Chele Pedersen Smith's Blog, page 5
December 12, 2017
How the Grinch Saved Christmas
Ah, Bah Humbug, you say. How can Ole Grinchy save the day? Well, it was a timing of great blessings.
Something was missing that December, well, two somethings to be precise. So where and how would we find the holiday spirit?
We were new citizens of Massachusetts that winter, our drivers’ licenses proved it. We were just the next state over, moving for my husband, Bob's, science job. Usually it was no big deal; as a Navy brat, my life was full of moving boxes.
I loved the quaint, woodsy town, but this was the worst relocation of all. My son stayed behind to finish college. I was glad he continued his studies while working and I was thankful he was only two hours away, but it felt so strange without him.
And what about Buster, our funny fuzz-face sidekick? My eighth grader, Maizie, and I shuttled our golden retriever rescue on a blanket from room to room and outside when his legs gave out from old age and leukemia meds. But a month after our move, our golden passed away. He was almost fifteen, and we were blessed to love him for seven of those, but I wish we had delayed the move for Buster's sake. Besides the gut-wrenching loss of our beloved pup and my partially empty nest jitters, another dilemma simmered. What on Earth would we do for our Christmas card now?
For years, I had snapped Santa hat photos of the three amigos. Buster always wore the reindeer antlers and I'd set up different scenery, and cute themes for the kids to wear: Fireplace stockings one year, then Christmassy PJs on the staircase the next, first snow splattered shrubbery for another. How nice our last greeting card sent out good taste in classy white shirts and black slacks inspired by Maizie's chorus concert and Ian's work uniform.
Every year, Buster grumbled, barking at the camera. Ian and Maizie balked too. The dog was rewarded with a treat and the broody teenagers were bribed with broken promises of “Just one more take" and “It’s probably the last year we’ll do this.”
As they got older, the kiddos wised up and negotiated a small modeling fee.
Well, Ian had finally wrangled free from the North Pole Photo Studio and Buster was now a real Christmas angel. My daughter would feel awkward if I set up a photo op just with her. She wasn’t exactly sunny about the camera either. I mused about self-timing the three of us, but hubby was reluctant. Besides, the kids and dog were much cuter. I resigned, thinking “Fine, I’ll just send regular cards from the drug store.” Well, I always did like the big box variety pack.
The holidays just didn't seem the same.
Going through the motions, I picked up Chinese take-out one night. A flyer posted on the wall got my attention. Our town's first annual Christmas tree lighting with an appearance by the one and only Grinch! Ah, what an appropriate symbol! I laughed. My joy was partially stolen, but a fictional celebrity would be the perfect perk-up! Anyone who knows me knows I love characters and mascots. Ones we've yet to encounter were more fascinating yet.
The night of the twinkling, hubby went too, and we gathered with generosity as the crowd (and ourselves) donated unwrapped toys. Cocoa kept us warm; as did petting a resident dog. The town hall committee said a few words and then, voila! Beautiful colors sparkled around us. I captured a few pics but all the while, I kept my eyes peeled for a furry green blur.
Excitement tingled and so did my nerves. Would the line be long? Would Maizie and Bob go with the flow, or would their anxiousness rush me? I needed to pull this photo op off.
Suddenly the great grinchness emerged decked out in a Kringle coat and cap. He wasn’t anything fancy and his fluffy, friendly scowl was a bit scary, but it didn’t matter. The Grinch was a hero that night. And Maizie was actually standing next to him! (Okay, I may have propelled her forward.) I seized the moment before the merry mob moved in. She even managed a few smiles without much cajoling. I snapped away like the mamarazzi. The lit trees and songs of carolers added to the background. Yes, this holiday card would turn out fun and festive!
My spirit lifted; goodwill soared. My heart swelled three sizes. Joy wasn’t so hard to find. The kind camaraderie gently nudged loose a reminder of another humble gathering, presenting gifts to a king in front of a mangy manger.
I couldn't help but marvel how a town founded in 1765 could have their first ever tree lighting gala in 2012. It was an odd and wonderful gift, just when we moved here and needed it most.
Something was missing that December, well, two somethings to be precise. So where and how would we find the holiday spirit?
We were new citizens of Massachusetts that winter, our drivers’ licenses proved it. We were just the next state over, moving for my husband, Bob's, science job. Usually it was no big deal; as a Navy brat, my life was full of moving boxes.
I loved the quaint, woodsy town, but this was the worst relocation of all. My son stayed behind to finish college. I was glad he continued his studies while working and I was thankful he was only two hours away, but it felt so strange without him.
And what about Buster, our funny fuzz-face sidekick? My eighth grader, Maizie, and I shuttled our golden retriever rescue on a blanket from room to room and outside when his legs gave out from old age and leukemia meds. But a month after our move, our golden passed away. He was almost fifteen, and we were blessed to love him for seven of those, but I wish we had delayed the move for Buster's sake. Besides the gut-wrenching loss of our beloved pup and my partially empty nest jitters, another dilemma simmered. What on Earth would we do for our Christmas card now?
For years, I had snapped Santa hat photos of the three amigos. Buster always wore the reindeer antlers and I'd set up different scenery, and cute themes for the kids to wear: Fireplace stockings one year, then Christmassy PJs on the staircase the next, first snow splattered shrubbery for another. How nice our last greeting card sent out good taste in classy white shirts and black slacks inspired by Maizie's chorus concert and Ian's work uniform.
