Sharon Skinner's Blog, page 3

I WAS A WEIRD KID

Growing up, I was a weird kid.

I know this won’t come as a big surprise to a lot of people. I am still kind of an odd duck in many ways. But when I was younger, I was truly a weird child.

I was what my mother called “an old soul.” As a baby, I didn’t fret or cry much. Even wet or hungry, I tended to keep myself occupied and waited till people got around to tending to me, rather than screaming for my needs to be met.

Quiet and shy, I struggled to make friends with other kids. My Kindergarten teacher wrote on my report card, ‘Does not work and play well with others.’

 

STRANGE KID

There was a time when I was seven and my younger brother was not quite four. We were sitting at the dinner table and my brother suddenly piped up with, “When I grow up, I’m going to marry Sharon.”

Of course, everyone got a laugh out of it, but then my mother said, “You can’t do that.”

And my brother asked, “Why not?”

“Because,” she said, “you can’t marry your sister.  You have to marry someone who’s a stranger.”

And in all his glorious youth and innocence, my younger brother said. “Well, why can’t I marry Sharon, then? She’s strange.” All with a shrug and a straight face.

Kid you not. True story.

 

DIFFERENT KID

As I got older, I preferred the company of adults to that of children my age, but I mostly kept to myself. I spent most of my time reading, preferring to be swept away to other realms. I built a nest inside my closet with an old sleeping bag and dragged in a small lamp. I hid there, avoiding the world and my large, loud family.

Other things set me apart. I had cats that used to wait for me to come home from school and come running down the street to greet me and follow me home.

TBH—a few hundred years ago, I would likely have been accused of being a witch.

 

ODD KID

One time, I found myself in a dark mood. I must have been seven or eight. I can’t recall what set me off. I don’t think it was any one thing. Just a black aura that came over me. I pulled on an old black skirt, found a black shirt that belonged to my brother, and went out and shoved my feet into my father’s big black rubber boots. (Trying on Goth before it was a thing?)

I then proceeded to march around the block. Not just once, but several times. Stamping my dark displeasure onto the sidewalk. After a few rounds, I finally felt some sort of release. My chest opened up, my jaw relaxed, and I walked home. I slipped out of my father’s shoes, went to my room, and changed into play clothes. And that was that. No one ever said a word about it.

 

INVISIBLE KID

To this day, I have no idea what I was trying to accomplish. Perhaps I was trying to be visible. If so, it wasn’t very effective. No one seemed to notice.

Or, if they did, they didn’t find it especially eccentric. At least, not for me.

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The Magic of Words

I am forever in awe of the magic of words.

What I do between writing and book coaching and editing is, for the most part, read.

That’s not to say I don’t have chores and errands and spend too much time on social media not being social. I do those things. I eat and sleep and visit with others. Usually in small groups and while eating.

But the one thing I gravitate to, the one thing that pulls at me with a near-constant gravitational force is the written word.

 

MY LOVE OF THE MAGIC OF WORDS…

I started reading at an early age. While my mother helped my older brother with his homework, I was constantly beside them, gleaning all I could. Especially, the deciphering of letters and words. The conveyance of thoughts and ideas through these tiny symbols was no less magical to me at the time than the existence of unicorns and fairies and purple crayons that could bring simple drawings to life. (FYI—Even though it was my favorite book, Harold’s seditious act of drawing on the wall with his purple crayon, did not inspire me to do so.)

And that is exactly what these symbols do. They transfer and bring to life the wild imaginings of our minds to others and allow us to access the wide worlds of others.

 

THE MAGICAL WORD WHAREHOUSE…

Once I learned to read, I practically lived in the library. If letters and words were magical, then libraries were worlds filled with magic. And librarians? They’re wizards, aren’t they? I spent hours in the library, surrounded by books. Touching them, reading them, and always heading home with what for me was armloads of treasure.

Our town was small. I used to joke that nearby Davis, CA, which posted the slogan, “Home of 10,000 Bicycles,” had five times as many bicycles as Winters had people. Which, at the time, wasn’t a stretch. So, our library wasn’t huge. It took me only a matter of a few years to read through the children’s section. So, when I was eleven, the day finally came when I finished reading all the kids’ books in the library and made my way over to the other shelves.

