Ef Deal's Blog, page 2

The Deals' Holiday Letter with the REAL Pictures Included

 Our printer decided it didn't want to crank out our letter, so those of you who receive on in the mail will be disappointed in the color. Therefore, I present it here!

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Ef’s year can be described in a few words: Publishing and selling books! Since last Christmas, her novel Esprit de Corpse came out, and along with a poem or two, she’s been featured in seven anthologies and sold to two more that will be released this April. The second book in her series, Aéros & Héroes, is now in its final stages before publication. We had a grand launch party, and she’s signing books like crazy. Yay! Check out her website or blog. efdeal.net or efdeal.blogspot.com.

In April we took the whole family to Jamaica, where the grandkids learned to snorkel on their own. They just jumped in and followed the fish!  Buddy took this magnificent photo on our last night, just before Ef was whisked away to the hospital with congestive heart failure (after telling the doctors for the past two years something was wrong with her heart and lungs post-COVID).

In May, Jack was inducted into the Buglers Hall of Fame where he and Ef won first place in the duet category, on flugelhorns! playing an original piece written for us. We also marched the Elks Parade in Wildwood with our beloved Golden Knights in June.

Our niece Krista asked Jack to officiate her wedding in June at an actual castle (a museum in Doylestown)!  At least three of us said “Ni.”      

We were very saddened to lose our older chow Kije. He had a hard start to life, but he was just the sweetest boy. Corbin missed him a lot, so to cheer him up, we finished out July camping at our favorite park in Ithaca, and brought home much wine to fill that new wine rack!

Jack’s been thoroughly enjoying his retirement. He fancied up his workshop downstairs, including a wine rack. He refreshed the kids’ playset and built a pool bar for Buddy’s pool. 

He’s played a few more gigs with DPW at the Manor Bar on bass, played the art show at Holman’s again with Gerry and the Deals, and picked up a lot of Christmas brass work.   

We joined the Haddonfield UMC, and the following week Jack was the bass player for the praise team! (He moves fast)  He and Corbin have a very special bond too ~ meeting up at King’s Road Brewery for a beer!

 

GRANDKIDS! My gosh, they’re more adorable every year. Eliana will tell you, she’s “so five.” She’s a dancer, storyteller, singer, and an actress, and she’s so beautiful. Leighton is “two times two and two plus two.” He’s a math whiz and reads on a 4th-grade level. He takes dance lessons too, along with French, and he’s a loving snuggle-bug. But what tickles us most is how much they love each other.

Our home is always filled with love and laughter.

   Here's to 2024

How Goes the Year?

 All across the web, authors are touting their year's publishing accomplishments. I, on the other hand, am racking up injuries and health crises since January. Heck, since January 2022, since that's when COVID left me wracked and wrecked. But I've already recounted those woes, so I will let them be for now.

Esprit de Corpse released in April along with A Cast of Crows, featuring my Poe tale "Rhymes with Lenore," a story I'm really pleased with. Conspiracies & Cryptids and Soul Scream Antholozine published stories, and I had five more stories accepted this year for Beach Shorts, Cry Baby Bridge, Rise, Other Aether, and A Cry of Hounds, not to mention a story included in the C3 anthology. I once again published a poem in New Jersey Bards 2023.

Meanwhile, I'm finishing up the galley proofs for Aéros & Héroes, book 2 of the Twins of Bellesfées. I'm also attempting to translate Esprit de Corpse into French, a task that is challenging everything I knew about French grammar.

While my former church no longer needs my video editing skills, I continue to edit the Quick Reads from Strong Women ~ Strange Worlds and I also now edit for Sally Wiener Grotta's What If? Why Not? How? video interview series.

Keeping up with the work has been a challenge with my leg in a brace that doesn't seem to be doing any good. Using a cane gave me such a severe rotator-cuff pain I thought I'd broken something. "Arthritis," the ER said, which means there was nothing to do but wear a sling, leaving me useless for a bit. 

I worry mainly because I have to get back to my drum corps, I have to get around next year's cons, I'm going to Jamaica in March with my DH, and I've booked a trip to Wales in May so I can finish Book 5 of the Twins series. 