Every year, Buster grumbled, barking at the camera. Ian and Maizie balked too. The dog was rewarded with a treat and the broody teenagers were bribed with broken promises of “Just one more take" and “It’s probably the last year we’ll do this.”
As they got older, the kiddos wised up and negotiated a small modeling fee.
Well, Ian had finally wrangled free from the North Pole Photo Studio and Buster was now a real Christmas angel. My daughter would feel awkward if I set up a photo op just with her. She wasn’t exactly sunny about the camera either. I mused about self-timing the three of us, but hubby was reluctant. Besides, the kids and dog were much cuter. I resigned, thinking “Fine, I’ll just send regular cards from the drug store.” Well, I always did like the big box variety pack.
The holidays just didn't seem the same.
Going through the motions, I picked up Chinese take-out one night. A flyer posted on the wall got my attention. Our town's first annual Christmas tree lighting with an appearance by the one and only Grinch! Ah, what an appropriate symbol! I laughed. My joy was partially stolen, but a fictional celebrity would be the perfect perk-up! Anyone who knows me knows I love characters and mascots. Ones we've yet to encounter were more fascinating yet.
The night of the twinkling, hubby went too, and we gathered with generosity as the crowd (and ourselves) donated unwrapped toys. Cocoa kept us warm; as did petting a resident dog. The town hall committee said a few words and then, voila! Beautiful colors sparkled around us. I captured a few pics but all the while, I kept my eyes peeled for a furry green blur.
Excitement tingled and so did my nerves. Would the line be long? Would Maizie and Bob go with the flow, or would their anxiousness rush me? I needed to pull this photo op off.
Suddenly the great grinchness emerged decked out in a Kringle coat and cap. He wasn’t anything fancy and his fluffy, friendly scowl was a bit scary, but it didn’t matter. The Grinch was a hero that night. And Maizie was actually standing next to him! (Okay, I may have propelled her forward.) I seized the moment before the merry mob moved in. She even managed a few smiles without much cajoling. I snapped away like the mamarazzi. The lit trees and songs of carolers added to the background. Yes, this holiday card would turn out fun and festive!
My spirit lifted; goodwill soared. My heart swelled three sizes. Joy wasn’t so hard to find. The kind camaraderie gently nudged loose a reminder of another humble gathering, presenting gifts to a king in front of a mangy manger.
I couldn't help but marvel how a town founded in 1765 could have their first ever tree lighting gala in 2012. It was an odd and wonderful gift, just when we moved here and needed it most.
December 5, 2017
When A Book Chooses You
Browsing the shelves of a library two summers ago, I was trying to find something to replace the empty antsiness left from reading Judy Blume's adult fiction. I just finished Summer Sisters, a book that somehow survived my dwindling collection from all those moves.
I don't remember buying it, but I'm glad I did.
At this point, I had already checked out Wifey and Smart Women. I wished she wrote more.
A computer search for a Jennifer Weiner novel came up zilch. I didn't know the name of it, but Redbook used to run summer teasers, excerpts from good beach reads. One was about a woman who finds out her husband Tosh is leaving her, had an affair, etc.
(I'm intrigued by names and love to use original, uncommon monikers. I never heard that one before. Interesting...)
So she goes to the airport to take a trip. Maybe to follow him. I can't remember. But a volcano eruption has grounded all flights. (I do remember that happening in real life.) Whilst stranded on standby, she meets a stranger and has a one night stand. I thought, what?? How irresponsible...but also, hot.
Anyway, I was browsing the shelves under W, and none of her books had that premise. So I wandered around. Suddenly under M or K, a book was sticking out! And it was by one of my favorite author's from Guideposts magazine, Sue Monk Kidd. The Mermaid Chair.
The plot was something very different from her spiritual, Christian writing. A bit steamy, even.
It was something I was wrestling with myself as a writer. Usually I'm the more naïve-themed kind of girl, but I had a novel half done that was anything but, based on real events in my life.
As a Christian, was it the right thing to do to craft a book like that? I also had Behind Frenemy Lines going on with a similar sultriness as well as whether or not to use an F word, which is unlike me. It was the only word to fit the sitch, and all the substitutes sounded cheesy. Was it okay to use it? It was just a word, after all. Who appoints value and morals to the structure of letters anyway?
Well, The Mermaid Chair answered these soulful questions! Not only was the book sensational, it was deeply embedded with mystery, monks and an an off-limit hunk. It also contained two F words! My literary guilt lessened. At least for the moment. My use of the word was an artistic choice.
So, I often wonder, was the book a sign from God? A writing muse?
One thing is certain. I want to read it again.
Do you like to browse libraries? Has a book ever chose you, or help answer an inner struggle?
I don't remember buying it, but I'm glad I did.
At this point, I had already checked out Wifey and Smart Women. I wished she wrote more.
A computer search for a Jennifer Weiner novel came up zilch. I didn't know the name of it, but Redbook used to run summer teasers, excerpts from good beach reads. One was about a woman who finds out her husband Tosh is leaving her, had an affair, etc.
(I'm intrigued by names and love to use original, uncommon monikers. I never heard that one before. Interesting...)
So she goes to the airport to take a trip. Maybe to follow him. I can't remember. But a volcano eruption has grounded all flights. (I do remember that happening in real life.) Whilst stranded on standby, she meets a stranger and has a one night stand. I thought, what?? How irresponsible...but also, hot.
Anyway, I was browsing the shelves under W, and none of her books had that premise. So I wandered around. Suddenly under M or K, a book was sticking out! And it was by one of my favorite author's from Guideposts magazine, Sue Monk Kidd. The Mermaid Chair.
