Julie Lence's Blog, page 10
March 27, 2013
Easter Blessings
Can you believe it's almost Easter? It seems I was just putting away the Christmas decorations. The days certainly go by fast this time of year. Everyone is anxious for the warm, pleasant days of spring, because right around the corner is summer. Picnics, vacations, kids splashing in the backyard pool, or running through a sprinkler; those hot, lazy afternoons meant for sipping iced tea on a porch swing. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
I love Easter. Not so much the candy, but I do enjoy coloring eggs and decorating the house, opening the windows and letting in a cool breeze. I especially enjoy mass. The church is decorated beautifully and the little girls look pretty in their new dresses and bonnets and white shoes. It's a time for celebration, for counting blessings and being thankful for family and friends. To live in the moment and not worry about the past or the future. It's the joy on a child's face when he/she finds an Easter basket, or when he/she cracks the shell on a brightly colored egg.
The hubby and I have had many happy Easters with our son. When our son was little, he'd race through the house, searching behind furniture, in cabinets and closets, for a basket. (Actually, he got two. One was from Grandma.) Once he found the basket, the hunt was on for the eggs. And wherever he went, the dog was right behind him. Rippy would follow after my son, watch him find an egg and pick it up and then two would proudly take it to the kitchen. Then the hunt was back on for more eggs. It really was comical to watch a dog search for eggs, especially eggs he wasn't getting for a treat. But Rip did, year after year, patiently, loyally. And then he'd want his own Easter treat.
Nova doesn't hunt for eggs. She'd rather have a biscuit and a couch to lay on. She might sniff a basket of candy, but Easter isn't for her. She prefers Christmas, and will sit patiently and quietly by the tree until someone gives her a treat from her stocking. And she'll watch my son open gifts.
I'm truly blessed in that my son will have two great memories to carry him through adulthood. Rip helping him find Easter eggs and Nova opening Christmas presents.
I love Easter. Not so much the candy, but I do enjoy coloring eggs and decorating the house, opening the windows and letting in a cool breeze. I especially enjoy mass. The church is decorated beautifully and the little girls look pretty in their new dresses and bonnets and white shoes. It's a time for celebration, for counting blessings and being thankful for family and friends. To live in the moment and not worry about the past or the future. It's the joy on a child's face when he/she finds an Easter basket, or when he/she cracks the shell on a brightly colored egg.
The hubby and I have had many happy Easters with our son. When our son was little, he'd race through the house, searching behind furniture, in cabinets and closets, for a basket. (Actually, he got two. One was from Grandma.) Once he found the basket, the hunt was on for the eggs. And wherever he went, the dog was right behind him. Rippy would follow after my son, watch him find an egg and pick it up and then two would proudly take it to the kitchen. Then the hunt was back on for more eggs. It really was comical to watch a dog search for eggs, especially eggs he wasn't getting for a treat. But Rip did, year after year, patiently, loyally. And then he'd want his own Easter treat.
Nova doesn't hunt for eggs. She'd rather have a biscuit and a couch to lay on. She might sniff a basket of candy, but Easter isn't for her. She prefers Christmas, and will sit patiently and quietly by the tree until someone gives her a treat from her stocking. And she'll watch my son open gifts.
I'm truly blessed in that my son will have two great memories to carry him through adulthood. Rip helping him find Easter eggs and Nova opening Christmas presents.
March 7, 2013
A Mind At Work
A few blocks from my house is a 6 lane thoroughfare. Sometimes, when I'm idling at a red light at one of the crossroads, I watch the cars traveling north and south and wonder, where is everyone going? Restaurants, banks, grocery, liquor and home improvement stores, dry cleaners; just about any business you can think of is on this thoroughfare. Are people going to eat? Shop? Withdraw cash at the ATM? And where are they going afterward? Some place exciting? Or are they going home like me? What are they going to do when they get home? Make dinner? Throw a load of laundry into the machine? Which reminds me, I have to fill the dog's water bowl. It's next to the washing machine. Then I have to return a dish to a neighbor. Pick up the kiddo from school. Make dinner. And then my television shows are on. Let's see, tonight is Wednesday, which means I get to go to be early and then, tomorrow….
You get the idea—one thought leads to another, and before you know it, you've either worked your way back to your original thought or strayed way off topic, like I usually do. Watching CBS's primetime lineup has nothing to do with being stopped at a red light. But that's how my mind travels, and how I like to sometimes allow my characters' minds to travel.
