. The pages accumulated and I had a solid start on a new and different novel in a fresh voice. My critique group thought it was great.

Then yesterday: the mass shooting in Oregon. After much reflection and the familiar unwillingness to sit down with my manuscript, I finally admitted to myself that I may not be up to this particular writing challenge. I just don’t have the stomach for it. Not now. Maybe not ever. Sure it’s just a book, but after yesterday it hit home: I don’t need or want to add any more to the world’s darkness, or my own, not even a little bit.

Tagged: gun violence, mass shootings, writing

The Starter Wife

Thirty years ago today I married my third husband. I was his first wife. He wanted the whole wedding, with a big party and the church and a tuxedo. I agreed, but only because it was his first go-round. Frankly I was a little embarrassed inviting people to yet another celebration of forever love. I knew damn well love, at least for me, didn’t seem to last forever. And there were already red flags flying, long before the wedding day dawned.

We’d broken up when he decided we should postpone the wedding after we set the date and everyone had been invited. Then we got back together, but only because I made him choose, all or nothing. Marriage or break up for good. I was a single mom, in the middle of a custody war with no end in sight. I had to be tough. He chose me, but sometimes he’d say “everyone has a starter wife, right?” I wasn’t sure he was joking.

On our wedding day, someone set a video camera up by the keg of beer on the patio. This would become our wedding video. When we got back from our honeymoon (not all hearts and flowers) and watched the video from our wedding day, I heard Al’s friends making bets on how long the marriage would last. Not long, was the general consensus. Less than a year.

Things were rocky as a landslide those first months, that first year. We had completely different ideas about how marriage worked and neither one of us was very good at compromise. There were lots of tears and hurt feelings. He flung the word divorce around so liberally I once went into the boys’ bedroom to find them filling their little gym bags, the ones they used when they switched houses to their dads’ place.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“We’re packing. Al says we’re getting a divorce.”

I told them Al didn’t mean it, we were not getting a divorce, grown ups sometimes said things they didn’t mean when they were upset. The boys calmed down and unpacked their toys and pajamas. But they looked sad. Which broke my heart. Maybe I should get a divorce. Maybe Al really didn’t want to be married to me and maybe I had been a fool to think I could fall in love again and finally make it work. So many more red flags had popped up since we’d said “I do.”

There was the way he never told me when he made plans with his guy friends, just went out. On Friday night. To the bar. And plenty of other nights, too. No discussion, just “see ya.” Or the times I’d try to do something nice for him, like throwing him a birthday party or buying him a little gift, and he’d always say “how much is this going to cost me?” Then there was the way he flung around the D word. The way he’d been so mean on our honeymoon, falling asleep on the road to Hana so I had to drive down that mountain myself, terrified the whole time. Not my idea of a romantic hero. Not at all.

Even on our wedding day, he spent more time drinking with his friends than by my side. He’d walked in on me smoking a cigarette and yelled at me in front of a bunch of wedding guests. Remembering all these raging red flags, I began to worry big time. Not so much about what this would do to my ongoing custody case, but what it would do to my own heart, and the hearts of those two little boys I loved so much. I’d been through a no-big-deal divorce at 18, from my high school sweetheart, and then I’d been through the wrecking ball with my second husband, the father of my sons. I wasn’t sure how we’d survive another divorce. I wasn’t sure I had a choice.

But I was strong back then, so much stronger than I am now. The years have made me soft, but back then I had time on my side. I believed that many good things were in my family’s future. What I didn’t know is if that family would hold three or four people. My mother seemed to think divorce was in the cards for Al and me. I had told her a little bit about our problems and she said “I never thought it would work.” I’m not sure there was anybody who believed we could make it work. Not my ex, not my kids, not my family, not our friends, and apparently not even Al.

I waited until the kids were with their dad and then I sat down on the sofa in the living room and had the talk with Al. I told him that I was done fighting for our love. It was pretty clear to me that he didn’t really love me and that this marriage had been a big mistake. I told him about the little scene in the boys’ bedroom. I don’t think I even had any tears left. Our relationship had started out so beautifully, as so many love stories do, but it had turned uglier and uglier and I truly believed it was past saving. Al agreed. We would divorce, less than a year after we married.