The plot was something very different from her spiritual, Christian writing. A bit steamy, even.
It was something I was wrestling with myself as a writer. Usually I'm the more naïve-themed kind of girl, but I had a novel half done that was anything but, based on real events in my life.
As a Christian, was it the right thing to do to craft a book like that? I also had Behind Frenemy Lines going on with a similar sultriness as well as whether or not to use an F word, which is unlike me. It was the only word to fit the sitch, and all the substitutes sounded cheesy. Was it okay to use it? It was just a word, after all. Who appoints value and morals to the structure of letters anyway?
Well, The Mermaid Chair answered these soulful questions! Not only was the book sensational, it was deeply embedded with mystery, monks and an an off-limit hunk. It also contained two F words! My literary guilt lessened. At least for the moment. My use of the word was an artistic choice.
So, I often wonder, was the book a sign from God? A writing muse?
One thing is certain. I want to read it again.
Do you like to browse libraries? Has a book ever chose you, or help answer an inner struggle?
December 1, 2017
Easy on the Eyes
Galaxy and Lee from "Behind Frenemy Lines" aren't the only eye candy in my paperbacks. It's the print, itself!
If you're like me, ever since childhood, nothing could deter me faster than tiny, bunched up text. Sadly, even when my eyes were perfect, I was a literary rebel, repelled by publications that read more like clauses in a legal document. I probably missed out on a some good reads. No matter how scintillating the topic is, if I open a book and see crammed paragraphs, it might as well have skull and crossbones guarding the threshold, which is how dreary most high school Lit material felt back then anyway.
Fortunately, tiny typesetting and mandatory assignments didn't turn off the love of reading --or writing! And luckily, I found plenty of comfortable print to bend back bindings like a security blanket.
Literature should be fun and relaxing. Readers need space to teleport. Authors work hard crafting just the right touch. Their words and sentences need room to swell and breathe... like a fine wine.
So, in case anyone ever wonders, this is why my fonts are set at eleven with a 1.5 line space. It's not technically "large print" which starts at eighteen. I originally tried ten point and single, which is roomy enough for most, but while thumbing through the proof, it still felt crunched to me. (Drat my worsened eyes.)
When someone peeks into my novels, I want the pages to say,
"Come in, sit for a spell. You're welcome here."
If you're like me, ever since childhood, nothing could deter me faster than tiny, bunched up text. Sadly, even when my eyes were perfect, I was a literary rebel, repelled by publications that read more like clauses in a legal document. I probably missed out on a some good reads. No matter how scintillating the topic is, if I open a book and see crammed paragraphs, it might as well have skull and crossbones guarding the threshold, which is how dreary most high school Lit material felt back then anyway.
Fortunately, tiny typesetting and mandatory assignments didn't turn off the love of reading --or writing! And luckily, I found plenty of comfortable print to bend back bindings like a security blanket.
Literature should be fun and relaxing. Readers need space to teleport. Authors work hard crafting just the right touch. Their words and sentences need room to swell and breathe... like a fine wine.
So, in case anyone ever wonders, this is why my fonts are set at eleven with a 1.5 line space. It's not technically "large print" which starts at eighteen. I originally tried ten point and single, which is roomy enough for most, but while thumbing through the proof, it still felt crunched to me. (Drat my worsened eyes.)
When someone peeks into my novels, I want the pages to say,
"Come in, sit for a spell. You're welcome here."
November 25, 2017
Now you can friend the swoon-worthy lead in Behind Frenemy Lines
Lee is on Facebook as Lee Clancy and he's waiting to meet fans!
Get comments, references to the book, trivia games and teasers of things to come. Read the book and then interact, or interact to get a taste of the book.
Connect with Lee here:
https://www.facebook.com/leland.clanc...
Not sure who Lee is? Get acquainted here: Behind Frenemy Lines
Get comments, references to the book, trivia games and teasers of things to come. Read the book and then interact, or interact to get a taste of the book.
Connect with Lee here:
https://www.facebook.com/leland.clanc...
Not sure who Lee is? Get acquainted here: Behind Frenemy Lines
November 22, 2017
How to Survive T'is The Season Stress (A Self-Help Satire)
Happy Hallow-giving-ismas!
As if the four seasons aren't bi-polar enough, do you feel like you're being punted through the last quarter of the calendar faster than a Hail Mary field goal attempt?
It begins with a hostile takeover of pumpkin spiced everything. Then pillows of fun-size chocolate bars compliment back-to-school shopping. Eggnog cozies up to the coffee creamer at the first colorful nip of fall. If you ran into CVS for sunscreen this summer, I hope you didn't topple the Hallmark display of Christmas ornaments. Yes, they come out every July. I do love the holidays, but slow your roll, Mister!
Why must Christmas suffocation come earlier every year? Let us extinguish the jack-o-lanterns and gobble up turkey before jingle bell ads overload our subconscious. Is it necessary for catalogs to choke our mailboxes and every charity under the sun to guilt our wallets?
Believe it or not, this merchandising malarkey has been around for decades. The proof lies in the 1974 cartoon special, “It’s the Easter Beagle, Charlie Brown.” The Peanuts gang ascends a department store escalator only to discover displays decked out in holly green and red already. Sally cracks a joke about it but the funny part is, this premature phenomenon wasn't even obnoxious back then. Comic creator Charles Schultz must have been a time traveler. Either that, or he planted the idea into store plan-a-gram artists everywhere.