In Debra's Bandit, Gage was certain he knew Emmit Kessler, but couldn't recall from where. It wasn't until I allowed Gage a short reprieve from his original problem that he figured out Kessler's identity. His line of thought went something like: Kessler mentioned something about his brother being killed. But I didn't kill him. I'm sure of. I only killed three people, and I know every one of them. But I did steal from a lot of folks, and places. Had to in order to survive. So did Roth, and the others in Roth's gang. The last bank we robbed a posse was on our trail before we cleared the outskirts of town. I high-tailed it to Mexico. Laid low for a while. Worked my way back to the states, to Roth and Debra. Found out they were holed up in Tucson. Roth had been shot in that robbery and Debra had…..
I won't spoil the rest. I will say that getting inside a character's mind and giving his/her thoughts free rein so he/she can work through a problem is fun and rewarding. Fun, because I'm someone else for a while. Rewarding, because I've progressed the plot of the story, not with heart-pumping action, but on an emotional level the reader can relate to and sympathize with. Having my readers feel some connection to my characters is as important to me as developing a great storyline.
You get the idea—one thought leads to another, and before you know it, you've either worked your way back to your original thought or strayed way off topic, like I usually do. Watching CBS's primetime lineup has nothing to do with being stopped at a red light. But that's how my mind travels, and how I like to sometimes allow my characters' minds to travel.
In Debra's Bandit, Gage was certain he knew Emmit Kessler, but couldn't recall from where. It wasn't until I allowed Gage a short reprieve from his original problem that he figured out Kessler's identity. His line of thought went something like: Kessler mentioned something about his brother being killed. But I didn't kill him. I'm sure of. I only killed three people, and I know every one of them. But I did steal from a lot of folks, and places. Had to in order to survive. So did Roth, and the others in Roth's gang. The last bank we robbed a posse was on our trail before we cleared the outskirts of town. I high-tailed it to Mexico. Laid low for a while. Worked my way back to the states, to Roth and Debra. Found out they were holed up in Tucson. Roth had been shot in that robbery and Debra had…..
I won't spoil the rest. I will say that getting inside a character's mind and giving his/her thoughts free rein so he/she can work through a problem is fun and rewarding. Fun, because I'm someone else for a while. Rewarding, because I've progressed the plot of the story, not with heart-pumping action, but on an emotional level the reader can relate to and sympathize with. Having my readers feel some connection to my characters is as important to me as developing a great storyline.
February 21, 2013
Stepping Out of Your Comfort Zone
Many years ago, I worked for the Air Force. My job was accounting, or rather collecting monies for delinquent accounts and bounced checks. To this day, and it's been almost twenty years, I can still recite the regulations I had to follow pertaining to collecting monies. Why? Because I knew the desk inside and out. And when a new regulation or policy came along, I was usually the first to challenge it, because I hated change. Because I hated stepping out of my comfort zone. But the Air Force called it progress, keeping up with the times to make the mission run smoother. Sometimes, the change was for the better. Other times, it wasn't.
Now that I'm a stay-at-home mom, I still find it hard to step out of comfort zones. Sometimes, I don't have a choice, and I'll stubbornly refuse to do so until I absolutely have to. It's usually then I find I can do something different and the result was better than I first thought it would be. In other words, I amaze myself and wonder why I'd balked in the first place. My latest 'shedding of a comfort zone' came when I went into self-publishing.
Back when I began writing and then found a publisher, I was happy to write the story and let the publisher take care of the rest; the editing, the cover art, placing the book on various sites. Some of that work didn't interest me, especially designing covers. I honestly didn't believe I could do it, mostly because I'm not artistic. I can't draw a straight line with a ruler and my people are stick people. But when I was faced with the decision to either find a new publisher or self-publish, I chose self-publishing, because finding a new publisher meant stepping out of the comfort zone with my previous publisher and starting over with a new one. Not that self-publishing was any better, but at least with self-publishing I could move forward quicker.
I jumped right in with the editing and the uploading files and the cover art and found, to my surprise, that not only could I design cover art, I actually liked designing it. Playing with photographs and colors and fonts in a little box is exciting, rewarding, and a never-ending learning experience. I'm in awe at the things a computer can do with the click of a button. Sometimes, I'll throw a photo on the screen and just play with it for hours. And to think, if I hadn't been forced out of one comfort zone, I'd never be where I am now; in another comfort zone that's always changing. But they're changes I embrace, unlike when I worked for the Air Force.