 

GATEKEEPING THE MAGICAL WORDS…

I was excited. There were so many new books to explore in this section! I picked up a murder mystery by Agatha Christie and began to read. I grabbed a few more books from that section and went up to the librarian’s desk to checkout. There was nothing automated about the library in those days.

I placed the books on her desk and she slid them over in front of her, then looked up at me and said, “I can’t let you check these out.”

I was stunned. No one had ever denied me books before. I was a shy child, but I’d always felt safe in the library. So, I was able to ask her, “Why not?” Not loudly. But loud enough for her to hear me.

“Because you’re not old enough. These books are for adults.”

I was crestfallen. “But I’ve read all the books in the children’s section.” And I wanted, no, NEEDED, more. Books, stories, characters, other worlds. I couldn’t live without them. They kept me company in a world where I was shy and awkward and had no friends. They comforted me in a world that was loud and noisy and filled with brothers who had no respect for space. They gave me hope in a world where I was told I took up too much space and that I wasn’t what I should be. How could someone deny me that magic? And, why? Because of my age?

 

ACCESS TO THE MAGIC OF WORDS…

I went home, empty-handed, and told my mother that I had nothing to read. That the library was no longer a magical place for me. That access had been barred to the one thing that I loved more than any other. I’m certain I was angry, I imagine there were tears in my eyes.

There are very few times in my life that I can recall my mother took my side on something. Thankfully, this was one of them. She drove me back to the library. We walked in and she went straight to the front desk. I don’t recall the full conversation, but I do remember hearing some of the sweetest words she ever spoke on my behalf, “She can check out any book she wants.”

Which brings me to the ugliness of book bans.

I was privileged to be in a position where just the words of my parent gave me access to what I wanted most, the ability to pick and choose the books I wanted to read. The freedom to choose my own adventure, if you will,  without an authority figure denying me access to the books and stories I wanted to experience and enjoy.

Not every kid is in that position. But every kid deserves to be able to read the books that sing to them. And how will they find those books, stories, and characters that comfort and soothe them in a world filled with negative messaging, bad news, and bullying, where they feel like outsiders or are told that they aren’t what they are supposed to be? How will they find themselves without being able to explore the worlds of others, discover shared experiences, and see themselves represented and reflected in the stories we tell? How will they learn to understand others?

Humans have enough trouble understanding ourselves, much less, one another. Why would anyone try to limit access to one of the most magical paths for access into who we are as human beings?

 

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Want more Sharon Talk?

Interested in what else I write? Check out my books!

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MY YEAR IN BOOKS – 2023

It’s January and time to take a look back at my year in books.

ANYONE WHO KNOWS ME, KNOWS I BOOKS!

I love to read, and I have always been an eclectic and voracious reader. While I have a special love of speculative fiction, particularly fantasy,  I consistently read across genres and categories. Every book a writer reads can serve as a mentor text. We can learn so much about story and writing craft simply from reading and analyzing books.

I have worked hard to be more accurate about in tracking the books I have read the past few years. Though, I have a tendency to read and track them in batches, rather than one at a time.

There are a lot of great tools for tracking books. I actually use BookBuddy to keep track of my writing books. But for tracking the books I read each year, I still use Goodreads. I find it user friendly, and I like the way I can set up specific book shelves and pull detailed stats for the year. I also like the way you can see all the covers at once and grab a screen shot of that.

MY 2023 READING SUMMARY STATS

According to my tracking:

I read 90 books.My average number of pages per book clocked in at 260. (Almost 40 pages more per book than last year.)My total number of pages read hit 23,489. (More than 3K more than last year.)

MY YEAR IN PICTURE BOOKS Because I have book coaching clients writing Picture Books (PB), I read a number of PBs each year. I study these books to help my clients understand the market, what’s being published, how authors and/or illustrators are creating meaningful picture books books for readers. This year, I remembered to track 14 of the PBs I read. I will need to do a better job of tracking these in 2024.

BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE…

As a freelance editor and book coach, my reading year includes quite a few pre-published manuscripts not represented here. This post covers the post-published works that I consumed in 2023.   If you have a Goodreads account, you can find me there. Pop in to my Goodreads profile and see what I am reading. And if you’re interested in reading what I write, you can check out some of my books, like The Healer’s Legacy Trilogy, or my newest MG novel, Lostuns Found. Or, if you like something a little darker, check out my collection of dark fantasy and light horror with a bit of humor. Blood From a Rose.

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Man Overboard – The Adventures of OSCAR

MOB (Man Overboard) – The Adventures of OSCAR

Ships worldwide use flags to communicate important messages to passing ships. The “O” flag is part of the International Code of Signals used for Man-Overboard (MOB) occurrences. A MOB situation is sometimes signaled using the term “Oscar,” which is the NATO phonetic alphabet for “O.” Since Oscar has become synonymous with MOB, US Navy rescue training dummies are called “Oscar.”

“Training boat crews for Person in the Water Recovery requires the use of a life-like dummy (OSCAR). The recommended OSCAR is a stuffed and weighted (approximately 180 lbs. dry) Anti-Exposure Coverall secured at the neck and feet.” – Boat Crew Training Handbook (4-18), US Dept of Homeland Security, United States Coast Guard

Every US Navy ship is equipped with its very own OSCAR, who spends most of his time in a storage locker. However, all ship’s drills need to be performed with some regularity in order to maintain crew readiness. Thus it was that, on a fine sunny day in fairly calm seas, the USS Jason crew was alerted to a MOB (Man Overboard) situation.

OSCAR had fallen (been tossed) overboard as the ship steamed along its course in the open sea.

Once alerted, the crew jumped into action. Those assigned to rescue began their due diligence, donning safety equipment and scanning the water for any sign of OSCAR. At the same time, the ship slowed and began turning back in the direction of where OSCAR had slipped (been heaved) over the rail.

Those of us not assigned to rescue duties nor otherwise occupied came out to watch the heroic rescue of our poor crew member (rescue dummy).

The next couple of hours were spent in a gallant effort to rescue OSCAR (retrieve our assigned property.) Searching, circling, searching some more. To no avail.

Alas, poor OSCAR could not be rescued as he could not be located.

Once we were back underway, there were murmurs of pity for the poor supply petty officer to whom the job of ordering a new OSCAR fell.

But, more than that, the crew had a serious takeaway to hold close for the rest of the 6-month voyage: Whatever happens, do not fall overboard!

 

Not what I’d call a confidence builder.

Especially for a female ET whose main duty assignment was the transmitter and receiver compartment, which just happened to be snuggled into the middle of a male berthing compartment, which was off limits. So, day-watch or mid-watch, bright light or pitch dark, rain, shine, or stormy seas, I had to make my way along the outside of the ship up onto the open boat deck, open a hatch, and climb down ladder to get to my watch station. All the while, my thoughts would stray to that fateful day when OSCAR, whose trip overboard (heave ho) had been methodically planned, could not be rescued.

Fun times…

 

Decades later, I still wonder what happened to OSCAR.

While I prefer not to think that poor OSCAR might still be out there, floating alone in the vast ocean, perhaps I worry needlessly. Maybe OSCAR is living his best life, no longer stuffed in a locker and subjected to the whims of sailors, tossed into the brine on everyone’s schedule but his own.

My fiction-writer brain likes to think he got annoyed after being thrown overboard that last time and swam away, determined to enjoy more of the world than a locker on a ship and the few ocean dips (dumps) a year allowed him. Maybe he joined a colony of Mer-people to lead a life beneath the rolling waves.

Sadly, poor OSCAR was likely just a casualty of military training. One that served as a warning to us to go about our duties aboard ship with extra care.

 

Want More Like This?

To Read More About Sharon’s Time in the Navy Click Here

 

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Five Places to Donate On Giving Tuesday

November 28, 2023 is Giving Tuesday in the United States. Giving Tuesday is all about donating our time, energy and resources to organizations that work to support others and improve lives and communities.