You know who gets the short end of the peppermint stick in all this? Tom Turkey. As the middle child of the holiday trifecta, even his day is unstable. Could nobody be bothered to lock down a date for him, for goodness sake? Sure, he gets football, a can drive, Snoopy special and epic Friends episodes. And at least he gets a major parade! Too bad his limelight is overshadowed by the jovial big belly and beard shortly after his tail feathers touch Herald Square.
{As a kid, that was the most exciting part!} Good thing the dog show buffers the blur.
Worst of all, Tom is deliciously devoured! Left in his wake are wishbones, exhausted cooks, family fights, pots and pans and indigestion. Then before the Tums can take effect, early bird shoppers feel pressured to flock for deals.
Do we really need a day set aside to remind us to give thanks? We should do that on a regular basis, anyway.
If the holidays have you hyperventilating, fear not. Here are a few tips to combat celebratory stress and still have a good time.
1) First off, it's not the law.
We do not have to buy into it. Instead, focus on the deeper meaning. Pick and choose what fits best for you. We don't have to give to every organization. Go with the one(s) dear to your heart.
2) If it helps, plan ahead. I admire people who are super organized and have their Christmas shopping done by August. Apparently, it's entirely possible to achieve this without carols piping, hens a laying, crude commercialism, and Black Friday trample-thons.
I am no such creature. I don't like shopping much as it is. But I do love surprising people and making them happy.
3) Every year, I toy with the idea of gathering for exciting events or escaping to places like Disney instead of accumulating more stuff. (Although, it is more fun to open presents.)
But there are crowds and travel headaches too. So no matter which route we take, we can't avoid a hassle-free utopia, but it's worth it in the end.
4) Sometimes with a heavy course load, I've been known to get a head start. Begin early by eavesdropping. Listen to your loved ones for clues. Or if desperation strikes, scroll Facebook for a list of their favorite things. (Yes, I've actually done this with long distance relatives. Shh...) I try to pair fun with usefulness so all that legwork doesn't end up in a junk pile.
5) Support local ‘mom and pop’ shops when possible. Small Business Saturdays are a good place to start.
6) If you're not in the mood to fight long lines at the mall, order from the comfort of cyberspace instead.
7) While hanging at home in your cozy PJs, you might as well unsubscribe from unwanted catalog mailing lists. (I must admit some of those booklets are entertaining!)
8) If all else fails, there's always gift cards.
9) If your looming “must-dos’ are longer than the naughty and nice list, divide them into digestible bites. Tempting as it is, we are not at the mercy of every tradition. As much as I treasure my eclectic ornaments, there have been very recent Yuletides where we put up our fake pre-lit tree and called it a day.
*But may I suggest we don't let Christmas cards die? It's a quaintness of yesteryear and we don't have many left. Don't allow social media to hijack our personal touch. I know postage stamps keeps going up and it's tough to corral the kids to sit for pictures. But even a simple greeting from the drugstore's big variety box will do.
10) Delegate tasks. You're only one person. Narrow down a few feasible favorites or perhaps none at all. You can make up new ones, too. Sometimes simple spontaneity creates the most joy.
Now that you've outsmarted all this non-Noel nonsense, relax, put your feet up and sip some pumpkin spiced eggnog lemonade. We will be surfing the escalator into Christmas again soon enough. We might as well enjoy the ride.
What tips and traditions do you like to do? Comment below.
As if the four seasons aren't bi-polar enough, do you feel like you're being punted through the last quarter of the calendar faster than a Hail Mary field goal attempt?
It begins with a hostile takeover of pumpkin spiced everything. Then pillows of fun-size chocolate bars compliment back-to-school shopping. Eggnog cozies up to the coffee creamer at the first colorful nip of fall. If you ran into CVS for sunscreen this summer, I hope you didn't topple the Hallmark display of Christmas ornaments. Yes, they come out every July. I do love the holidays, but slow your roll, Mister!
Why must Christmas suffocation come earlier every year? Let us extinguish the jack-o-lanterns and gobble up turkey before jingle bell ads overload our subconscious. Is it necessary for catalogs to choke our mailboxes and every charity under the sun to guilt our wallets?
Believe it or not, this merchandising malarkey has been around for decades. The proof lies in the 1974 cartoon special, “It’s the Easter Beagle, Charlie Brown.” The Peanuts gang ascends a department store escalator only to discover displays decked out in holly green and red already. Sally cracks a joke about it but the funny part is, this premature phenomenon wasn't even obnoxious back then. Comic creator Charles Schultz must have been a time traveler. Either that, or he planted the idea into store plan-a-gram artists everywhere.
You know who gets the short end of the peppermint stick in all this? Tom Turkey. As the middle child of the holiday trifecta, even his day is unstable. Could nobody be bothered to lock down a date for him, for goodness sake? Sure, he gets football, a can drive, Snoopy special and epic Friends episodes. And at least he gets a major parade! Too bad his limelight is overshadowed by the jovial big belly and beard shortly after his tail feathers touch Herald Square.
{As a kid, that was the most exciting part!} Good thing the dog show buffers the blur.
Worst of all, Tom is deliciously devoured! Left in his wake are wishbones, exhausted cooks, family fights, pots and pans and indigestion. Then before the Tums can take effect, early bird shoppers feel pressured to flock for deals.
Do we really need a day set aside to remind us to give thanks? We should do that on a regular basis, anyway.
If the holidays have you hyperventilating, fear not. Here are a few tips to combat celebratory stress and still have a good time.
1) First off, it's not the law.