Now that I'm a stay-at-home mom, I still find it hard to step out of comfort zones. Sometimes, I don't have a choice, and I'll stubbornly refuse to do so until I absolutely have to. It's usually then I find I can do something different and the result was better than I first thought it would be. In other words, I amaze myself and wonder why I'd balked in the first place. My latest 'shedding of a comfort zone' came when I went into self-publishing.
Back when I began writing and then found a publisher, I was happy to write the story and let the publisher take care of the rest; the editing, the cover art, placing the book on various sites. Some of that work didn't interest me, especially designing covers. I honestly didn't believe I could do it, mostly because I'm not artistic. I can't draw a straight line with a ruler and my people are stick people. But when I was faced with the decision to either find a new publisher or self-publish, I chose self-publishing, because finding a new publisher meant stepping out of the comfort zone with my previous publisher and starting over with a new one. Not that self-publishing was any better, but at least with self-publishing I could move forward quicker.
I jumped right in with the editing and the uploading files and the cover art and found, to my surprise, that not only could I design cover art, I actually liked designing it. Playing with photographs and colors and fonts in a little box is exciting, rewarding, and a never-ending learning experience. I'm in awe at the things a computer can do with the click of a button. Sometimes, I'll throw a photo on the screen and just play with it for hours. And to think, if I hadn't been forced out of one comfort zone, I'd never be where I am now; in another comfort zone that's always changing. But they're changes I embrace, unlike when I worked for the Air Force.
February 6, 2013
My Sweetheart of a Guy
Valentine's Day is a few days away. Visions of heart-shaped candy boxes and bouquets of red roses immediately come to mind. So does a candle-light dinner in a cozy restaurant and Cupid with his little bow and arrow. Romance and love are what I write about, so Valentine's Day should make me feel excited and a little giddy; that one day a year when the hubby showers me with love and attention. While I look forward to flowers and dinner, it's not roses and a restaurant that bring on a rush of excitement. It's the little things he does during the year that make me feel special.
I've got a husband who fills my truck with gas every week. He cooks. He helps with chores. He grocery shops. He opens doors, carries packages and knows when to remain silent and just lend his presences. He's kind and has a good heart, and he works hard to provide for our family. It's the way he holds my hand and remembers to say 'I love You' at night that makes every day seem like Valentine's Day; qualities born in him that I put into my heroes.
My heroes are temperamental. They curse and fight, antagonize and are stubborn to a fault, but they always treat their heroines with respect. While they don't bring home flowers and candy every day, they do hold open doors and carry packages and help with chores. They know when to apologize after a disagreement, and how to do so sincerely. They're not afraid to show affection or tenderness, and just like my sweetheart of a guy, they encourage their heroines and show how much they care with thoughtful gestures—like the hubby putting gas in my car. Or as is the case of one of my heroes, making cold tea for his wife.
Valentine's Day comes and goes. But my guy is everlasting. He's here when I need him, even when I don't realize that I need him. And that's what make my heart go pitter-patter; his day-to-day dedication to our life together.
(A little early, but Valentine's Day will soon be here.)
I've got a husband who fills my truck with gas every week. He cooks. He helps with chores. He grocery shops. He opens doors, carries packages and knows when to remain silent and just lend his presences. He's kind and has a good heart, and he works hard to provide for our family. It's the way he holds my hand and remembers to say 'I love You' at night that makes every day seem like Valentine's Day; qualities born in him that I put into my heroes.
My heroes are temperamental. They curse and fight, antagonize and are stubborn to a fault, but they always treat their heroines with respect. While they don't bring home flowers and candy every day, they do hold open doors and carry packages and help with chores. They know when to apologize after a disagreement, and how to do so sincerely. They're not afraid to show affection or tenderness, and just like my sweetheart of a guy, they encourage their heroines and show how much they care with thoughtful gestures—like the hubby putting gas in my car. Or as is the case of one of my heroes, making cold tea for his wife.
Valentine's Day comes and goes. But my guy is everlasting. He's here when I need him, even when I don't realize that I need him. And that's what make my heart go pitter-patter; his day-to-day dedication to our life together.
(A little early, but Valentine's Day will soon be here.)
