Cynthia Harrison's Blog, page 5

Writing on the Run

This is just one of the many positions I found my new writing desk in as we tried to figure out where we could put it while the kids were here. They’re coming tonight! I’m excited! When we bought the desk, we didn’t expect anyone would come down this year because of Covid. But everybody got shots in arms quicker than we knew and they are not afraid to fly! (I will wait to fly myself until full bar service is restored.) My six year old grandson is bringing his parents and we have a fold out twin bed for him plus the queen-sized bed. The room is small and it just fits those beds, a night table and a suitcase stand. There’s a corner television.

We’re leaving for Michigan soon after they leave, so I had already packed my current work in progress and other files until we’re back in Michigan. We just needed to move the desk from the guest room as it was in the only spot I could fold out my grandson’s bed. So first we tried to put it in our bedroom. But it was a little too long for the wall. I knew at least one of us would run into the sticking out sharp corner in the middle of the night. So Al positioned it like this until we could move a few things around in the living room. We decided it would stay in the living room, because it’s really heavy, and also I really loved that desk because of the large work surface.

Loved, past tense. Al had moved it within a few feet of the space I’d cleared for the now empty desk. My grandson could do his drawing there! I had all the supplies he needed: art paper, markers, stickers…then one of the sides cracked. It was a pretty sturdy desk, especially the expansive wood top. Had a nice subtle curve to it. It would have looked nice. But the sides weren’t super strong. Al could have fixed it but we had ten million things to do before the kids came in and also he just didn’t feel like it. We’d bought it for $100 at our favorite consignment shop, so it was not a great loss. It was one of those pieces of furniture you can break down pretty easily and that’s what he did.

I moved Ben’s art supplies to the coffee table:) But we probably won’t be home much. He can’t wait to go to the beach. And also the dinosaur park in Plant City, where they have over a hundred life-sized and realistically painted dinosaurs, which are his favorite. I’m so excited for my family to be here and then when they leave I can’t wait to get home to Michigan, where I can bring out my book-in-process again. It still needs a lot of work.

We have another big project waiting for us back in Michigan, so I’m not sure how many pages I’ll stack upon the hundred or so already finished. Although I do have an intact desk in Michigan, in fact, a very nice writing room I really love, there. If I could bring it to Florida, I would.

Ricki and Me

All the early influences on my writing were musicians. Singer/songwriters. I wanted to be one but I didn’t have the voice. I wrote bad poetry, I played guitar, I could sing a tiny bit, but I knew I didn’t have that magic. So I wrote other things and listened to the great music of the 50s, 60s and beyond. We all felt lucky that these bands came up with us. Their lyrics inspired me. Being from Detroit, I loved Motown as well as Janis Joplin and Led Zeppelin. I loved the folkies and the country rockers. I listened to Dylan like he was a prophet, which of course, in his own way, he is.

“Last Chance Texaco” is my favorite Ricki Lee Jones song, although you might only know “Chuck E’s in Love” which was a monster hit for her in the early 80s. I never pre-order books but I did hers (titled “Last Chance Texaco”) because I adore her music and also years after her boyfriend was Tom Waits, who wrote his own memoir a few years ago and all he said about Ricki and their breakup was “She scared me.” I think he didn’t like she was a bigger star than he was, but whatever. She doesn’t say that, but she has a lot to say about her love affair with Tom. She was so in love and it took her so long to get over him. Now I get the bigger picture of that story, from both sides. I admire Waits as a musician but writing her off in one line of his book was such a guy thing to do.

I love rock memoirs, but I had started to notice that male rockers were much more numerous when it came to writing their stories. Must be because for every female singer/songwriter there are many many male rock gods. I decided I wouldn’t read any more male musician memoirs (unless Dylan ever writes “Chronicles Part Two”). Why? I can’t relate. I hate how they almost all brag about groupies and we all know many of these girls are underage. I used to love Graham Nash, his singing and songwriting, but at the end of his book, he says he tells his new wife, the love of his life, she’s just going to have to put up with him and his groupies and what they do together. They are part of the road, he says. No wonder Paul put Linda in his band.

