Cindy A. Christiansen's Blog, page 12

A Watchful Eye

When I first began writing, I joined a local romance writers’ group. I was hopeful, excited, and willing to help. I merged right in with new ideas and hard work. Unfortunately, members of the board were insecure. It didn’t take long to realize that one particular person was not only taking my ideas as her own but taking credit for all my hard work. I wanted to believe that it didn’t matter who got the credit as long as the group benefited. However, I grew weary of hearing back my own ideas under someone else’s name.
I waited a number of years before I dared join a writing group again. I thought time and maturity would be on my side. Again, I pitched in with hard work and innovative ideas to make the experience fun for the authors. During my few short years with the group, I experienced even more frustration. This was just before the wave of self-publication and the disbandment of the major publishing houses and bookstores.
I had signed with a small publishing house and was extremely excited. However, key people in the group felt that if you didn’t publish with one of the big houses, you were a nobody. Every time the issue came up, they looked down their long, upturned noses at me. Their distain was palpable. Backstabbing was rampant with the group. I was a board member but left out of meetings. All I wanted to do was help other authors and share that wonderful, creative feeling of being connected to your characters that only other authors can understand. Instead, I was persecuted publicly by one of the key people and others followed.
She eventually admitted “privately” that she had been wrong and that she had emotional issues, but the damage was done and there was no public apology for the rest of the writers to understand what had happened.
I left the group, feeling that I didn’t want to spend my time on emotional upsets. I want to enjoy writing.
I mustered up what courage I had left and joined another writing group. This time, I chose a group that were both men and women, all ages, all writing genres. I assumed there wouldn’t be the “high school” mentality like with the other groups I’d joined.
The first year was awesome. I was asked to do presentations, and I learned a great deal from the other speakers. I even took on a board position again.
The dynamics of the group continued to change. I was no longer asked to speak. Authors wanted my editing skills and critiques, but only under the radar. Things I did weren’t recognized. 
On several occasions, I had the opportunity to state what genre I write to the group. I proudly stated that I am a sweet romantic suspense author. With this announcement came silence, downcast eyes, and then a look of dismissal. You could feel the rejection in the air.
Pardon me? Doesn’t my writing have merit? Don’t I have to follow the same rules as everyone else to construct a well thought out plot? Don’t I have to have in depth characterization, and spot-on grammar and punctuation? Don’t I have to have intriguing dialogue?
By the number of awards I’ve won and the number of books I’ve published (fourteen in total), you would think my abilities should hold some value to my colleagues. I thought we were equals and all working toward our writing goals.
I've tried to overcome my fears. Going to any group meeting heightens my senses and puts me on the defense. My mind is filled with confusion and racing thoughts. I can’t relax, and I hold myself back from the group. I’m looking—looking for that next snub. Will it be real or imagined? Am I overly sensitive? I want to believe that no matter what group I join, we are working together for the good of everyone... However, I always have a watchful eye.
Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! Fly into a good book at: http://www.dragonflyromance.com
Dog Photo Copyright: / 123RF Stock PhotoCindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