January 24, 2013
Fun Facts About Me
November 2012, Black Lion Virtual Book Tours hosted an internet book tour for me and Debra's Bandit. This was my first time participating in a virtual book tour and it was a lot of fun. Two of the options for the tour were either writing guest blogs or answering questions. I chose to answer questions. For me, answering questions is easier than writing a blog. A few of the sites asked for quick, fun facts about me, so I thought I'd share them and a few more with you here.
Favorite Color: Purple and Grey
Favorite Food & Drink: Veal Parmesan, Iced Tea
Favorite Television Shows: Dallas, NCIS, NCIS, L.A., Deadwood, The Sopranos, Everybody Loves Raymond
Favorite Movie: White Christmas, Gone With The Wind, Donavan's Reef, A Christmas Story (which I nicknamed Ralphie, because I adore Ralphie and Randy)
Favorite Actor and Actress: John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara--I just love the movies they co-starred in together, especially McClintock.
Favorite Musician and Song: George Strait and Amarillo By Morning by George Strait
Favorite Dancers: Gene Kelly and Vera-Ellen
Favorite Animals: Dogs (especially German Shepherds) and horses
Favorite Books: Double Standards by Judith McNaught and Gentle Rogue by Johanna Lindsey
Writing Influences: Judith McNaught, Johanna Lindsey, Linda Lael Miller
Favorite Places I've visited: New York City and Santa Fe, NM
Two things you wouldn't know about me: I love my truck and will park as far away from the front of the store and other cars as possible to avoid getting a ding. & I'm a neat freak. Everything has to be in its place or I can't function, with the exception of the blanket and pillows on the couch.
Favorite Sports Teams: NY Yankees, New England Patriots
Favorite Sports Players: Derek Jeter, Tom Brady, Peyton Manning
Two things I hate: Roller Coasters and flying; I have a fear of heights
Favorite Memories: The birth of my son & and when my husband surprised me with a limo on our 25th wedding anniversary. He is truly my hero.
Goals for 2013: First is to begin writing Rachael's story. She is the Westons brothers runaway sister and I'd like to explore why she ran away, were she went and why she's returning to Wooded Acres. I hope to have most of a first draft completed by mid-summer. Then I'd like to write a short western Christmas story, to be released in time for the holiday season.
Something else you may not know: I'm a homebody--my family and home are my comfort zone.
Now that you know a little more about me, tell me more about yourself, either here or over at Facebook page: https://facebook.com/#!/JulieLence
Favorite Color: Purple and Grey
Favorite Food & Drink: Veal Parmesan, Iced Tea
Favorite Television Shows: Dallas, NCIS, NCIS, L.A., Deadwood, The Sopranos, Everybody Loves Raymond
Favorite Movie: White Christmas, Gone With The Wind, Donavan's Reef, A Christmas Story (which I nicknamed Ralphie, because I adore Ralphie and Randy)
Favorite Actor and Actress: John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara--I just love the movies they co-starred in together, especially McClintock.
Favorite Musician and Song: George Strait and Amarillo By Morning by George Strait
Favorite Dancers: Gene Kelly and Vera-Ellen
Favorite Animals: Dogs (especially German Shepherds) and horses
Favorite Books: Double Standards by Judith McNaught and Gentle Rogue by Johanna Lindsey
Writing Influences: Judith McNaught, Johanna Lindsey, Linda Lael Miller
Favorite Places I've visited: New York City and Santa Fe, NM
Two things you wouldn't know about me: I love my truck and will park as far away from the front of the store and other cars as possible to avoid getting a ding. & I'm a neat freak. Everything has to be in its place or I can't function, with the exception of the blanket and pillows on the couch.
Favorite Sports Teams: NY Yankees, New England Patriots
Favorite Sports Players: Derek Jeter, Tom Brady, Peyton Manning
Two things I hate: Roller Coasters and flying; I have a fear of heights
Favorite Memories: The birth of my son & and when my husband surprised me with a limo on our 25th wedding anniversary. He is truly my hero.
Goals for 2013: First is to begin writing Rachael's story. She is the Westons brothers runaway sister and I'd like to explore why she ran away, were she went and why she's returning to Wooded Acres. I hope to have most of a first draft completed by mid-summer. Then I'd like to write a short western Christmas story, to be released in time for the holiday season.
Something else you may not know: I'm a homebody--my family and home are my comfort zone.