Women songwriters tend to write better memoirs than the men with their predictable trajectories. I have read a few great male rock stories, like when I was desperate for a new book and I read David Grohl’s. I was so glad I did. I hated him for getting a band together, being lead singer, and playing guitar. Seems like he just wanted to take Kurt’s place. But I found out he didn’t. He had the same feeling about it all at first as I did. He knew the fans would. Many told him he’d never be Kurt. But his story was really good and he was a musician before he ever knew Kurt and had been in all the teenage boy bands that the artists cut their teeth on. He already played guitar. He’d already been a lead singer. And music was in his blood. I ended up not hating him anymore and really appreciating him, if not his music.

But Ricki Lee did more than tell a great story. She set something loose in me, something I’ve carried around way too long. We’re the same age and went through very similar childhoods and teenage years. Her parents were always breaking up and getting back together. Her mother kicked her out of the house at age 14. (I was 15 when my mom did the same). She lived rough and was often hungry, just like me. Both of us hitchhiked as a way to be somewhere different and maybe find a good meal at the end of the ride. Neither of us could legally drive or get a job. We both continually, when things got really bad, called our moms. Who inevitably sent the plane ticket. She wasn’t writing songs yet but she was singing and gathering material. I wasn’t writing stories yet, but I did have a notebook of (bad) poetry that I left in Key West.

To this day (and I’m 66) I feel it’s a miracle I survived those years unhurt. And I’ve never known anyone who existed like I did, sleeping on couches and in cars with my little bundle of clothes. Scared, cold, hungry. I had some lucky times, when a friend’s mom would let me stay for a few weeks or months. That’s really where Ricki’s story and mine diverge. But it freed me in a way. I was NOT such a freak after all. My parents were NOT the only couple who kept doing the break up/get back together dance. And while Ricki Lee went on to singer/songwriter fame and fortune, I became a not-famous fiction writer.

Also, Bob Dylan told Ricki Lee her album “Pirates” (with the Tom Waits break up song “Lucky Guy”) is real poetry. Bob Dylan! Her lyrics are that good and her voice is sublime. If you want to hear Ricki Lee, she’s on You Tube playing the guitar in her living room in New Orleans, kind of a cool marketing thing for the book. I’m not doing much marketing for my most recent book, Jane in St Pete. I had a whole thing planned but Covid kinda ruined it. But I just thought of something! I can leave you a link; there it is.

After the Break

I took a little Spring Break from blogging and it has served me well. I managed a lot more pages on my manuscript and that was the idea. Or in part anyway. I also feel like after 19 years blogging, daily then weekly, I needed to reassess its usefulness. I come back to blogging determined to continue the Retirement Diaries category despite my husband hating all social media and not wanting me to write about him. He did not mention photos, however. So enough about him! I’ll continue to write about writing too. 100 pages into my manuscript. Thanks, Covid. Writing up a Storm. Vaccinated, too. Maybe soon I’ll get back to behaving as normal again? I miss my family and friends face-to-face. Miss everyone, but especially my grandkids, who are still at the age where they think grandparents are cool.

I’ll catch you up on my writing next time, but today, I have a (sort of) (for now) health triumph. When my innards took a slow turn downward, it was difficult to write about, because as one editor, when rejecting her manuscript, said to Tessa Miller, author of What Doesn’t Kill You, “poop stories don’t sell.” I picked up Miller’s medical memoir because I also have the same digestive health challenges and wondered if she had any tips for living easier with what ails me. Miller has Crohn’s disease, which is the most horrible of the chronic poop diseases. At least I came away with that…there may be worse. Wait. I know there’s worse. She mentions them.

I’m feeling grateful that once again, I have found a pill and diet that seems to work. Meaning, I go to the bathroom like a regular person. For too long, I was very hung up on diets, hoping to cure myself if I just avoided dairy/sugar/wheat/grapes/broccoli. I don’t think that anymore. Much more important, which I knew but conveniently forgot for awhile, was to eat smaller meals. Easier on the digestion. There was not a whole lot of “don’t eat this food ever” in Miller’s book, or much mention of food at all, such a nice relief from the heavy focus I’ve had on food since all this started about eight years ago.