We do not have to buy into it. Instead, focus on the deeper meaning. Pick and choose what fits best for you. We don't have to give to every organization. Go with the one(s) dear to your heart.
2) If it helps, plan ahead. I admire people who are super organized and have their Christmas shopping done by August. Apparently, it's entirely possible to achieve this without carols piping, hens a laying, crude commercialism, and Black Friday trample-thons.
I am no such creature. I don't like shopping much as it is. But I do love surprising people and making them happy.
3) Every year, I toy with the idea of gathering for exciting events or escaping to places like Disney instead of accumulating more stuff. (Although, it is more fun to open presents.)
But there are crowds and travel headaches too. So no matter which route we take, we can't avoid a hassle-free utopia, but it's worth it in the end.
4) Sometimes with a heavy course load, I've been known to get a head start. Begin early by eavesdropping. Listen to your loved ones for clues. Or if desperation strikes, scroll Facebook for a list of their favorite things. (Yes, I've actually done this with long distance relatives. Shh...) I try to pair fun with usefulness so all that legwork doesn't end up in a junk pile.
5) Support local ‘mom and pop’ shops when possible. Small Business Saturdays are a good place to start.
6) If you're not in the mood to fight long lines at the mall, order from the comfort of cyberspace instead.
7) While hanging at home in your cozy PJs, you might as well unsubscribe from unwanted catalog mailing lists. (I must admit some of those booklets are entertaining!)
8) If all else fails, there's always gift cards.
9) If your looming “must-dos’ are longer than the naughty and nice list, divide them into digestible bites. Tempting as it is, we are not at the mercy of every tradition. As much as I treasure my eclectic ornaments, there have been very recent Yuletides where we put up our fake pre-lit tree and called it a day.
*But may I suggest we don't let Christmas cards die? It's a quaintness of yesteryear and we don't have many left. Don't allow social media to hijack our personal touch. I know postage stamps keeps going up and it's tough to corral the kids to sit for pictures. But even a simple greeting from the drugstore's big variety box will do.
10) Delegate tasks. You're only one person. Narrow down a few feasible favorites or perhaps none at all. You can make up new ones, too. Sometimes simple spontaneity creates the most joy.
Now that you've outsmarted all this non-Noel nonsense, relax, put your feet up and sip some pumpkin spiced eggnog lemonade. We will be surfing the escalator into Christmas again soon enough. We might as well enjoy the ride.
What tips and traditions do you like to do? Comment below.
November 16, 2017
Are you team Lee or Galaxy?
Have you read the romantic spy mystery Behind Frenemy Lines yet?
It's a bit steamy but not exactly explicit. It flirts with the intrigue of spies, angst of mistrust and the restless hunger of new love. Sprinkled with humor, presidential tidbits, and nostalgic movie clips, reviewers so far have liked the many twists.
I hope readers get a kick out of Galaxy's arsenal.
I wrote it without an iota of a plan. I have political amnesia, so it was a challenge to come up with a spy plot. I wanted something creative, not cliche.
As I typed away, new ideas popped into my head as I finished each chapter. I was lucky to find a way to tie it all together in the end.
I threw in some ingredients from my own experiences. While I'm not a spy, it's funny how I started thinking like one, becoming suspicious of everyday events.
For instance, at a Disney hotel, maintenance suddenly needed to swap out the rubber tree plant. Although ordinarily boring, it seemed odd. I knew I wanted to elaborate and make it a fun scene in the book. It turned out far more exciting than it did in real life.
And Gal's haunting flashback? I drew upon my Navy brat life in Orlando. As a former Air Force base, most of the old barracks were no longer in use. The fire department set them ablaze for training purposes. My friends and I had to bike past them to get to the scout hut. The stale charred out remains always spooked me, especially at night.
If you're already a fan, here's some good news:
The first scribblings of the sequel have etched their way into the writing journal. I have some unique twists up my sleeve.
And Lee Clancy has his own Facebook page! Get personal updates and hints from the hunky surveillance specialist. Maybe Galaxy will Skype in too.
So are you team Lee or Team Galaxy? Or are they better together?
Behind Frenemy Lines is available on Amazon for Kindle and in paperback.
It's a bit steamy but not exactly explicit. It flirts with the intrigue of spies, angst of mistrust and the restless hunger of new love. Sprinkled with humor, presidential tidbits, and nostalgic movie clips, reviewers so far have liked the many twists.
I hope readers get a kick out of Galaxy's arsenal.
I wrote it without an iota of a plan. I have political amnesia, so it was a challenge to come up with a spy plot. I wanted something creative, not cliche.
As I typed away, new ideas popped into my head as I finished each chapter. I was lucky to find a way to tie it all together in the end.
I threw in some ingredients from my own experiences. While I'm not a spy, it's funny how I started thinking like one, becoming suspicious of everyday events.
For instance, at a Disney hotel, maintenance suddenly needed to swap out the rubber tree plant. Although ordinarily boring, it seemed odd. I knew I wanted to elaborate and make it a fun scene in the book. It turned out far more exciting than it did in real life.
And Gal's haunting flashback? I drew upon my Navy brat life in Orlando. As a former Air Force base, most of the old barracks were no longer in use. The fire department set them ablaze for training purposes. My friends and I had to bike past them to get to the scout hut. The stale charred out remains always spooked me, especially at night.
If you're already a fan, here's some good news:
The first scribblings of the sequel have etched their way into the writing journal. I have some unique twists up my sleeve.
And Lee Clancy has his own Facebook page! Get personal updates and hints from the hunky surveillance specialist. Maybe Galaxy will Skype in too.