Here are five places I will be donating on Giving Tuesday this year and why. Sometimes it is difficult for us to identify the things that are most important yo us. Each of the organizations on the below list does important work that is near and dear to me.

The Mesa Book Festival, an annual event where authors and readers can meet and mingle. And there are lots and lots of awesome books!

Because…I love a good book festival. I mean, spending time with books and authors and readers! What’s not to love? Also, full disclosure, I am a board member and co-founder of the organization that created and facilitates the event, Anthology, Inc. a 501 (c)(3) Literary Nonprofit dedicated to promoting performance poetry and associated literary arts in the greater Phoenix community by providing opportunities for artists to perform their work and by making spokenword arts accessible to a diverse audience. Since 1994 Anthology has produced literally thousands of literary events, published over 10 years of literary journals and produced countless tremendous moments of excitement and fun.

 

Kids Need to Read, founded with a passion to improve the lives of disadvantaged children by providing inspiring book collections and engaging literacy programs to underfunded schools, libraries, and organizations across the nation, Kids Need to Read aspires to empower and embolden every last child through a culture of reading. For many of the children it serves, Kids Need to Read represents a crucial link to a strong literacy education, and its programs help build and nurture support systems for the development of literate minds. By immersing children in an integrated world of literary experiences that teaches them, firsthand, the impact of reading on every aspect of life, imagination is ignited and confidence is built for a prosperous future, regardless of race, economic status, or personal capabilities.

Because…sticking with a literacy theme, reading is a critical fundamental skill, and I believe all kids deserve to learn and explore and imagine through story.

 

Great Spirit Animal Sanctuary, provides a permanent home for unwanted, neglected and abused animals. The Animal Sanctuary is home to horses, dogs as well as other farm animals and operates completely on donations received. Great Spirit Animal Sanctuary is also implementing programs for various boys and girls organizations to help teach stewardship of animals.

Because…Every life is precious and animals deserve to be loved and cared for. Also, as Immanuel Kant is quoted, “He who is cruel to animals becomes hard also in his dealings with men. We can judge the heart of a man by his treatment of animals.” I am also a board member of this amazing nonprofit organization.

 

Oakwood Creative Care began as Sirrine Adult Day Health Services in 1975. The founders dreamed of a nonprofit that would provide an innovative solution to helping older adults remain in their homes for as long as possible, while staying connected to the community as their health care needs were being met. The organization was rebranded in 2013, as Oakwood Creative Care and provides a care model that sparks JOY for older adults. The care model for seniors offers a new paradigm of thinking for home and community-based services. Oakwood is committed to creating a fun, supportive, and engaging space which inspires moments of JOY. Their senior care model honors personhood, aims to enhance self-esteem, decreases anxiety and depression, and ignites purpose.

Because…we are an aging society, and our loved ones deserve to be treated with care and love, not warehoused in institutions when they are no longer able care for themselves and Oakwood not only provides a place where they can still participate in social and creative activities, but provides training, support and respite for caregivers. If you are not already a caregiver, chances are good that you will be. Or you may one day need to be cared for. For more on this, see my post “As My Mother Disappears…”

 

Military Women’s Memorial, the leading memorial and education center honoring the commitment, contributions and experiences of Servicewoman. As the only historical repository documenting all military women’s service, this valuable organization educates and inspires through innovative and interactive exhibitions, world-class collections, and engaging programs and events for all generations. The Military Women’s Memorial  records and preserves stories that would otherwise be lost to history and unknown to future generations.

Because…I am a proud U.S. Navy veteran and the history of women in the services is too often overlooked or left out of the historical narrative. Did you know that three million women have served in or with the Armed Forces since the American Revolution? Women have been and are

 

Where will you donate this Giving Tuesday?

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As my mother disappears…

As my mother disappears, I find myself planning for an uncertain future.

She could be difficult. Scratch that. She was difficult. That, at least, has not changed. Deemed a flight risk, she’s not allowed out into the lobby of her memory care facility.

I also understand that, in a fit of temper, she single-handedly shoved all of her furniture, including a small bookcase filled with books, out into the hallway. She weighs about 80 pounds! But that incredible stubbornness? That has always been a feature as well as a bug.