To Everything There is a Season

I’ve read the books.  Having health problems is supposed to teach you patience.  But when you’ve gone to doctors over a period of a year and you still don’t know what’s wrong, patience begins to fly out the window.
I first went to an Ear, Nose and Throat (ENT) doctor because I was having headaches on the left side of my head, random ringing in the ears, and random hearing blockage.  After a thorough hearing test, he asked if I had Multiple Sclerosis (MS) and said the muscles in my ears weren’t working, indicating MS.  He referred me to a neurologist who specializes in MS.  MRIs lead to CT-scans that showed multiple lesions, an abnormal bone growth at the base of my skull, and tumors and both adrenals.
Whining and grumbling, I was referred to other specialists.  Their tests were negative and they didn’t know who to refer me to. They told me to go back to the MS doctor.  Mind you, with every appointment, months went by.  The MS doctor laughed when I went back to her and said my head symptoms had nothing to do with MS.  She referred me back to the ENT.
Meanwhile, I had to see my primary care doctor (PCP).  She referred me to a rheumatologist.  Pinching the bridge of my nose, I phoned my insurance to find an in-network doctor.  Not that easy as many specialists are going out of business under the new Affordable Health Care Act.  I located a doctor and called their office.  The assistant asked if I had to see that particular doctor.  I told them no, as long as the doctor was a rheumatologist.  I waited two months to see her, only to find out she was an Internal Medicine doctor and couldn’t help me.
She escorted me out to the checkout desk to schedule with the doctor I had originally asked to see.  They were booking appointments for seven months down the road. Clenching my jaw, so as not to say anything I would regret, I took a deep breath and told the assistant that I had better leave before I came unglued. 
Later that day, my youngest son asked, “Mom, why are you breathing that way?  It usually means you’re in pain or you’re really mad.”
Actually, I was both.  During this long fiasco of waiting and appointments, my symptoms had gotten worse, even debilitating.  I’ve barely been functioning to do the basics.  Now, I can’t tip my head back without feeling confused, nauseated, sick, and in pain.
The next week, I called the office manager and explained what had happened.  Instead of having me wait seven months, she scheduled me for an appointment in two months.  Again, my symptoms worsened and it wasn’t the only medical issues I faced during that time.  Flu, bronchitis, kidney infection, tooth extraction, gland infection, dry socket…I had it all, waiting those two more months.
The day came for the appointment.  I had waited over an hour in the outer office.  Fidgeting, door watching, deep sighs, and neck cracking…I waited, hoping that this time I would get some help. Another half-an-hour went by before the doctor came into the room, frowning, rattled, and not letting me complete a sentence.
He kept complaining that my case was too complicated. He examined me.  Scowling, he said, “This doesn’t make sense.  If you hurt here, you should hurt there.” 
I finally asked him if he was mad at me.  His answer was that he didn’t like how the appointment had gotten made and how disorganized the paperwork was.  He told his assistance to write me a prescription for NSAIDS and got angry when I said I couldn’t take them.  He told me to go back to my MS doctor and an ENT.  He told me to make an appointment for early in the morning on the follow up so he could check for swelling.  His nurse refused to make the appointment for then because it was noted in the file.  Really?
As I figured, the ENT does not want to see me.  They referred me to a specialist that isn’t covered by my insurance.  Now I’m waiting for them to allow me to see him because he is a very specialized specialist and the medical assistant said the area that needs to be worked on “is in a sensitive area.”
I’m waiting again.  Waiting and in pain and feeling horrible.  Every day, every hour, every minute.  In reading the cues of acute impatience in the Emotion Thesaurus, I must say, I’ve done most of them:·       Barking orders·       Cutting people off·       Taking over a project·       Telling someone to get on with it·       Making demands·       Hitting things (like the table) in impatience·       Redirecting the focus to allow things to proceed faster·       Resorting to the physical
As Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 states:
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
2 A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
3 A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
4 A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
5 A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
6 A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
7 A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
8 A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

I believe there is a season. The fear for me is: Is this waiting game God’s timing or man’s incompetence? (Or should I say doctor's incompetence?)  Am I waiting when I shouldn’t? After becoming chronically ill because of a doctor’s ineptitude, I’m not trusting.  I am willing to accept God’s timing.  A doctor’s?  Not so much.  

Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs!
Fly into a good book at: http://www.dragonflyromance.com

Copyright of medical dog: / 123RF Stock PhotoCindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

We All Fall Down!

Help! I've fallen and I can't get up!

My Schnauzer, Sprite, has had one bad week.  Not only has he slid across the floor, he has flipped over backward. He must have done that six or seven times just yesterday.  He doesn't need wooden floors to slid--tile or carpet will do the trick for him.
He looks at me like I tripped him, even if I'm clear across the room.  Sometimes, it's hard not to laugh.

For this weekend's fun blog, I thought I'd share some other dogs doing the same thing.


Have a wonderful weekend!

Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs!
Fly into a good book at: http://www.dragonflyromance.com 

Copyrigh of dog on backt: / 123RF Stock PhotoCindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

The Fragility of Life

Once you've been in space, you appreciate how small and fragile the Earth is. 
~Valentina Tereshkova
My father heard my sister’s unnerving scream while he was watching television.  At the same time, my brother heard her scream at his own house.  They had no idea what had happened, but both were certain it was my older sister's shriek.
My sister had loved horses as much as I love dogs.  She started driving for one of the carriage companies in the city.  She fell in love with the idea and started her own carriage business.  I don’t remember her ever being so happy in her life.
There had been an accident with a carriage and a car in the city.  The horse had to be put down.  My sister was devastated, but she was also upset about keeping her business going.  Every day, she worked long and hard into the night, trying to keep up with her business, the horses and her family.   Late at night on the Sugar Factory Road near her home, she and her husband were training a replacement horse using a small, handmade cart (basically a bench seat with two wheels).  A young man got off work and hit their cart.  My sister was killed instantly and my brother-in-law injured.  My sister was thirty-eight-years-old and had four children. They placed the time of death at the same time by father and brother had heard her eerie scream.
I am sure we were all in shock, but we were also filled with remorse.  Although my parents supported my sister’s business and did all they could to help, the strains of her load had caused a rift between us all. We had spoken very little to her in months.
It’s hard to remember the exact details of the night she died.  The funeral home staff had refused to let us see her, but my father insisted.  I think we drove to the place in silence.  Mom kept breaking into sobs.  My brother stared at the rode as he drove, his teeth clenched.  Dad’s shoulders curled over his chest and he fought his quivering chin.  One trembling hand covered my other sister’s mouth and her other cold hand rested in mine. My stomach felt as hard as a rock, my eyes gritty.
No matter how shocking it was to see her lying there injured, it was more of a shock for all of us at the viewing.  My sister was a natural beauty.  She wore little makeup, had beautiful full lips, and naturally straight blond hair.  They had put tons of makeup on her and over-curled her hair.  We didn’t recognize her, but could say little.
The months and years ahead were difficult. My parents carried their distress from lost opportunities with her to their graves.  My heart breaks for the remorse they felt and what they went through from her loss.
One never knows what lies in store, what can never be undone, or just how fragile life can be.

Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! Fly into a good book at: http://www.dragonflyromance.com
Copyright of dog in space image: / 123RF Stock PhotoCindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

It's Been a Looooong Week!

Need a good laugh this weekend?
I do. It has been a long, hard week for me. 
I can't say I have iatrophobia (an abnormal or irrational fear of doctors or going to the doctor), because my fear isn't irrational. I have my reasons. This week, I faced a very rude doctor who was too busy to help me. It makes me want to never go again.
So, I needed a good laugh, and I always like to check out the British animal videos.
Is it the voices, the timing, or the humor that make these so funny?
Who knows, and who cares. It always makes me laugh.  Hope you enjoy it too.


Have wonderful weekend!


Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! 
Fly into a good book at: http://www.dragonflyromance.com 

Copyright of long dog: / 123RF Stock Photo
Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

Blind as a Bat!

First crop hay is always the thickest, best crop for cutting.  Timing is critical.  Bale too late, the flakes fall off.  Bale too soon, it molds.  Dad was always antsy and a nervous wreck.  What if it rained?  What is the wind blew too hard?  Farming is an emotional rollercoaster.
Dad started that spring by cutting the back pasture near the corrals and house and working toward the bottom field.  I took him a quart bottle of ice water and climbed on the tractor with him.  I noticed my eyes itched and I let out a sneeze.  The scent of hay was especially strong this year with the thick stand and my allergies had kicked in.
Every time we made a round, I waved to my mom who was washing clothes with the old wringer washer.  She had just hung one of Dad’s blue work shirts on the clothesline when I began to really itch.  I gave a wave and then rubbed my eyes with the backs of my hands.  My vision blurred.
I waited for Dad to make another round.  “I think I had better go to the house now,” I said trying to blink my vision clear.
Dad swallowed the last of the water and asked me to bring more when he got down to the middle section.  He stopped the tractor, and I hopped off.  I felt peculiar but didn’t say anything.  I headed for the house, my sight getting blurrier with every step.  I tried to wipe my eyes again, but nothing happened.  I was completely blind.  I didn’t realize my eyelids had swollen shut.  Darkness surrounded me.  I didn’t understand what had happened.  I called to Mom, but she didn’t answer.  Dad couldn’t hear me with the tractor running.
I knew a barbed-wire fence was on my left.  I didn’t want to get entangled with it, but I needed to work my way up the fence in order to get to the house.  I had dealt with allergies before but nothing like this.  I felt alone, lost and frightened.  I wanted to curl up in a fetal position and cry, but I continued to stumble my way toward the house.