So are you team Lee or Team Galaxy? Or are they better together?
Behind Frenemy Lines is available on Amazon for Kindle and in paperback.
October 31, 2017
A Prodigal Chronicle
Have you ever kicked yourself? I have a few times-- mentally at least. It's safer that way.
Like a dummy, I threw out a bunch of photo albums when I remarried and moved out the apartment. My reasoning made sense. I was starting over fresh and didn't need volumes of reminders like a ghost of husband past.
But five years ago I was even more of an idiot when I let a journal slip through my fingers. Moving again, I was on the fence, going back and forth...trash bag, no, dresser drawer...no, trash...no, back into the drawer. Maybe my daughter would get a kick out of it..nah, garbage. You'd think I'd know better from the photo faux pas.
Note to self: when in doubt, DON'T throw it out!!
I had surgery earlier that week so can I blame it on anesthesia fog?
M.I.A and on the lamb is my 11th grade composition notebook. A small, chunky narrow orange-yellow bound with purple and blue yarn braided through the spirals. We had to write in it every week and turn it in, so nothing too personal. But I've always loved to write and misheard the directions. I scribbled every day! My English teacher loved it. In fact, we became pen pals when I moved that summer.
This silly volume was stuffed with crushes, a first date disaster where karma redeemed itself, my hopes and dreams-- like the dashed Powder Puff football fantasy- my goal of being less shy by trying out for the school play, being bolder, speaking up more, and making straight A's.
But sandwiched between the pages most was Geoff, the teen prodigy, my church organist crush mentioned in my latest book, The Pearly Gates Phone Company.
When I wrote the chapter about the youth group camping festival, "Jesus '81," I was transported back to that uplifting revival. Such fun! But it also plunked me right dab in the middle of the faint ache of a one-way love.
If only I had that journal! I'm sure it was filled to the gills with agonizing details that would've come in handy in the retelling. Or maybe it's best they remain forgotten. It's a wonder I remembered as much as I did. Thankfully, those antics make me laugh now. Well, except for an incident of jealousy that happened later on.
More importantly, those pages I long for very possibly contained the lost lyrics to the song I penned after the inspirational weekend.
In the dusty corner of my mind, all I can recall is the title, "I Found Love," and the existing tune wrapped around it.
Since the book is about mini-miracles and a few big ones too, I decided to make the faithful declaration that this journal will show up! It's a selfish request in all that is going on the world and I feel guilty.
But once this idea embedded into my head, I suddenly began seeing evidence of this phenomenon happening in movies or books. I know films are fictitious but I find it odd. All of a sudden it's revealing my desire. Is it wishful thinking or a sign of things to come?
For instance, I finally caught a rom-com I've been wanting to see for a long time. "Definitely, Maybe."
Unrelated to the main story line, a woman is pining for a certain copy of a book her father inscribed to her three weeks before his untimely death. Her mother tossed it when they moved. (She's a clunkhead like me!)
The girl devours second-hand bookstores in her lifelong search, eventually even working in one to increase her chances.
In a real life short story I just read today in Guideposts Magazine, a woman lost her deceased father's books in a devastating flood. As it turned out, an old college friend had borrowed one way back when and was cleaning his attic, and happened to mail it back after all those years.
There have been other examples too which escape me at this early morning moment.
My dilemma seems more impossible. The pages mentioned above were in safe hands, but how would a landfill logbook of love find its way back to me? It's a long shot, I know, but if anyone can do it, it's God.
Like a dummy, I threw out a bunch of photo albums when I remarried and moved out the apartment. My reasoning made sense. I was starting over fresh and didn't need volumes of reminders like a ghost of husband past.
But five years ago I was even more of an idiot when I let a journal slip through my fingers. Moving again, I was on the fence, going back and forth...trash bag, no, dresser drawer...no, trash...no, back into the drawer. Maybe my daughter would get a kick out of it..nah, garbage. You'd think I'd know better from the photo faux pas.
Note to self: when in doubt, DON'T throw it out!!
I had surgery earlier that week so can I blame it on anesthesia fog?
M.I.A and on the lamb is my 11th grade composition notebook. A small, chunky narrow orange-yellow bound with purple and blue yarn braided through the spirals. We had to write in it every week and turn it in, so nothing too personal. But I've always loved to write and misheard the directions. I scribbled every day! My English teacher loved it. In fact, we became pen pals when I moved that summer.
This silly volume was stuffed with crushes, a first date disaster where karma redeemed itself, my hopes and dreams-- like the dashed Powder Puff football fantasy- my goal of being less shy by trying out for the school play, being bolder, speaking up more, and making straight A's.
But sandwiched between the pages most was Geoff, the teen prodigy, my church organist crush mentioned in my latest book, The Pearly Gates Phone Company.
When I wrote the chapter about the youth group camping festival, "Jesus '81," I was transported back to that uplifting revival. Such fun! But it also plunked me right dab in the middle of the faint ache of a one-way love.
If only I had that journal! I'm sure it was filled to the gills with agonizing details that would've come in handy in the retelling. Or maybe it's best they remain forgotten. It's a wonder I remembered as much as I did. Thankfully, those antics make me laugh now. Well, except for an incident of jealousy that happened later on.
More importantly, those pages I long for very possibly contained the lost lyrics to the song I penned after the inspirational weekend.
In the dusty corner of my mind, all I can recall is the title, "I Found Love," and the existing tune wrapped around it.