She wasn’t prepared for this, and she wants to go home.

What puzzles me the most, though, is how she never planned for this possibility, and how she managed to remain in denial for so long once the forgetting started.

She saw it happen to her mother. The loss of memories, thoughts, cognition. The challenges of caring for her. The need to have her contained for her own safety.

I watch my mother’s inevitable decline, and I see my future. It worries me enough that I have begun talking to my family about when, not if…

Each time I find myself flailing for a word or phrase, I have to remind myself that it’s perfectly normal, especially with all I have going on. Only, a part of me worries…Is this a sign? And even if it’s not, how would I know? How do we recognize our own decline? Especially, when the spectrum of decline—how it appears, what it affects, how rapidly it progresses—is so varied.

Is allowing for a certain level of absentmindedness a slippery slope? A coping mechanism? Or worse, an act of wading step-by-step into denial?

I want to be ready. I need to be prepared, but how do we prepare for something, the shape of which we will not know until it is upon us, if even then?

Over the years, my mother had an excuse for everything. “Well, I’m 86…87…88 and my memory isn’t so good. It’s natural to forget things.”

When she was having trouble processing language, it was because she couldn’t hear me well enough. Bad phone connection. Too much noise.

When she forgot who I was and asked for my email address so we could stay in touch, after all, we had so much in common, it was because she’d had a few drinks.

Sadly, her stubborn refusal to see what was happening likely exacerbated and sped up the process. Her unwillingness to admit to her hearing loss and obstinate refusal to wear her hearing aids—conveniently losing one pair after another—didn’t help.

“I need you to tell me,” I say to my husband. “I need  you to help me see it coming,” I tell the kids. “I need you to remind me when it’s time to seek help. I need to know when I begin to slip away.”

I don’t want to make excuses. I want to boldly face the enemy, to fight the good fight, even if I end up battling windmills.

There are options, treatments to help, medications, ways to slow the progress. There is hope.

Ultimately, I need to be ready to do the work. The work of fighting and, more importantly, the work of accepting.

Because it’s impossible to fight something while denying its existence.

 

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Looking for information about dementia? Check out The Spectrum of Hope by Gayatri Devi, MD

Want more Sharon Talk?

Interested in what else I write? Check out my books!

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NAVY BOOT CAMP – NOT AT HOME ON THE RANGE

NOT AT HOME ON THE RANGE or WHY I (HAPPILY) DIDN’T QUALIFY FOR A MARKSMANSHIP RIBBON

Amidst the daily drudge of PT (Physical Training), marching on “the Grinder,” learning to tie knots, and basically scrubbing and polishing anything that held still long enough, there were few things I looked forward to in boot camp. One thing I was excited about, however, was the opportunity to go to the weapons range where I aimed (pun intended) to show off my prowess and gain a marksmanship ribbon.

TBH, I am not big on guns, but I knew I would be expected to handle firearms as part of my military commitment and I was determined to make the grade in everything I did during my tour of duty.

Also, I come from a large family. Six kids. Four of them boys. So, I spent a lot of time playing soldier when I was younger, and plinking at cans and bottles with BBs and pellets as I got older. Guns and shooting were just a part of life coming from a small town in an agricultural and ranching environment.

Before we were allowed on the Navy Training Center range, we had to go through weapons training and pass a series of tests, including the small arms drills where we had to disassemble and reassemble a .45 automatic handgun in a set amount of time. I love puzzles and am admittedly quite competitive (Did I mention I have four brothers?), so I excelled at these drills.

However, not long before we were supposed to report to the range, I heard an ugly rumor that we women would be firing blanks. (I could make a snarky comment here, but I will resist temptation.) The idea that the female recruits were not going to be given live ammo made me livid. How the hell was I supposed to earn my marksmanship ribbon? But no one gave a crap if a recruit didn’t like something. And, as far as I knew, there was no “complaint department.” (I had yet to discover the amazing power of the seemingly innocuous but exceedingly powerful Request Chit, but that’s a story for another day.)

So, when they handed me a rifle filled with blanks I dutifully—though, I admit, rather grumpily—sighted down range and fired off my “rounds.”