I wonder if I can buy a Segway and write it off in my taxes as necessary for research?

Not a bad year.

Six Weeks Later

 Six weeks after my knee gave out, I got to see a doctor about it. He poked until I screamed, then said "Ah. I think you have a stress-fracture on your femur here." His prescription? "Rest and elevate. Use a cane."

Seriously. Walk around on a fractured leg awhile. He also ordered an MRI. I have to wait another two weeks for the approval, then try to schedule something after Christmas... yes, that was the earliest I could get!

I don't know, but that doesn't sound like good medicine, but this is Rothman Orthopaedics and they're supposed to be the best.

I've spent November on painkillers and cannabis gummies. Wheee!

But Philcon is coming up, and while I don't have any panels assigned to me, I've got readings and a signing, and I may fill in on panels where they need me. Plus I'll be handling the HWA table at some point.

All, lots of sitting, so I have to hope the chairs are comfortable!

The Old Saying

 "I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired."

Despite being boosted and careful, I have COVID again. 

As if having Long COVID wasn't bad enough? I truly am sick and tired of being sick and tired. But COVID is not the chief worry right now. It's been a couple of months...

September began with a marvelous weekend at the Creatures, Crimes, and Creativity gathering. I had another opportunity to read at Noir at the Bar, and I gave them another pun-laced tale of "Abadi at rest." It was very well received with appropriate groans. I had much to celebrate. For the past two years, I kept saying, "I have a novel coming out." or "I sold a few stories to x, y, and z..." This year I had a table with all my books on display, and I sold 14 novels and a couple of anthologies. The best part of C3 though is always the people there. Every year more and more like family, and I just love this family.

Three more books will be coming from eSpec Books thanks to a very successful Kickstarter campaign:

 
I'll have stories in A Cry of Hounds and Other Aether, and I really enjoyed writing both of them. They'll be out in April in time for the Tell-Tale Festival, and if it's half as great as last year, it will be wonderful. If you're a fan of our fiction or of steampunk in general, even if you're just curious, register today and plan to be there.
The weirdness of September was our falling for a puppy scam. We got $800 in before pulling out and reporting it to the FBI and the Trenton police. Thankfully, Discover took our evidence and will not bill us, but it's amazing Facebook isn't supporting our report and the scammer is still there as Brittany Harper.
But I started October at the National Park Auto Show with Susan Tulio of Speculation Publications.


and at the end of the week, eSpec Books made a good showing at the Collingswood Book Fair at the start of October!

Meanwhile, throughout August and September, I gave an honest try at "respiratory rehab," which turned out to be exercising on a recumbent bike and walking a treadmill. I kept telling them my knees were bone on bone, and my feet kept going numb after 5 minutes of walking, but they kept pushing me, as did my pulmonologist. The old "lazy, fat woman, shut up and do it." Finally, my right knee gave out completely. I swore I had broken my fibula. I needed a wheelchair to get to my car. Went to Urgent Care, and they sent me right to Rothman Orthpedic Urgent Care. Rothman didn't bother with an MRI because the Xrays showed no fractures, just a bone spur on the knee causing havoc, and at my age, the only resolution would be a new knee.
So, it's now 3 weeks later, and I still can't put weight on my leg, but I can't see a doctor because I have COVID.
BUT!Before I came down with COVID, Speculation Publications released Cry Baby Bridge, another fantastic anthology of utter speculation, which includes my piece Concrete Soul. I was invited to read for Galactic Terrors and the editors of Speculation Publications allowed me to read Concrete Soul, and Galactic Terrors allowed me to create my own video, which you can find on my website here.
And the launch was celebrated in high style at M.O.M.'s in Doylestown on Friday the 13th!

And COVID struck on Sunday the 15th.

Night of the Howling Wind

 Oíche na Gaoithe Móire was a night of terror and devastation in Ireland, January 6, 1839.
William Foley, a country doctor, encounters a mysterious Frenchwoman who warns against this natural disaster even as she herself is on a supernatural hunt, while the town constable discovers murder is afoot.