Since the book is about mini-miracles and a few big ones too, I decided to make the faithful declaration that this journal will show up! It's a selfish request in all that is going on the world and I feel guilty.
But once this idea embedded into my head, I suddenly began seeing evidence of this phenomenon happening in movies or books. I know films are fictitious but I find it odd. All of a sudden it's revealing my desire. Is it wishful thinking or a sign of things to come?
For instance, I finally caught a rom-com I've been wanting to see for a long time. "Definitely, Maybe."
Unrelated to the main story line, a woman is pining for a certain copy of a book her father inscribed to her three weeks before his untimely death. Her mother tossed it when they moved. (She's a clunkhead like me!)
The girl devours second-hand bookstores in her lifelong search, eventually even working in one to increase her chances.
In a real life short story I just read today in Guideposts Magazine, a woman lost her deceased father's books in a devastating flood. As it turned out, an old college friend had borrowed one way back when and was cleaning his attic, and happened to mail it back after all those years.
There have been other examples too which escape me at this early morning moment.
My dilemma seems more impossible. The pages mentioned above were in safe hands, but how would a landfill logbook of love find its way back to me? It's a long shot, I know, but if anyone can do it, it's God.
October 25, 2017
Gas Station Time Machine
I paid cash at the pump today. Well, at the cashier box, that is. It feels like it's a blip back to the 80s, which is refreshing.
Sadly, our convenience store had a fire this spring, and burnt to the ground, taking the Dunkin Donuts nook with it. The drive-thru speaker is suspect, actually. So is an alleged cigarette.
Right after it happened, I heard students in class mourning their daily coffee route. I was more concerned about the only gas station in town being out of commission. (And the owner's loss of course.)
A few weeks later, they deemed the tanks safe and brought in a kiosk. Sometimes it's nice to take a technology break and get back to the basics.
How long has it been since you ran a bit-o-green inside to pay for a fill-up? Maybe some people always have.
Now if only to find a phone booth again.
Sadly, our convenience store had a fire this spring, and burnt to the ground, taking the Dunkin Donuts nook with it. The drive-thru speaker is suspect, actually. So is an alleged cigarette.
Right after it happened, I heard students in class mourning their daily coffee route. I was more concerned about the only gas station in town being out of commission. (And the owner's loss of course.)
A few weeks later, they deemed the tanks safe and brought in a kiosk. Sometimes it's nice to take a technology break and get back to the basics.
How long has it been since you ran a bit-o-green inside to pay for a fill-up? Maybe some people always have.
Now if only to find a phone booth again.
October 14, 2017
Missed-Kissed Opportunities
Anyone else in love with Ed Sheeran's song "Perfect"? So beautiful, such a melting swirl of romance. If only I could twist my husband's arm into a nice slow dance. Maybe it'll be Lee and Galaxy's new theme song.
I'm in love with love, so no wonder. I'm a multi-genre writer but romantic stories are my favorite. Even with the disastrous movie "Titanic." I hate the ending but I've always adored the story between Rose and Jack.
It's a deleted scene in my book, Behind Frenemy Lines, Galaxy daydreams about Lee, casting him as Jack, and she, Rose. Their tryst prevents the tragedy forever, changing his fate, and well, it made for a pretty steamy shower. Maybe I should add it back in, but there's plenty of other romantic encounters. I just started writing the sequel so maybe I'll sprinkle it in there.
I probably put too much pressure on romantic moments. But there are special times I just can't let a kiss go by. It's symbolic, a wax seal of the heart. I don't mean a quick peck, but a soft, yet lingering mingling that says, "I'm glad I'm with you."
Being caught out in a full moon.
Home runs at a baseball stadium. --ask me about the home run vouchers I made up. Those were fun! : ) --
Strikes while bowling.
At a concert, Niagara Falls, new state, Disney carriage ride...
Even at home, when your favorite team scores a touchdown, goal, basket...
Sports are great because you can wager higher stakes beyond a kiss, which brings me back to home run vouchers...
It's a good way to assure couples' democracy. Winners can ask for anything (within reason) like role playing or picking an outing to places they've always wanted to go, say Yankee Candle Headquarters, a scary movie, or a car show. And then a kissable moment will likely crop up, so it's a win-win.
When I watch movies, I get a disappointed pit in my stomach when missed-kissed opportunities arise. Am I alone here?
in Pitch Perfect, Jesse and Beca are watching The Breakfast Club (whoo hoo, John Hughes!) and there's that's second their heads are close, they look at each other in the glow of the laptop screen...they lean in and-- Beca breaks the mood. UGH. My heart sinks. But just as well since snobby roommate Kimmy bursts in and would've ruined things anyway.
In Back to the Future, every time Marty is about to kiss Jennifer, the principal party-poops, or her dad horns in, or Doc flashes in with the DeLorean.
Arrggh.. why am I affected? It's not me up on the screen. It's the plague of being a hopeful romantic, I guess. Or maybe my head skims the clouds too much. I better come in for a landing.
I'm in love with love, so no wonder. I'm a multi-genre writer but romantic stories are my favorite. Even with the disastrous movie "Titanic." I hate the ending but I've always adored the story between Rose and Jack.
It's a deleted scene in my book, Behind Frenemy Lines, Galaxy daydreams about Lee, casting him as Jack, and she, Rose. Their tryst prevents the tragedy forever, changing his fate, and well, it made for a pretty steamy shower. Maybe I should add it back in, but there's plenty of other romantic encounters. I just started writing the sequel so maybe I'll sprinkle it in there.