Now that you know a little more about me, tell me more about yourself, either here or over at Facebook page: https://facebook.com/#!/JulieLence
January 10, 2013
A New Year
The holidays are behind us. From Thanksgiving to New Year's Eve, the weeks seemed to have passed by in a blur. From roasting the turkey, to wrapping presents, to decorating and celebrating, I truly enjoyed the season. I was able to take time off from writing and enjoy the days with my family, but now I'm eager to get back to work.
I've let a story ferment in the back of mind; secondary characters, the setting. Which got
me to thinking. Beginning a new story is akin to the folks rebuilding after last summer's fire. Once the debris is cleared away, they have to start from the bottom and work their way up, much like an author has to start from page one and move forward to the last page. For the folks rebuilding, and I truly wish them well, their wall paint and appliances are my cast and setting. But before you can have paint and characters, you need a foundation.
The foundation for a house is cement. Then you erect the four walls, add the siding and move inside to install electrical wiring, carpeting, windows and a stove. The foundation of the story is the beginning of your plot—the reason two people meet. A detective happening upon a murder scene with a woman kneeling beside the body holding the gun; an outlaw holding up a stage only to have a lady passenger challenge him; a woman running for help and colliding into a stranger's thick chest; once you've decided on the initial point of contact, you can go back and figure out who is she and why is she holding the gun? Or why is she traveling on the stage? Where did she come from? And what is the outlaw's reason for holding up the stage? The hero and heroine's backgrounds are your four walls, and the 'what happens next' is your wall paint, carpeting and appliances. Because every 'what happens next' builds upon the foundation of the story, with the overall goal of reaching the end, just like the home owner's end is 'moving in' day.
Both journeys don't happen overnight. They're long processes that sometimes consist of having to go back and fix a plot point or exchange one dishwasher for another. Eventually, you do get to the end of the story and that feeling of euphoria is worth the sweat and labor required to write every detail. At least, that's how I'll feel when I type 'The End' on this next story.
I've let a story ferment in the back of mind; secondary characters, the setting. Which got
me to thinking. Beginning a new story is akin to the folks rebuilding after last summer's fire. Once the debris is cleared away, they have to start from the bottom and work their way up, much like an author has to start from page one and move forward to the last page. For the folks rebuilding, and I truly wish them well, their wall paint and appliances are my cast and setting. But before you can have paint and characters, you need a foundation.
The foundation for a house is cement. Then you erect the four walls, add the siding and move inside to install electrical wiring, carpeting, windows and a stove. The foundation of the story is the beginning of your plot—the reason two people meet. A detective happening upon a murder scene with a woman kneeling beside the body holding the gun; an outlaw holding up a stage only to have a lady passenger challenge him; a woman running for help and colliding into a stranger's thick chest; once you've decided on the initial point of contact, you can go back and figure out who is she and why is she holding the gun? Or why is she traveling on the stage? Where did she come from? And what is the outlaw's reason for holding up the stage? The hero and heroine's backgrounds are your four walls, and the 'what happens next' is your wall paint, carpeting and appliances. Because every 'what happens next' builds upon the foundation of the story, with the overall goal of reaching the end, just like the home owner's end is 'moving in' day.
Both journeys don't happen overnight. They're long processes that sometimes consist of having to go back and fix a plot point or exchange one dishwasher for another. Eventually, you do get to the end of the story and that feeling of euphoria is worth the sweat and labor required to write every detail. At least, that's how I'll feel when I type 'The End' on this next story.
December 13, 2012
The Holiday Season
Can you believe the holiday season is here? I can’t. I look back over the year and wonder where the days went. It seems I was just taking down last year’s tree and putting the decorations away. The entire year has been a whirlwind of activity, with some lazy days mixed in.
As I look back over the year, I am most thankful for my family and home, my friends and for my career. I do enjoy being a stay-at-home mom. I’m not rushed in the mornings getting my son ready and off to school. I’m here when he comes home in the afternoon, and I’m here when he has fall, winter and spring break. My mom was the same as me, a stay-at-home mom. I realize now how much that meant to me, her being there, because the same is true with my son. He may not say it, but he does like me being at home and not having a 9-5 job that takes me away from him.
I also like being home for the hubby. If he needs something during the day, I can bring it to him. Or join him for lunch. Or spend the day with him when he has time off from work. And when I’m not mom and wife, I’m writer. I can invest as much time as I want with my story and characters, or I can remove that cap and catch up with friends. I set my own schedule and pretty much stick to it, except for these few weeks when I enjoy the season and its festivities.