For eight years I was convinced that the right diet would make me right again. I tried “mostly plants” aka vegan, that didn’t help at all. Before that was vegetarianism, which I practiced for years, but also did not stop the progress of whatever disease I have. My doc is treating it as IBSD, but I need more testing once I’m back in Michigan. Another diet my doctor suggested was the Mediterranean diet; it didn’t help the core problem either. I did the “Starch Solution” which people swore by, although I think it was more about losing weight while eating potatoes. Yet all these diet did make health claims that just weren’t true for me.

Another thing Miller said was that it takes a long time to diagnose gut disease. I still don’t have a solid label for whatever has been plaguing me. First it was “lactose intolerance” but the meds for that stopped working after a few months. Finally, wheat was the last thing I had not given up. Wheat. It is in everything. Also, I love toast! As my new pill says, most people will not be able to stick with a diet that cuts wheat. Here’s where I’ve been for six months or so now: no sugar, no starchy vegetables, no raw vegetables, only berries and bananas for fruit, no dairy, no wheat, no processed foods. And yes, that’s hard to stick to. When I ate any of those foods, or gave myself a day to eat what I wanted: ice cream, chips, cookies, flourless chocolate cake and white wine, for example, I lost all control of more than my diet.

Wine doesn’t seem to adversely affect my bowels, for which I am grateful. Although I note that when I have wine, I don’t sleep well. Yes, getting old is quite the ride. It takes a long time to learn things and as I age, my body creates new problems to deal with. I’d say that’s true for most of us. As I take this new medicine as directed (a generic of IBGard and also a good probiotic) I have been doing well. It’s a challenge to take two pills thirty minutes before each meal, but I’m managing with the help of a food journal. If I eat dairy, I still take Lactaid, too.

Oh and age is not always to blame! Miller started having problems in her early 20s. But she has Crohn’s and that’s similar but different from my food sensitivities, many of which I do think happen as we get older, especially lactose intolerance. Her book is for everyone who has struggled with gut health. She’s so young and knows so much. While me, I’m a slow learner.

Canva Update

I like this but I wish I could delete the punctuation. I did it for an Insta post and I’m still unsure about sizing. Like can I just make it fit Twitter, too? And Facebook? Pinterest? I’m sure the tools are there, just not of my ability to use them. This is not an intuitive process for me, I’m not patient enough to work through small details. Except on my books, and even there, I have an editor. Thus, creating images takes a lot of time, but I think in the end it will be worth it.

In other news I am also am working on a sell sheet, now that my publisher has distribution through Lightening Source. The PR person helps as much as my editor. She has given me a template on what to include and Canva should be helpful for that, too. Distribution is a huge thing. Before it was all e-sales or hand sell print books. Now I can send a book to the local St. Pete bookstores and hope they order some!

Crown of Stars

When several stars align tightly in the night sky, astrologers call it a “crown of stars.” You can tell by the name it’s something good, right? A new Crown of Stars will gather in 2021 on February 11. This particular constellation of stars is made up of the sun, Mercury, Venus, Jupiter and Saturn. What happens? Energy opens and pours forth. Energy for new projects. Energy releasing you where you were blocked or stuck. Yeah, it’s a good thing. I don’t know about you, but my creativity has been super low key for awhile now. Everything I thought would happen, and everything I planned on doing…none of it got done in January.

This is how bad it got. I have several cherished habits: yoga, meditation, daily morning diary, weekly blog post, usually on Monday, and of course, writing the next book in my new series Jane in St. Pete. All these activities were not stopped by Covid, like lots of other things I love to do on a regular basis. I still practice yoga and meditate daily. We all know what our fun is and, for almost everybody, at least some of that has been put on hold. I love my friends, and it wasn’t great when the hugs stopped, but we adapted. We survived.

*Moment of silence for those who have passed.*

My creative life started to unwind, bit by bit, and I let it. I figured I’d see what happened when I ran out of rope. So I didn’t write in my morning journal every day. Al’s retired and we like to chat over coffee. Some days I still journal, but not every day. Next to go was my weekly blog post. That was hard to reconcile. At first I just thought I needed a break, but eventually I figured I was beginning a new phase. And today is the introduction to that, at least for blogging. Once a month is better for me than once a week. This from a woman who blogged every single day for ten years! And once a week for nine years. Yes, in 2021 I will have been blogging 19 years.