I probably put too much pressure on romantic moments. But there are special times I just can't let a kiss go by. It's symbolic, a wax seal of the heart. I don't mean a quick peck, but a soft, yet lingering mingling that says, "I'm glad I'm with you."
Being caught out in a full moon.
Home runs at a baseball stadium. --ask me about the home run vouchers I made up. Those were fun! : ) --
Strikes while bowling.
At a concert, Niagara Falls, new state, Disney carriage ride...
Even at home, when your favorite team scores a touchdown, goal, basket...
Sports are great because you can wager higher stakes beyond a kiss, which brings me back to home run vouchers...
It's a good way to assure couples' democracy. Winners can ask for anything (within reason) like role playing or picking an outing to places they've always wanted to go, say Yankee Candle Headquarters, a scary movie, or a car show. And then a kissable moment will likely crop up, so it's a win-win.
When I watch movies, I get a disappointed pit in my stomach when missed-kissed opportunities arise. Am I alone here?
in Pitch Perfect, Jesse and Beca are watching The Breakfast Club (whoo hoo, John Hughes!) and there's that's second their heads are close, they look at each other in the glow of the laptop screen...they lean in and-- Beca breaks the mood. UGH. My heart sinks. But just as well since snobby roommate Kimmy bursts in and would've ruined things anyway.
In Back to the Future, every time Marty is about to kiss Jennifer, the principal party-poops, or her dad horns in, or Doc flashes in with the DeLorean.
Arrggh.. why am I affected? It's not me up on the screen. It's the plague of being a hopeful romantic, I guess. Or maybe my head skims the clouds too much. I better come in for a landing.
October 7, 2017
Are You Silenced like a Cell Phone?
It's Saturday, sipping coffee. I just switched my cell phone volume on for a change. I realize how often I leave it off.
Societal politeness presses for silence: movies, the play I attended last night, classrooms, and solemn ceremonies. I had my fair share of it going off at the wrong time. No wonder I leave it off. (Check out my new book, The Pearly Gates Phone Company for some gaffes and laughs.)
I finally got a favorite song as a musical ringtone with a ring-back downloaded last month, and I'm gypping myself not hearing it. Even if it's mostly spam. I hope the callers are enjoying it.
Cell sound is off overnight, charging in another room, my choice. In the morning rush, I don't bother turning it on and then on weekends, I forget all about it.
At home, it's in mute mode mostly because it annoys a certain house spouse. Videos automatically blast when scrolling Facebook. It makes me jump too. If I'm texting, or on messenger, that's multiple sounds back and forth.
On occasion my husband works from home (conference calls!) and those are the days I can't write while enjoying my music freely.
I enjoy quiet moments, but all this muting got me thinking. How often are we muffled? Women were silenced up through the Suffrage movement, beaten and worse trying to get the right to vote. People of color couldn't use the same restrooms or were banished to the back of the bus, and couldn't eat at the same lunch counter. It took a fight, and worse! The same for other minorities and issues going on today. It's mind boggling. We are all the same human race, a variety pack of Crayola's 96. Not aliens from outer space.
When our expressive nature is bound and gagged, when our voice box is snipped, are we being our true selves in those moments? Whether it's dying our hair bright pink or chartreuse, waving a rainbow flag, piercing an eyelid, letting out a whoop a joy, how many times do you hold back, or curl your tongue to keep the peace? Guilty!
Sometimes it's necessary to get along, being the bigger person, but other times, if someone constantly walks all over us, we need to speak up. It can be enlightening to give people a piece of your mind, in a peace talk kind of way. How many times do we lose courage because we're scared? Guilty, again!
Next time, be brave, inner self, Amplify. But don't shout, just be heard.
Societal politeness presses for silence: movies, the play I attended last night, classrooms, and solemn ceremonies. I had my fair share of it going off at the wrong time. No wonder I leave it off. (Check out my new book, The Pearly Gates Phone Company for some gaffes and laughs.)
I finally got a favorite song as a musical ringtone with a ring-back downloaded last month, and I'm gypping myself not hearing it. Even if it's mostly spam. I hope the callers are enjoying it.
Cell sound is off overnight, charging in another room, my choice. In the morning rush, I don't bother turning it on and then on weekends, I forget all about it.
At home, it's in mute mode mostly because it annoys a certain house spouse. Videos automatically blast when scrolling Facebook. It makes me jump too. If I'm texting, or on messenger, that's multiple sounds back and forth.
On occasion my husband works from home (conference calls!) and those are the days I can't write while enjoying my music freely.
I enjoy quiet moments, but all this muting got me thinking. How often are we muffled? Women were silenced up through the Suffrage movement, beaten and worse trying to get the right to vote. People of color couldn't use the same restrooms or were banished to the back of the bus, and couldn't eat at the same lunch counter. It took a fight, and worse! The same for other minorities and issues going on today. It's mind boggling. We are all the same human race, a variety pack of Crayola's 96. Not aliens from outer space.
When our expressive nature is bound and gagged, when our voice box is snipped, are we being our true selves in those moments? Whether it's dying our hair bright pink or chartreuse, waving a rainbow flag, piercing an eyelid, letting out a whoop a joy, how many times do you hold back, or curl your tongue to keep the peace? Guilty!
Sometimes it's necessary to get along, being the bigger person, but other times, if someone constantly walks all over us, we need to speak up. It can be enlightening to give people a piece of your mind, in a peace talk kind of way. How many times do we lose courage because we're scared? Guilty, again!
Next time, be brave, inner self, Amplify. But don't shout, just be heard.