Spring, Summer and Fall find us with more on our to-do lists. Yard work immediately comes to mind, which is why the past few years I have grown to appreciate winter. From the comfort of my couch, I can look out a frosted window and watch the snow fall. And if it’s really cold, I can curl up beneath a blanket and turn on the fireplace. Best of all, I get to spend the nights with my family watching movies. This time of year, we pull out the stack of holiday DVD’s and enjoy our favorites while munching on popcorn and other treats I really don’t need but enjoy. With soft lights glowing from the Christmas tree, the night takes on a magical feeling. Another memory made to be fondly recalled at a later date. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
So let the snow fall. Cuddle with your family. And however you celebrate, Have a Wonderful Holiday Season. I’ll see you next year.
As I look back over the year, I am most thankful for my family and home, my friends and for my career. I do enjoy being a stay-at-home mom. I’m not rushed in the mornings getting my son ready and off to school. I’m here when he comes home in the afternoon, and I’m here when he has fall, winter and spring break. My mom was the same as me, a stay-at-home mom. I realize now how much that meant to me, her being there, because the same is true with my son. He may not say it, but he does like me being at home and not having a 9-5 job that takes me away from him.
I also like being home for the hubby. If he needs something during the day, I can bring it to him. Or join him for lunch. Or spend the day with him when he has time off from work. And when I’m not mom and wife, I’m writer. I can invest as much time as I want with my story and characters, or I can remove that cap and catch up with friends. I set my own schedule and pretty much stick to it, except for these few weeks when I enjoy the season and its festivities.
Spring, Summer and Fall find us with more on our to-do lists. Yard work immediately comes to mind, which is why the past few years I have grown to appreciate winter. From the comfort of my couch, I can look out a frosted window and watch the snow fall. And if it’s really cold, I can curl up beneath a blanket and turn on the fireplace. Best of all, I get to spend the nights with my family watching movies. This time of year, we pull out the stack of holiday DVD’s and enjoy our favorites while munching on popcorn and other treats I really don’t need but enjoy. With soft lights glowing from the Christmas tree, the night takes on a magical feeling. Another memory made to be fondly recalled at a later date. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
So let the snow fall. Cuddle with your family. And however you celebrate, Have a Wonderful Holiday Season. I’ll see you next year.
November 29, 2012
Thanksgiving Memories (A Little late but I was sick last week.)
I love Thanksgiving. It’s my favorite holiday. The aroma of turkey roasting in the oven filling the house, the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, the peacefulness--it’s just the four of us; hubby, son, dog and myself. The hubby and I go through the sale ads, our son helps prepare the turkey and get it into the oven, and the Nova waits patiently for her dinner plate. It’s a day to reflect on all the good things in my life and how thankful I am for my family, friends and home.
Thanksgiving wasn’t always this quiet. When the hubby and I were stationed not too far from home, Thanksgiving was a hectic day. We’d start out by going to the hubby’s grandmother’s house. Gram served the meal at 12:30 promptly. Anywhere from fifteen to twenty people sat around her dining room table, passing platters of turkey, bowls of mashed potatoes, two kinds of sweet potatoes, vegetables, gravy, dinner rolls, cranberries and cranberry sauce. Afterward, the men would retire to the television room for football while the women cleaned up. Then it was good old fashioned fun playing poker with family members who saved their nickels, dimes and quarters from last year’s game. (My mother-in-law kept her coins in an old tin Bandaid box.) But the hubby and I didn’t get to play for long. Around 3pm we left Gram’s and headed to my mom’s for another family dinner. Squeezed around the table, we ate more turkey, potatoes, vegetables, rolls, and cranberry sauce. About that time, I thought I would explode. Somehow, I didn’t, though I was tired and feeling more stuffed than the turkeys had been.
We’d visit with my family for awhile, letting our food digest as we talked about anything and nothing. Early evening, we’d go back to Gram’s for dessert. And dessert was four different pies and leftovers from two dinners. Gram always served another dinner at 5pm of kielbasa, ham, salads and leftover turkey. We’d play cards again until I was sure my eyes were being held open by toothpicks and then we’d head back to my mom’s house, where we’d stay for the night. As my brothers and sister and their families had already left for their homes, the hubby would relax in the recliner, and with the house quiet, mom and I would indulge in another piece of pie. Then I’d sleep late the next morning.