Why did I stop? It felt right. What filled the void? Old fashioned email. We came to Florida in mid-December so we got lots of forwarded Christmas cards in January. I’m taking my time, but if you sent me a Christmas card and it made it’s way to Florida, I’ll be emailing you, if I haven’t already. I miss my friends and the holidays were hard in that respect. Al and I invited my dad over and we had a feast. My son called and Dad got to see his new house (new to Dad anyway) and his great-grandchildren. My other son called December 26, but with their Christmas card, they’d enclosed several “real” beautiful Christmas photos, and I let Dad choose one of those.

And for a long time, email and working on the next book, plus Zooming and conference calls with my writing friends to share helpful thoughts on manuscripts in process (I call this “critique” — a hangover from my teaching days) was more than enough. I didn’t worry about the journal or the blog. I didn’t even fret about not opening Facebook all that often. My thought was “something will happen.” I hoped it’d be sooner rather than later, but I just didn’t know when. I let ideas bubble up and pop into oblivion. I didn’t lecture myself about getting back on track. I considered that perhaps just writing the novel was enough.

Then I read my forecast for February on Astrology Zone by the amazing Susan Miller, all about the crown of stars this month, (and in Aries a stellium: three or more transiting planets in tight mathematical degree) I realized what was next for me. I already mentioned it once, but I’ll say it again, because it is stunning in its simplicity: I’ll be blogging once a month now instead of weekly. Oh, and yes, I’m still practicing Canva.

So that’s my news and I hope this month’s Crown of Stars brings lovely new energy your way, too.

Breaking Blogging Rules

In 2002, when I started blogging, most bloggers used Live Journal or Blogger. I had my own domain name. It felt a bit like floating untethered in a vast outer space. I liked it. My IT son maintained my site and taught me simple code, like image tags and hot links. He designed my wallpaper and added a blog roll plus a few other sidebar things. I only accepted one small text ad, because they paid me a lot of money. They sold computers. That is the only ad I ever had. I now pay WordPress $100 not to have ads.

My topic was writing and publication. I used my own works-in-progress and my problems plus solutions with manuscripts for some posts. I also blogged about submissions and rejections and acceptances. I did this every day for ten years. It was very casual and breezy. Writing about writing is the first blogging rule I broke, but I don’t think it was a rule then. If there were rules, I wasn’t aware of them. I still write about writing sometimes. I actually wrote my first book about writing. There were lots of “How to Write” books, but I could not find one I liked for my creative writing students, so I wrote and published it myself. I bought the books from the printer and sold them to the college bookstore, who sold them to my students. Once I made my money back, I got the book up on Kindle and gave away copies at workshops. I shipped Amazon a supply of print books, but they may be sold out by now. I was blogging about these processes through it all. And I still write about writing.

There are plenty of blogging rules, just google and you’ll find them. I do read the rules and blush at how many I’ve broken through the years. I’m no rebel, I just didn’t know. There seemed to be, when I started blogging, a kind of “no rules” mentality. I never revised a post. Blogging was a raw form, or so I thought. I do revise my posts now.

Another rule I still break is the one about the right way to choose titles. There is even a tool that you can submit your title to and it will tell you how clickable it is. I did that one time and scored poorly. I fixed it to the instructions and they gave me a really good grade, but I forgot to compare how many more clicks I got to those other posts I gave arty titles. When I was thinking about this post today, I only had a vague title. I had an idea for a subject, and I liked the title: “What It Is.” I knew it would not score high on the title name tool. I didn’t care. I’m drawn to intriguing titles that only make sense as you read the post. I can’t be out in space alone on this one.

My subject was going to be the state of things in my country (USA) from my point of view, but I really don’t like writing about politics (although I am interested in the topic and read a lot about it) and what can I say about Covid? I had it, it wasn’t fun but my breathing stayed ok and I never had a fever, so not that bad. I’m 65, it lasted two weeks, I stayed home, there are no vaccines, even for my 83 year old dad. I am sure I wrote about my own Covid adventure back in November when I had it, so basically I’d be bitching about the general state of affairs (political *cringe*) and the fact that I’m still wearing a mask.

But I liked that title. Which I ended up not using. Still, it got me to where I eventually found myself. Right here, like always.

What’s Up, 2021?