In conjunction with the Tell-Tale Steampunk Festival, eSpec Books brings you A Cry of Hounds, a collection of tales related to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's works, inspired by The Hound of the Baskervilles. In my tale, Doyle's grandfather is wrapped up in three mysteries.

A Cry of Hounds is part of the eSpec Books Kickstarter campaign Picking Up Steam! We need your support to help us meet our stretch goals. We have so much to offer, so many bonuses to share with you for just a minimal pledge!

If you like what you see, please pledge!

Here's a little taste of what's to come!

Rabbit Holes

 

There's nothing more frustrating to me than a fact that negates the whole premise of a story. 

I've recently been researching Arthur Conan Doyle to find a tangent whereon I can hang a steampunk werewolf story. I thought I did sufficient research to nail down the setting as Edinburgh 1842, where the Galvani locomotive, and forth I went with gusto to compose a story about the test run of the Galvani, the first battery-powered locomotive. However, in checking a particular detail, I went down a few more rabbit holes and discovered my MC had not moved to Scotland until 1850. It wasn't just a case of making my MC older. The central event was 1842. The entire story is negated, and tucked away in a folder of "failed." Thankfully, down a few more rabbit holes I found another central event even more fascinating than my original one, The Night of the Big Wind 1839, that also involved my Doyle tangent. I'm saved! Now I have to write the thing, but at least now I CAN write the thing.

I love those rabbit holes. I hear so many writers tell beginning authors not to get lost in their research, and I can understand that beginning writers would enjoy any excuse to not start writing; but I find my stories in those searches, especially in writing steampunk. Early on in my career, long before Google and computers, I was roundly chastised by a workshop member for centering a story on a particular sugar cookie in my fantasy tale. With a sniff of utter disdain at my ignorance, I was told, “Granular sugar is a product of the Industrial age. A pre-tech society would use honey.” No sugar, no story. Who knew you had to research fantasy? And where would I have learned that?

Rabbit holes are incredibly useful for mad ideas, writing fodder, and detailed settings. They also make my stories complete so I can fill up with research and write 2-3k a day or more. I find my novels deep down in those rabbit holes. For my steampunk series, I have a particular formula for plots: I center the conflict at a confluence of social concerns, historical details, and character development. When I come across a minor detail about a setting that also addresses an overarching element of the background, I recognize how the two can be addressed by my characters. 

Don’t be afraid to fall into those rabbit holes. You might end up in Wonderland.

Gone Like the Mountains of the Moon at Dawn

"June came upon us much too soon, then was gone, gone like the mountains of the moon at dawn."

June was packed. I almost don't want to jam it all into one blog, but circumstances dictate because, last of all, I have a scratched cornea, a gouge so deep it's taking over week to heal, and I'm supposed to stay off the computer until it's healed. That simply doesn't work for me.

June began with the Golden Knights, my drum corps. We have two weekend events a year, and June is the Elks Convention weekend. We gather on Friday, parade on Saturday morning, and give a concert that night. In between, we meet up with old friends from our drum corps days, people we've known for more than 60 years. The tradition is to gather at the bar previously known as Kelly's Tavern, now the Copper Dog, and cheer on the corps as they go by. There's no describing the thrill of marching past Kelly's and hearing friends shout your name. I was feeling my oats, health-wise, and determined to march the 1.1 mile parade. Wouldn't you know, I marched the 1 mile and couldn't make the last .1.  I felt that banging in the chest again and couldn't get the air. I had to drop out, so I missed the ovation. Yes, that's what bothered me, not the fact that my health isn't back to normal.

The following weekend was my niece's wedding, which Jack officiated. It took place at a castle in Doylestown, Fonthill Castle, a gorgeous venue. The bride and her husband are a bit iconoclastic, as you can see below. It was good to see all the nieces and nephews together. They're all great kids. (Kids, you know; in their late '30s to mid '40s.)

The week after that, I went out to the book launch for Gregory Frost's Rhymer, while at home I was preparing about 50 pounds of prime rib, baby-back ribs, sandwich steak, wings, and chicken breasts, grilled veggies, cheeses, a double batch of bean salsa, C3PO dip, and various other foods for our annual Summer Celebration. We had to hold it on a Sunday, so a lot of folks who usually come didn't, but some folks who usually don't come did. At least I had very few leftovers!