While I enjoy the peacefulness of my house today, I do miss the families, the loud conversations and those who have left this world. But I don’t miss eating two dinners in the span of a few hours. To this day, I’m still amazed that Stan and I crammed all that food into our bellies, and didn’t gain 20lbs in the process.
Thanksgiving wasn’t always this quiet. When the hubby and I were stationed not too far from home, Thanksgiving was a hectic day. We’d start out by going to the hubby’s grandmother’s house. Gram served the meal at 12:30 promptly. Anywhere from fifteen to twenty people sat around her dining room table, passing platters of turkey, bowls of mashed potatoes, two kinds of sweet potatoes, vegetables, gravy, dinner rolls, cranberries and cranberry sauce. Afterward, the men would retire to the television room for football while the women cleaned up. Then it was good old fashioned fun playing poker with family members who saved their nickels, dimes and quarters from last year’s game. (My mother-in-law kept her coins in an old tin Bandaid box.) But the hubby and I didn’t get to play for long. Around 3pm we left Gram’s and headed to my mom’s for another family dinner. Squeezed around the table, we ate more turkey, potatoes, vegetables, rolls, and cranberry sauce. About that time, I thought I would explode. Somehow, I didn’t, though I was tired and feeling more stuffed than the turkeys had been.
We’d visit with my family for awhile, letting our food digest as we talked about anything and nothing. Early evening, we’d go back to Gram’s for dessert. And dessert was four different pies and leftovers from two dinners. Gram always served another dinner at 5pm of kielbasa, ham, salads and leftover turkey. We’d play cards again until I was sure my eyes were being held open by toothpicks and then we’d head back to my mom’s house, where we’d stay for the night. As my brothers and sister and their families had already left for their homes, the hubby would relax in the recliner, and with the house quiet, mom and I would indulge in another piece of pie. Then I’d sleep late the next morning.
While I enjoy the peacefulness of my house today, I do miss the families, the loud conversations and those who have left this world. But I don’t miss eating two dinners in the span of a few hours. To this day, I’m still amazed that Stan and I crammed all that food into our bellies, and didn’t gain 20lbs in the process.
November 8, 2012
Outlaw Trail
My Revolving Point, Texas series features three outlaws turning to the right side of the law as heroes. One of those outlaws, Buck Grayson, was a secondary character in two of my Weston Family Series books. In every story, I mention my outlaws having traveled and slept along Outlaw Trail. Which got me to thinking—where was Outlaw Trail? When did it exist? Could my outlaws have actually traveled the trail? Or had I taken liberty with history?
Using the internet, I found Outlaw Trail stretched from Canada to Mexico, winding its way from Montana through Wyoming, Utah and Colorado into Texas. The earliest references I could find pertaining to the trail (and there weren’t many) were from the late 1850’s to early 1860’s. Cattle rustlers would herd stolen cows to secluded areas along the trail, change their brands and raise them and then herd them again to Canada or Mexico for sale. Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid made the trail famous in the 1880’s and 1890’s, with places such as Robber’s Roost, which is in southeastern Utah.
The internet is filled with many interesting facts about Outlaw Trail, most pertaining to when Butch and Sundance hid there. Robbers Roost and other hideouts were not easily accessible. Nestled in secluded canyons, or on top of mesas, one had to know the exact trail to take to get to these hideouts, and always there were look-out men stationed to warn of strangers approaching. Even today, one cannot reach many of these places by car. There is a lot of hiking involved. It’s recommended a person be in tip-top shape, or have a horse well trained and sure footed to scaling canyon walls.
Did I prove my outlaws could have traveled Outlaw Trail? Maybe. Both series take place in the early 1860’s. From what I learned, there were no maps of the trail back then. Word of mouth was the way to navigate the trail. In the back of my mind, the trail had to be in existence and traversed in the 1860’s. Maybe not as frequently, or as popular as when Butch and Sundance traveled it, but it just didn’t spring up in the 1880’s for Butch and Sundance to make their getaways and hide. I like to think that my Buck did know about this trail, and used it. After all, according to his reputation, he is one of the most feared outlaws this side of the Mississippi, with the law trying to track him. He would’ve been stupid not to have used the trail. And Buck is anything but stupid. Neither are Roth and Gage.
Using the internet, I found Outlaw Trail stretched from Canada to Mexico, winding its way from Montana through Wyoming, Utah and Colorado into Texas. The earliest references I could find pertaining to the trail (and there weren’t many) were from the late 1850’s to early 1860’s. Cattle rustlers would herd stolen cows to secluded areas along the trail, change their brands and raise them and then herd them again to Canada or Mexico for sale. Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid made the trail famous in the 1880’s and 1890’s, with places such as Robber’s Roost, which is in southeastern Utah.