I got up off the sofa. I had no place to go, but I knew how to find an apartment. I’d done it plenty of times. Now it was my turn to pack. I guessed I really had been the starter wife he said I was after all. And good luck to the next one. I was heading down the hallway, ready to pack my own bags, when Al called me back into the living room. By this point, I wasn’t angry; neither one of us had even raised our voices during the entire discussion. All the tears and arguments were over.

I turned around to look at him sitting there, feeling so sad, because I still loved him, even though our marriage was impossible to fix. I was a born loser in love. Three times married, three times failed. He sat there on the sofa looking at me. “What?” I said, simply defeated. Nothing else he said could make me feel lower than I already did in that moment.

“I still love you,” he said.

That was thirty years ago. Somehow the starter wife became the only wife, with hard work, determination, abiding love, and many highs and lows in a very long, mostly happy marriage.

Tagged: child custody, divorce, marriage, single mothers

How to Be a Better Human

Someone older and supposedly wiser once told me a long time ago that guilt was a useless emotion. I remember feeling very defensive about this. I didn’t want to accept it. I very much wanted this person to feel guilty for all the horrible things they had done to me. That would mean at least they recognized how they had wronged me and who knows, maybe they’d even apologize or make amends in some small way. But no, to this person, guilt was a wasted emotion.

Don’t tell that to Brene Brown, a leading authority on shame and the constellation of emotions surrounding it. In her latest book, Rising Strong, Brown affirms the intuition of my younger self: guilt can be a powerful way to figure out wrong turns, take the steps necessary to correct them, do better the next time. Guilt teaches us to have more empathy and compassion, to be more forgiving and more loving. Calling it a waste is the real mistake.

Brown makes a careful distinction between guilt and shame. Guilt is feeling horrible about something you did, shame is feeling horrible about who you are. In a way, when that person told me guilt was a useless emotion, it made me feel ashamed. Who was I to think guilt was a good thing? Who was I to go around feeling guilty and hoping those who had done cruel things to me felt guilt too? What kind of horrible human being was I, anyway? Was I really so stupid as to think that guilt had a place in my life? That it was in some way a good thing? That is how shame gets you. It makes you question your own intelligence and integrity. It twists logic.

There is nothing to be gained from shame, which is the irrational fear that there is something intrinsically wrong in me. Something unfixable. When I drag shame out into the daylight, admit my feelings and unpeel the layers by writing about it, I come to Brown’s conclusion: I am not perfect, I am only human, and I need to forgive myself, let go of shame and get on with things. Shame, not guilt, is the useless emotion.

Once I have let go of shame and absorbed the lessons of guilt, I can use them to grow more fully into what Brown calls wholeheartedness (which to me is pretty much the point of life, to become whole, to be at peace, to accept imperfection and to love myself and others with my whole heart). I can draw more secure boundaries, adjust and affirm my ideas about how to live with integrity, and move on.

Except what I’ve noticed is that even after I do the work, regret never goes away. I will always regret the harsh words I’ve said, the wrong actions I’ve taken, the times I have hurt someone I love. Regret is a tough thing to live with. Regret is a result of guilt. It’s a burden and it’s something I struggle with. I wondered for a long time if I’d always have regrets or if by some miracle I could cure them, the way you cure shame by bringing it out into the light and looking at it.

As it turns out, I was doing the same thing with regret that other person was doing with guilt, considering it useless, wanting to banish it. Not so fast, says Brown. Regret is as useful as guilt and in similar ways. It  can help uncover shame, because for a lot of people, myself included, when I feel shame I do whatever I can to bury it quick.

But if I write about my regret and look at why I have this huge block of it, I find boundary issues I had not handled well, problems with trust that ensued from that, feeling foolish for missing huge red flags that tried to warm me disaster was just ahead, and so much more. And the value of that? Shame banished. Also, knowing regret has a higher purpose lets me live more lightly with it. Just like guilt, learning to work with regret lightens its load. It is a way to become a better human.