Cleaning up after the party took a week, and to be honest, I still haven't exactly mopped the floors. But we had the grandkids come to stay on Friday, and our family come to dinner Saturday. A joyous time had by all. 

Meanwhile, one of the most notable moments in my publishing career happened. Soul Scream Antholozine released, featuring a Gwynna Lionshadow tale One More Ghost Story. If you've followed my blog, you know that Gwynna was a character I pursued for years, in three novels, some shorts, and some novellas. The problem was, this was back in the '80s, when a heroine was Olivia Newton John or Molly Ringwald. Forty years later, a kickass heroine is finally a major draw. Do you think a publisher would be interested now? I hope to find out. Please, go buy Soul Scream ! It's not just an anthology of stories; it's like a con in your hands, with discussions, author illustrations, articles, and a lot of fun. 

Then the really annoying part happened: While I was tugging a Zip-Loc bag from the fridge, it snagged, then snapped right into my eye, gouging a 3mm slice across my cornea. I don't know how deep it went, but after 5 days it's still not healed, and the doc says to keep my left eye closed for another 5 days! That black line across the moon there is the gouge. 

This is most annoying because I'm in the midst of rewriting a story I thought I'd finished, and it was really good, but I found out in my research that it was historically impossible, and I had to rethink the whole thing. I'll keep the story and re-set it in Paris for another anthology coming up, but in the meantime, I have to write a new story. Thank heaven for research rabbit-holes. That's another blog.

A Little More Drum Corps

 

       Once again, drum corps filled our weekends this month as my husband Jack was inducted into the Buglers Hall of Fame. He keeps saying he felt he didn't deserve it, but I pushed for his nomination because he has spent so much time advocating for excellence in all manner of horn playing, not just the bugle. From 1969 to 1975, he worked with drum corps horn lines, teaching and playing and as a drum major. He spent over 30 years as the solo flugelhorn chair with the Atlantic Brass Band. He spent the last ten years with my South Jersey Vagabonds, filling any part I needed, and playing lead with Blessed Sacrament Golden Knights.
I asked our dear friend Jim Centorino, a member of the Buglers Hall of Fame and a drum corps figure himself as a lead soprano for the Boston Crusaders and for the NY Matadors senior corps, and a composer with several CDs (you have heard his music, trust me), to bring Jack's application to the BHOF. He not only agreed, but he surprised us with an original duet for two horns entitled "Jack & Ef."
The BHOF holds an Individual and Ensemble Competition, so Jack and I entered as a duet, and we took first place.
For me it was a grueling weekend; with a lot of unhealthy, salt-drenched bar food (the event was held at a casino) and long "haul"ways to get to and from our room and the banquet hall, I retained a lot of water and found myself unable to breathe clearly. But it was all for a wonderful weekend, and I am feeling much better now. I've walked over a mile a few times in the past week, and not once did I feel winded.
Health is within reach!

Celebration!

 I decided to throw myself a Book Launch Celebration on May 11. What a lot of fun! 

My publisher Danielle Ackley-McPhail came to help with the launching, and I don't know what I'd have done without her. Besides handling sales and reining me in when I needed to sign books, she brought a beautiful bouquet of roses and her camera, which I had utterly forgotten.

It was a wonderful evening with all my family and with people who meant so much to me throughout my life--mentors, friends, supporters, teachers... so much love!

We Be Jammin'

 It's been a rough few weeks, but things are finally back on track.

For the past four years, I've had horrible health issues plaguing me, starting with breast cancer. Cancer medication made me put on a lot of weight, and then I got COVID in 2021, and I ended up fatigued and unable to really breathe well. Exercise was impossible, so I couldn't get the weight off. Up until last weekend, I couldn't walk more than a block. 

Things came to a crisis on vacation with my family in Jamaica. I'd had trouble all week, unable to walk from one place to another without resting. Luckily our resort offers shuttle service because it's a huge resort.