I cleared the rifle and handed it back just in time to see one of the women from my training unit take possession of a rifle and begin to squeal, “I don’t wanna shoot this thing!” She proceeded to spin around, pointing the rifle in every direction except down range.

I cringed and reflexively ducked before the Gunny on Range stepped up and grabbed the rifle from her and firmly gave her direct and personal instructions on handling and firing the weapon.

I stepped away, embarrassed for my gender, yet relieved that no one had been hurt, nor could they have been, as the idiot with the gun had not been given live rounds.

I decided that living to see another day was well worth not having a marksmanship ribbon.

Well played, NTC Orlando. Well played.

 

*This content was previously published on my past blog and has been revised and reprinted.

Want More Like This?

To Read More About Sharon’s Time in the Navy Click Here

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Book Maze Author Appearance

SCIENCE FICTION DAY @ BOOK MAZE

I just participated in another author appearance/book signing event. This one took place in Mesa, AZ, at an awesome book and gaming store called Book Maze. Thank you, Book Maze!

Book Maze is more than a book store!

Book Maze not only sells books, but they have an awesome section of games, gaming supplies, dice, etc. They also host gaming sessions for a variety of role-playing games like Dungeons and Dragons, and they provide maps and extensive layouts that are incredibly detailed.

And they host some really fun author events.

Including, the last Saturday in July, a gathering to celebrate Science Fiction books and authors. Picture a half dozen authors hanging out, interacting with customers, and signing books. The venue provided some yummy snacks, including one of my favorites…cookies! Authors got to see old friends and fans and meet new ones, which was awesome.

AUTHOR APPEARANCES & BOOK SIGNINGS

Not every author appearance has to take place at a book festival or be a big blow out at a major book store. Local indie stores are great places to connect with readers. And you don’t have to go it alone, either. You can gather a group of authors and reach out to local venues to set up half-day and even full-day events.

Here are some things to keep in mind so everyone has a fun and successful event:

Market your event. Post about it, blog about it, ask your readers/followers to come out and support. The more the merrier! Plus, the book store will appreciate the customer traffic and potential business. I mean, who can walk into a book store and leave without buying at least one book?Book stores often do these kinds of events in part as a community service, but they also need to draw customers and sell books. If your books are not what a customer is looking for, direct them to your partnering authors whose books may be a better fit. A rising tide, as they say, lifts all boats.Arrive on time. Being timely helps everyone. Besides, you don’t want to miss that one customer who shows up early just to meet you!Offer to help clean up after. Helping hands always make the work go faster.Thank everyone who participated. Especially the book store staff. Like most people, book store staff have plenty of work to do and setting up for an event takes time away from other duties. Be kind, be helpful wherever possible, and always remember to thank staff and organizers for their efforts.

Some of my favorite Author appearances are the smaller local ones because they tend to be more intimate and offer a lot of opportunity for interacting with both readers and other authors.

One more huge THANKS to Book Maze for having us. I am already looking forward to going back for Poetry Authors Day, which is in the works for October 2023.

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Navy Mess: Chicken Salad Sunday

There is a particular day in boot camp that stands out for me, and not in a good way: Chicken Salad Sunday.*

I arrived at US Naval Training Center Orlando for Boot Camp in June of 1977. Florida was hot and muggy, very buggy, and a far cry from what were much more familiar and friendly summers in northern California.

A Rare “Treat”

We had been at boot camp for several weeks, marching on the grinder and sweltering in the swampy Florida heat, before the mess cooks decided to serve up something cold for lunch. There was palpable excitement as Training Units lined up and the word was passed along that instead of a hot dish there was chilled chicken salad on the menu.

Even slathered in gallons of mayo, that chilled mound looked downright heavenly sitting on the other side of the sneeze guard.

It looked so damned good that almost every single recruit held out their plates for a heaping helping of cool goodness. Including me.

But, as luck would have it, when I lifted the first forkful to my mouth, I found I couldn’t get it past my nose. What appeared to be a blissful forkful of refreshing foodstuff smelled like someone’s filthy, drilled-in-all-day-and-night-with-trench-foot socks. No matter how mouth-watering it had looked, I could not force myself to eat it. While, all around me, recruits sat shoveling in cool gobs of chicken salad. How they managed it, I could not fathom, because the smell was so bad I completely passed on lunch that day.