I am for sure not a great picture taker, but this quick selfie was to show off my new dress to a friend. Then I blew her a kiss because I was imitating one of the emojis we often send. Then I liked it. Fuzzy photo with no hair combing or a speck of make up on my face!

Figuring that we will still be masking for at least six more months, I’ve decided to swear off make up. Even eye make up. This conversation has been going on for a while between my friends and me. Make up smears your mask. It rubs your face and creates a not good complexion. Whatever your complexion was, it’s worse with make up under a mask. For me, anyway.

Also, I am 65. When will I allow myself to go natural? I never wore make up in high school, because I was a feminist! Then later I was still a feminist but I liked this guy and he wasn’t asking me out, so I got contact lenses and started wearing make up. He is now and will be forevermore the father of my children. So the make up habit continued, especially when I was teaching. Standing in front of a classroom can feel a bit like acting. I needed my disguise.

Then you know how we used to go out and have dinner or drinks or dancing? I was not going to be the only girl in my gang without make up. Then came Covid. I know people say eye make up is essential for masks. I don’t think so. My youthful feminist does not think so; she’s still inside advising me to just be myself. There used to be an age when women could slip into the matron stage without fuss. Especially if their hair was grey. Which mine is, but that’s a different blog.

Al, Dad and I went to check out the new pier (it’s lovely!) masks in place as needed. Then Dad wanted to have lunch downtown and there was plenty of outdoor seating. I didn’t think a thing about not having make up on…although I admit it would have been a different story if I was meeting girlfriends or even if the party was comprised of Al and I eating out (literally) with another couple.

As for the Zoom conundrum, I don’t care. Those thumb-sized images don’t show much. But. What if I were giving a professional presentation or a workshop? I did one of those when my book first came out and YES I did wear make up. So my vow to not wear make up anymore may be just for the duration of this damn virus.

I wasn’t optimistic enough to think 2021 would snap its fingers and all would be normal again. We’re getting closer, but it’s a slow slog. Slower than even scientists thought! Even my astrologer thought it would be over by now. Early in the pandemic she said the contagion might last as long as December 2020. Let’s just hope it’s over before Christmas 2021.

Happy New Year everyone *insert kiss emoji here*

Holiday Eating

Delicious food and drink are a lovely part of my holidays. It’s always been this way, but has become even more delightful now that my kids are grown and moved away. Kids are the main treat, really. Without them, we’re just adults stuffing ourselves silly and perhaps drinking too much eggnog. Even during Covid. I only had three people in my house but I purchased enough baked goods, high fat foods, and alcohol that we still have not finished off. Not a problem with the booze. It doesn’t spoil.

But I do have a problem with food, maybe more than one. First, I’m overweight, so I should not be eating cookies. Second, I have digestive issues I try to control with things like Omeprazole, Lactaid and IBGard. I also have a personal gastroenterologist who has been keeping track of my digestive tract for a very long time. Maybe twenty years.

Probably ten years in, I started having bathroom issues and I blamed that drug. My gastro guy said “Do you want to die of cancer or try to control your toilet trouble?” (The test for my persistent heartburn had revealed pre-cancer cells). So I kept taking the double dose until finally, after many clear tests, he suggested I try taking one pill a day, not two. I had to taper off the double dose gradually, but I did it without heartburn. It did nothing to help with the distress in my lower digestive system.

My personal physician advised Lactaid, then IBgard. I’ve tried pre and probiotics as well. I’ve tried every diet known to man, I’ve read and studied and I’m doing okay on most days. Holidays, not so good. Lactaid worked for a long time, but not so much these days. IBgard had me ecstatic for about a month. An expensive mix of pre-pro biotic plus a secret scarce ingredient found in a specific location that is very difficult to get to, had mixed results. Also I tried to find a dietician, but during Covid, that’s not easy. Meanwhile, sometimes, if I indulged in a treat like a slice of buttered toast, my body revolted in increasingly distressing ways. Even if the “butter” is non-dairy. I use almond milk-cream-peanut butter, etc.

That’s the back story. Moving forward to this Christmas and the feast I provided for my dad, my husband and myself. I was feeling pretty good about this expensive new pill. I ate whatever I wanted. I of course wanted it all. Twice. My dad and I talked a bit about this problem of mine…he has the same thing. My husband, who ate everything we did, does not have our digestive issues. Lucky him. Meanwhile Dad says “Have you looked down the diaper aisle lately? There’s as many diapers for old people as there are for babies.” I gave him some Lactaid because he has a dish of frozen yogurt every night.