Suddenly, hands touched me.  “What’s wrong?” Mom asked.  “I saw you stumbling around.”  She gasped.  “Your eyes!”
Tears stung my already burning eyes.  I clung to Mom, sagging against her in the beautiful comfort of her touch.  I just wanted to stand there with her arms around me, feeling comforted and safe.  She took my arm and guided me toward the house.  Once inside, she sat me down on the couch and retrieved a cold ice pack for my eyes.
I heard the back screen door slam and pounding boots across the floor. 
“What's happened?” Dad yelled.  “I saw you both from the field.”
I could hear the concern in his voice.  I smiled and sighed, feeling loved, cared for, protected…and as blind as a bat.
Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! Fly into a good book at: http://www.dragonflyromance.com
Copyright Dog with Bat Wings: / 123RF Stock Photo Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

Waking Up Is Hard To Do

Ahhhh, another week gone-by!

I share these cute fur-babies waking up their parents. I wish my two dogs would have woke me up this way during the week.

No such luck.  One day, Chloe woke me up by throwing up in bed.  Another day, Sprite fell out of bed with a big thunk.  Sheesh!

Let's take a look:



Share the way your sweet babies wake you up and have a wonderful weekend.
Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! Fly into a good book at: http://www.dragonflyromance.com 
Dog Yawning Image: http://www.wallpapersdb.org/animals/dogs/dog-yawning-wallpaper-2411.htmCindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

What Lies in Your Hands?

My earliest memory is being in the crib in my parent’s bedroom and crying when my dad drifted off to sleep and his hand fell away from mine. I was a toddler then, with no room to move into with a small home and large family.  All of my life, I have wanted to hold someone’s hand (or paw) as I floated off to dreamland. From my dad and mom, to my sister, to my stuffed turtle’s neck, to my dog, to my husband, that contact has always been so important to me.
It’s no wonder that the thing I remember most about my loved ones is their hands. I can picture my dad’s scarred hands with the funny-shaped pointer finger he ran a drill bit all the way through while up in the attic installing our first swamp cooler. The many times he rushed home from work, used his big hands to pour his hot coffee into the small saucer to cool it quicker in order to get out and do chores.
I remember my mother’s hard working hands as she kneaded bread, cut-up chickens, and hung clothes on the clothesline outside. And all of the times she bent down to tie my shoes while I stroked her back.
I remember my older brother’s scarred, crippled hand that the well head crushed which forced him to use his left hand, and the way he held tools when we built wood projects together.
But that isn’t all.  It wasn’t just how their hands looked.  It’s a whole host of emotions they evoked.  I remember the love I felt as a knelt by my mom’s chair at the kitchen table and held her hand after my dad passed away.  Her hands exuded the love, kindness, and dedication she had given her him. Then there was the way she lovingly stroked my long hair as she brushed it, and the times she ran a needle through her finger sewing clothes for the family.
There was the time when my brother stayed up all night long holding his sick dog, Blue, who passed away in his arms, and how I held his trembling hand afterward as he told me how much he loved his faithful companion.
I remember the touch of my dad’s hand as he consoled me after the loss of my first pregnancy and how gentle this tough man could be.  I remember his shaking finger as a warning, his hand signals the rest of us couldn’t figure out, and the tremble of his hands with impatience at something I’d done wrong.  But rarely did he raise a hand in anger.
In my teens, a song came over a country radio station, sung by Holly Dunn and written by Patsy Cline called Daddy’s Hands .  I’ve never connected with a song so deeply in my life.  Tears immediately sprang to my eyes.  This person knew how my heart felt.  My mom heard it, too, and told me I should sing the song and play my guitar at funerals.  Being the tender-hearted person that I am, I was never able to do that without crying, so it never happened.  But, the song has always had a special place in my heart. Here are the lyrics:

Daddy’s HandsWritten by Patsy Cline
I remember Daddy´s hands, folded silently in prayer.
And reaching out to hold me, when I had a nightmare.
You could read quite a story, in the callouses and lines.
Years of work and worry had left their mark behind.
I remember Daddy´s hands, how they held my Mama tight,
And patted my back, for something done right.
There are things that I´ve forgotten, that I loved about the man,
But I´ll always remember the love in Daddy´s hands.

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy´s hands, were hard as steel when I´d done wrong.
Daddy´s hands, weren´t always gentle
But I´ve come to understand.
There was always love in Daddy´s hands.

I remember Daddy´s hands, working 'til they bled.
Sacrificed unselfishly, just to keep us all fed.
If I could do things over, I´d live my life again.
And never take for granted the love in Daddy´s hands.

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy´s hands, were hard as steel when I´d done wrong.
Daddy´s hands, weren´t always gentle
But I´ve come to understand.
There was always love in Daddy´s hands.

Listen to the song at: http://youtu.be/Y5AdgQQ2j70?list=PL1F202447A211385C

Aren’t those marvelous words and thoughts? I hope I will be remembered for my hands and the love, kindness, concern, and empathy I have tried to give to everyone I meet, including four-legged friends.

Photo by Isaac MontoyaThis photo was taken by my friend, Isaac Montoya.  He asked me to go to his website and tell him what I thought of his work.  What connected with me was the number of photographs he has taken of people’s hands.  I commented on it, and he was very surprised that I noticed.  Take this opportunity to go over to his site and bond with his work.  You won’t be disappointed!  Isaac Montoya’s Portfolio:  http://isaacmontoy5.wix.com/graphic-design



Study your own hands and think about what lies within.
Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! Fly into a good book at: http://www.dragonflyromance.com
Daddy's Hands Lyrics:  http://www.lyricsmania.com/daddys_hands_lyrics_patsy_cline.htmlHolly Dunn Performance:  http://youtu.be/Y5AdgQQ2j70?list=PL1F202447A211385CIsaac Montoya’s Portfolio:  http://isaacmontoy5.wix.com/graphic-designHand and Paw photo Copyright: / 123RF Stock Photo Anne Frank Quote: http://www.personalexcellence.co


Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

Friends Furever

This week, I attended a DoTerra party. I only knew one other person at the party but was so surprised by how much everyone cared about improving my health. 
I'm not just talking about those selling the product, although they truly cared. I'm talking about all those marvelous people who attended and shared their stories. 
They were so genuine and sincere, much like the wonderful animals in this short video. Thank you!

Have a wonderful weekend!
Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! 
Fly into a good book at: http://www.dragonflyromance.com

Copyright for Dog Photo: / 123RF Stock PhotoCindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

Top 10 Fiction Reader’s Cravings

Recently, I met a new reader at a book signing.  I could tell she didn’t expect much from my writing, but she was pleased that I donated to help abused and abandoned dogs.  Within two days, she contacted me.  She had completely read Time Will Tell , the first book in my Merchant Street Mystery series, and she wanted the next book right away.
I couldn’t believe how excited she sounded.  “Your books have everything I love!  I can’t wait to read another. Where can we meet?”
So far, she has purchased five print books and intends to buy all of them. I’m thrilled!
It is so wonderful to find readers who connect with what you write.  That’s why I think it is important to let readers know what you are giving them.  Not all readers want the same things from a book.  Here’s a top 10 list of what reader’s crave from fiction books:EscapeConnectability with CharactersHappy EndingsSurpriseHumorSuspenseDifferent Points of ViewIntellectual ChallengeKnowledgePredictability
 What would you add to this list?  Post your thoughts in the comments section below.
In case you don’t know, here’s the list I came up with for my books.


Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! Fly into a good book at: http://www.dragonflyromance.com
Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author