Thursday night was karaoke night. In the past ten years, Jack and I always wowed the crowd or won the prizes at various karaoke nights at the resort. This year, I didn't volunteer, having no breath in me to sing anything. My amazing sons and daughters-in-law are professional-level singers, so Liz had them swooning with "Black Velvet," while Jesse wooed them with "Easy Like Sunday Morning" just so he could say, "Here's to all of you celebrating 4/20" (which was the date) before singing "I'm gonna get hiiiiigh... so high." Buddy knocked their socks off with "Walkin' in Memphis" before kicking into "This Is How We Do It," freestyling with color details of our resort and its people and drinks.

Buddy's 3yo son hates applause though. So, by the time Buddy was into his third number, the poor little guy was downright screaming, and his poor mom Lindsay had her hands full trying to calm him. I thought I'd help out, being an obnoxious grandma, so I lifted him into my arms and carried him away from the show and the noise.

Or at least I tried to. I took about ten awkward steps when suddenly it felt like I'd been hit with a cannonball. I was gulping for air and couldn't find any. I mean, I was going through the motions of breathing, but nothing was getting to my body. I thought I was having a heart attack except it didn't have any of the classic heart attack symptoms like pain in the arm, sharp pains in the chest. It was just an immense pressure on my chest, and utter weakness. Buddy reclaimed his son, and--being an idiot who didn't want anyone to worry--I went back to my room to sleep it off.

It was the next night at dinner, our last night in Jamaica, when I began to seize up with tremors and chills, that Buddy and Liz insisted I go down to the nurse. But I couldn't get that far. A worker at the resort got me a wheelchair, and when the nurse showed up she took one look at me and said, "I think you need to go to ER because I can't treat you here. You need a cardiologist."

This is the lovely Hospiten Montego Bay. We took a Mr. Toad's Wild Ride in the $600 ambulance at night, and the wonderful Dr. Donnices Greaves Street, cardiologist, treated me with devoted attention, and Jack could stay with me in the room, but by Sunday ($11k later) we were out of clothes, and we still had no answers. I hadn't had a heart attack, and echocardiograms and ultrasounds could find no heart issues. She urged me to stay until I could at least walk and breathe, but we convinced her to give me a release to fly home so I could get treated here.  

We had missed all flights out on Sunday, but Jack found a little motel literally at the end of the runway of the airport on a dead-end Kent Street, next to a little bar restaurant called Wingz and Tingz, across from DeadEnd Beach, a local hot spot. I didn't have far to walk, and we got a room on the ground floor. What you can't see from this picture is that the left half of the restaurant behind the bar is out under the stars with cement tables and benches and tropical plants. Absolutely lovely. And believe it or not, there are actually more beers in Jamaica than Red Stripe!

Now the story gets good. We got home Monday night. I had already contacted my cardiologist about all that had gone on. I figured I should go to ER, right? Well, no, Dr. Greaves had ruled out heart attack, so if I'd gone to ER, they'd have sent me home. So I had to wait to see my cardiologist on Thursday morning. He took one look at me and said, "Go to the ER right now. I'll get you admitted right away."
And he did. I had a heart catheterization that afternoon. Nothing wrong with the heart. That upset me because here I was lying in a hospital flat on my back when I could have been huffing and puffing at Heliosphere at my book launch if nothing was wrong with  me.
Now I've got a huge pain in the groin (they sent the catheter up the artery and vein) and no answers. They notice my feet and ankles are swollen, so they figure Lasix is a good plan of action. They shoot me up and the next thing I know, holy momma, I had to set aside 67 years of potty training as 15 pounds of fluid was drained from me in two days.
The following day, they did another echocardiogram, but this time the tech dug that probe between my ribs and shoved my implant a few inches out of the way and finally found the issue: diastolic noncompliance.
Being a teacher, I associate the word "noncompliant" with "disobedient," but what the heck...
It means that when blood is pumped into my heart, the walls of the heart don't expand enough to take it all in, so the backwash sends the blood out into capillaries that dump extraneous fluid into the nearest depot, which is the lungs, causing congestive heart failure.
CHF. THAT'S what hit me in the chest. 
The upshot is that I'm on Lasix, I can breathe, and I feel better than I've felt in at least two years.
It's all irie.