My dad is only 18 years older than I am. I see my future and it’s not pretty. Unless I can successfully revise my eating habits. I’m currently reading an IBS cookbook that deals with FODMAP foods. I’ve read it before. Understanding FODMAP will drive you crazy, but wearing diapers? I can’t deal with the idea of that. If I can heal myself by what I eat, I’m doing it. I’m making an appointment with my gastro guy, who I had an appointment with during Covid. He cracks me up. When I reminded him that Omeprazole could be the source of my problem, he said “all medications cause diarrhea.” It’s ironic. Even medications to help cure diarrhea list “diarrhea” as a side effect.

What younger people (and people with better gut health, some of which is inherited) don’t know is that those side effects may not apply to you…until they do.

Our First Florida Christmas

We got to Florida on Thursday. I believe Al put the naked tree up that very day. We already had it down here for a family party one December. Our Seattle family flew in and Dad was here and I wanted a tree because Julia was still a baby and Owen was still little too. Kids love Christmas. So do I. Of course there were presents!

Since we’re planning to sell our Michigan home, and never ever ever be there for Christmas again, I brought down some of my favorite Christmas things. Dad came over Friday and we decorated the tree. That’s our bubble, now. Three. I invited Dad for Christmas dinner and then we all looked at each other. When exactly WAS Christmas? Why, just one week away. We’re going to keep our decor Christmasy until whenever in January I can finally part with it.

After Dad left, Al said, “The tree looks nice, but there are no presents!” We don’t usually do much in the way of gifts for Christmas, so this shocked me. Today we will shop for presents (wearing masks of course) and order the ham. Florida is wide open. I’m hoping with all my heart most of the small St Pete businesses and stores survived. We’ll find out today. And maybe see some neighbors and catch up on the gossip. From a safe distance.

I am Covid weary and Christmas cheery. See you next year!

Afraid of Covid?

Photo by Julia Volk on Pexels.com

If you’re afraid of Covid, it’s not surprising. The news stories and statistics upward of 300,000 deaths, not to mention the masking and staying away from others…it’s as if we are caught in a grim nightmare. I am truly sorry for the people who have died, and for their families. The tragic stories make me sad. The lack of help for those in need: food, rent, heat. It’s all heartbreaking and it sucks and it feeds our fears.

About six weeks ago, my husband and I came down with Covid and we weren’t sure if it was the flu or sinus infection or maybe Covid. My doctor said “Quarantine for two weeks.” I asked “Do I need a test?” She said if I wanted one, I could get one, but I was already doing the most important thing. Staying away from others. After we were better, my husband’s doctor did a blood test and he had antibodies for Covid. So he had it. I guess that means I had it too. It also means that now we are immune for however long (doctors don’t know) and we can’t pass Covid on to others. We are not contagious. And we can’t get reinfected, at least for awhile.

I’m glad because this week we are heading to Florida and I was worried about my dad. Now I know I can’t give it to him. Such a relief. I’ve had another possible health problem that needed tests and more tests. Due to Covid, I had to move our travel dates back by two weeks. I wasn’t sure what would happen even then, but today I went to the hospital and finally got the “all clear.” More relief.

But then…I mentioned I had Covid on FaceBook and was amazed at all the people who responded, worried about if I was okay. Did not one of them have Covid yet? Because I’ve been very careful and followed every rule and I got it, lots of my neighbors got it, too. It’s not that bad for most people. I’m 65. I’m fine. Most people recover at home. I didn’t get a fever and I still smelled the coffee. I could say I was fatigued, but truth is, I like a nap some days. I won’t underplay it. I wasn’t well, but it was the kind of sick where I might have talked myself into going to work, and I know Al would have, and he was much sicker than I was.

We are retired so we don’t have to make those tough calls anymore. Bosses are idiots. They get mad if you call in sick, not realizing you’ll be passing your germs around. Or not caring. Covid is teaching us how deadly germs can be, and more important, how we can stop them from spreading. But if you’re afraid, take heart. Chances are, you’ll be fine. Drink a lot of water. Rest.