Literally A Navy Mess

Things did not go well for my bootcamp shipmates, who had eaten the chicken salad. One by one, they succumbed to a gut-wrenching illness that twisted their insides and spilled their guts.

Because I had not partaken of the lunch special of the day, I was one of the people still able bodied enough to help comfort and carry my fellow sailors out to waiting vehicles to be sent for treatment. All available ambulances were kept so busy, jeeps, trucks and even staff members’ personal cars had to be used to ferry the hundreds who had taken ill to sickbay and/or the hospital, depending on the severity and level of affliction.

Afterward, those few of us who had not eaten the chicken salad also had to clean and swab up the mess left by those who had. To be honest, it was such a nasty job, there were moments that night when I wondered if I would have been better off had I eaten the damn salad.

Training was cancelled the next day, because of the huge number of recruits who had taken ill. Reports came back that over 900 recruits had been food poisoned. While most were released back to the barracks within 24 hours, several were extremely ill and had to be kept in the hospital for days. We heard that one person nearly died.

Sailor Beware Chicken Salad Sunday

That day became known to us only as Chicken Salad Sunday. A day that, for those of us who lived through it, will forever live in infamy (and disgust).

Years later, I read somewhere that several individuals had their careers ruined by the mishandling of the chicken at Naval Training Center Orlando. The chicken had apparently been thawed and refrozen prior to being used to make that cool and inviting (shiver) summer dish.

Although, to this day, I still don’t understand, no matter how attractive it appeared, how anyone managed to get past the smell to eat it.

 

*This content was previously published on my past blog and has been revised and reprinted.

Want More Like This?

To Read More About Sharon’s Time in the Navy Click Here

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AZ State Library Writer in Residence 2023

Writer in Residence 2023 – A Grand Start

I am a few weeks into my stint as a 2023 Arizona State Library Writer in Residence at the Chandler, AZ Library. Things are going great. I have taught a couple of writing workshops and consulted with about twenty writers.

The Writer in Residence program is grant funded by the Arizona State Library. “Writers in Residence spend time at the library during their residency composing new works and providing education for community members.” (AZLibrary.gov)

This is a perfect gig for me! I love writing, libraries, library workers, teaching craft, and helping writers. So, I was both honored and excited to be selected to serve the Chandler Library for the 2023 program year.

 

Teaching

I really enjoy teaching writing craft webinars. But I get especially revved up when I teach in-person. Odd for someone who falls on the introverted side of the spectrum, I know. But sharing the knowledge that I have spent years gathering and gleaning brings me joy. Also, I am a bit of a thespian at hear, which goes back to my early years spent performing and acting. So, there’s a little theater in my blood. What can I say?

 

Consulting

But it’s  the consulting hours, the one-on-one time I spend with budding writers, that I that I find especially fulfilling. I get to meet people who are passionate about writing, hear their stories–not just the ones they want to write but their personal stories–and why they want to/must write the stories they are inspired to write.

It’s somewhat intimate and even a bit scary at times. They offer me their trust, often pouring out confidential details of who they are or have been in the world and often who they wish to be. It’s almost, dare I say, a sacred encounter in many ways. They offer up something of themselves and ask in exchange to be listened to, heard, seen, and acknowledged.

This is the same kind of work that I do in my book coaching, and the reason being a book coach is such a perfect and natural fit for me.

It’s daring, this work of writing, of digging deep to tell meaningful stories and share them with the world. And I sometimes feel like the catcher on a trapeze platform, holding out my arms and being that steady anchor for these brave creators as they explore their ideas and feelings, navigate their inner questioning, seek and find their confidence, and discover their personal process for writing forward.

I am honored to be allowed in and trusted to support them on their journeys. It’s beautiful to behold and gratifying to be able to be a part of it.

I am incredibly fortunate to be able to do this work.

 

Interested in what I write? Check out my books!

For more about what I do as a Book Coach, click here.

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