The internet is filled with many interesting facts about Outlaw Trail, most pertaining to when Butch and Sundance hid there. Robbers Roost and other hideouts were not easily accessible. Nestled in secluded canyons, or on top of mesas, one had to know the exact trail to take to get to these hideouts, and always there were look-out men stationed to warn of strangers approaching. Even today, one cannot reach many of these places by car. There is a lot of hiking involved. It’s recommended a person be in tip-top shape, or have a horse well trained and sure footed to scaling canyon walls.
Did I prove my outlaws could have traveled Outlaw Trail? Maybe. Both series take place in the early 1860’s. From what I learned, there were no maps of the trail back then. Word of mouth was the way to navigate the trail. In the back of my mind, the trail had to be in existence and traversed in the 1860’s. Maybe not as frequently, or as popular as when Butch and Sundance traveled it, but it just didn’t spring up in the 1880’s for Butch and Sundance to make their getaways and hide. I like to think that my Buck did know about this trail, and used it. After all, according to his reputation, he is one of the most feared outlaws this side of the Mississippi, with the law trying to track him. He would’ve been stupid not to have used the trail. And Buck is anything but stupid. Neither are Roth and Gage.
October 25, 2012
Keeping Up With The Times
My son comments all the time that I’m old-fashioned. He’s right. I have a cell phone. It takes pictures and videos. However, I have no clue how to do either. The only time I have the cell phone on is when he is in school and I’m not home. Or when I’m out on the weekend and need to call mom or my sister for something. But, at least, my cell phone isn’t a relic like the hubby’s. His has voice mail and texting and that’s about it.
What does this have to do with writing, you might ask? Recently, my son made another comment on how I have sticky notes scattered around the house. And how, when away from home, I’ll jot down something on a napkin. “Mom,” he said, “you can use your phone for that? See, here’s a feature that lets you write notes and reminds you of them.” Well, that’s wonderful, I say while rolling my eyes. But I won’t use this device on the phone. I never have the phone on, and I’m not in the habit of checking the phone for notes. I like my sticky notes. And my napkins. They’re better reminders of the changes I need to incorporate into a story. Items needed at the market. When the fix-it man is coming to repair something. Someone’s birthday. And a slew of other things I need to accomplish during the week, because they are on my desk or kitchen counter, in plain sight. The cell phone hides in my purse.
My dad would probably laugh at my old-fashioned ways. When I was a teenager, he used to complain I was always on the phone. Now, to have one that does more than let you talk to a person, and not use it as constantly and consistently as I did back then, he’d shake his head in wonder. But that’s all right. I still remember his tales of walking to and from school, in the rain, snow and heat, up hills both ways. It brings to mind how I used to complain about having to stand outside and wait for the school bus. And as I reminisce now, I look forward to the day when my son’s children ask, “What the heck is an Xbox?” And then, I’ll pull out a sticky note or a napkin so he can draw them a picture.
What does this have to do with writing, you might ask? Recently, my son made another comment on how I have sticky notes scattered around the house. And how, when away from home, I’ll jot down something on a napkin. “Mom,” he said, “you can use your phone for that? See, here’s a feature that lets you write notes and reminds you of them.” Well, that’s wonderful, I say while rolling my eyes. But I won’t use this device on the phone. I never have the phone on, and I’m not in the habit of checking the phone for notes. I like my sticky notes. And my napkins. They’re better reminders of the changes I need to incorporate into a story. Items needed at the market. When the fix-it man is coming to repair something. Someone’s birthday. And a slew of other things I need to accomplish during the week, because they are on my desk or kitchen counter, in plain sight. The cell phone hides in my purse.
My dad would probably laugh at my old-fashioned ways. When I was a teenager, he used to complain I was always on the phone. Now, to have one that does more than let you talk to a person, and not use it as constantly and consistently as I did back then, he’d shake his head in wonder. But that’s all right. I still remember his tales of walking to and from school, in the rain, snow and heat, up hills both ways. It brings to mind how I used to complain about having to stand outside and wait for the school bus. And as I reminisce now, I look forward to the day when my son’s children ask, “What the heck is an Xbox?” And then, I’ll pull out a sticky note or a napkin so he can draw them a picture.