Tagged: Brene Brown, guilt, regret, shame, wholeheartedness

Promo for an Introvert

I admit I am a little…eccentric. I pay attention to the phases of the moon and Mercury Retrogrades. I buy new outfits when Venus tours my sun sign. I listen to psychics. Well, sometimes. I tend to go with my gut first. The thing about trusting your gut is, if you are an introvert like me, it can hold you back. Keep you in your comfort zone. This means, if you’re a writer, you won’t promote your novels much.

Yet I find myself in the middle of a massive (for me) promotional campaign. I’m not sure how it happened. Two psychics told me I should “take a bigger stage” that it was “my destiny.” I doubted my inner voice saying “NO! Stay home and write.” It felt a bit cowardly. After all, I had to launch three books in three months. And so I talked myself into hiring a PR person to make up a media plan. Now that I’m in it, I can’t believe I began such an intimidating enterprise. What was I thinking? It might have been the steroids I was on for a sinus infection.

Whatever the reason, I find myself okaying a press release (my first ever), giving interviews to journalists, pulling together media kits, agreeing to book signings, reviews, workshops, conferences, social media suggestions. Just a big fat YES to everything.

Already I feel overwhelmed and I’m only one day past the first release of three books in three months. Yesterday was release day for Blue Heaven, the Encore edition. An in-dpeth profile appeared in the local papers; I participated in a Facebook Launch Party. Both things never part of my experience before. It may have worked. Blue Heaven went from being ranked in the sub-basement of five million up to two thousand. Which might not seem very special, but which number would you pick?

I need a break. The keyboard calls. I must write. Immerse myself in what I do. I have an all day event, a book signing, but that’s not until next month for the second release. And I promise myself I’ll submit review copies and do other things on the list this winter and perhaps participate more in real-world events next spring. Because spring is a long way off and perhaps the stars will align again for me.

Tagged: book promotion, introverts, writng

Magical 13

In September 2002, my son said these magic words “you should start a blog. I’ll set it up for you.” When I say “magic” I’m not exaggerating. I was a writer before 2002. I had even published a handful of poetry, short stories and book reviews in small literary magazines. But I was a novelist at heart, and that part of my writing career was going exactly nowhere.

Then came the blog. From the first day, I felt published in a way that was different. I wasn’t a published novelist yet, but I felt so close to that reality. It felt right around the corner. And blogging daily about my writing journey, about the novel I was working on at the moment and my attempts to find an agent or a publisher, kept that feeling front and center. I knew it would happen.

Lots of good things began happening almost immediately. I got a staff position at a prominent book review magazine, then another even better paying one. I wrote features too for print magazines and got paid. I blogged for free because I loved it, but being paid for my words in national print media validated me in a rock solid way. It was all part of a learning curve that would take me to the ultimate destination. I got the agent. I got the publishing contract. Along the way I blogged about it all.

Now as my 10th book is about to be published later this year, I know I owe it all to those fateful words my son spoke to me that long ago day. Blogging kept my eye on the prize and gave me the feeling of already being there. I can only look back with gratitude and thanks. As a thank you to my readers, I offer this special gift to one commenter.

I usually give away books on my blog anniversary, but this year I decided to go outside the box (which is where this cuff bracelet belongs, on your arm or the arm of your best girl). And you can still get free books because this magical year 13 is seeing a new milestone: AmazonEncore is re-releasing my Kindle bestseller Blue Heaven on September 15, next Tuesday!

To celebrate, I’ve joined a Facebook launch party with other AmazonEncore authors. All you have to do to win one of my books is show up between 6-6:30 pm Eastern Standard Time, when I will be hosting my half hour with chat and prizes. In my half hour I’ll be giving away several copies of the newly re-released Blue Heaven to commenters on the Encore Party Facebook Page which can be found here:

Link to event: https://www.facebook.com/events/1466958803630646/

I really hope to see you there or in the comments below so I can share some of this Magical 13th Anniversary deliciousness with you.

Tagged: blog anniversary, Facebook launch party, free e-books, free gift, jewelry giveaway

Are you coming to the Facebook Party?