Dixie Dawn Miller Goode's Blog, page 5

Of Colors and Lullabies and Dreams

One of my goals this summer was to finally publish two of the picture books I have been working on since my sons were babies. Well, as you know, now my sons are in their 20's and I am a grandmother.  The summer will be winding down with this next weekend and Labor Day brings school around here.

So I struggled through the learning curve and figured out what I ended to do with formatting and took a big breath and decided that I love these two story/poems and the pictures I created, and even if some people don't love them, I need to be brave enough to give them a chance.

I am introducing these books here, because I need to stop keeping them a secret, and when the links go live on Amazon for the 8 1/2 inch square paperbacks and the kindle copies I will come back and give you them here,
 but for now


an introduction to My Love Song to my Babies

Moonrise


back cover front cover

seagullTonight, my love, the moon shall risethe sandman come to dust your eyes.
His sand has heard the dream gull's criesbeside a sea 'neath silver skies.


The pillow cool beneath your head,
all star lit is your feather bed which glides the moonbeams like asled, above towns which glitter blue and red.

and my second picture book is an introduction to Colors and a celebration of their beauty to be read aloud and then read independently and studied.
Presenting  
Rainbows Around Uson kindle and paperback                                             back cover


front cover
Complimentary Colors
Rainbows
Red
 If I could tell you about Red

I would sing to you of fireSweet like cherriesBurning like cinnamonSmelling like a rose in the sun

Again, thank you for reading, and have a wonderful Autumn

Doing what I do, every Fall

I have been reading and writing book reviews.

I have been conversing with other authors and with some of my own readers.  I have been walking on the beach and baking blackberry custard pies.

I have been sweeping my floors, and then not mopping them - which is good right, because California is in a drought and all the spare water we might have had has been being used in the ice bucket challenge.

Nothing against the Ice Bucket Challenge.  Two of my friends lost spouses to that nightmare disease, and an old High school class mate just lost her aunt to it days ago. I'm glad that ALS research is getting attention - and I'm laughing at the videos, or getting teary eyed.

What I am not doing is writing. My Novels that is.

One of the authors whose books I have been reading is Michael Angel and after I read and reviewed two of his Fantasy and Forensics books,


https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1014233402?book_show_action=false
http://www.amazon.com/gp/review/R2G6YHCX1G5SXD/ref=cm_cr_pr_rvw_ttl?ASIN=B00K3Y08P0
 he sent me a message thanking me and trying to entice me into reading a book from another series. It is tempting. I enjoyed his books but there is Duffy's third book waiting, or the next Double Time book stuck between Pompeii and Mt. St. Helens.  My books, patiently waiting my attention.

Mr. Angel tells me, "Oh, c'mon, what could a chapter or two hurt? And a third of the way through the book you get to meet a cute pegasus colt named 'Thunderbolt the Wondercolt!'"

Which prompted me to reply, "Yeah, but if I get back into Duffy's world I get to hang with a sea Monster and a Unicorn/centaur cross with attitude. I get to play with micro monkeys on a bouncing forest floor and referee a war between two sides of an Island shipwreck. Why am I resisting? Oh, yeah, because I'm at 60,000 words in book 3 and no road map of where I'm supposed to be weaving all these threads together!"

The Truth is, I do love my own books - but Fall throws me out of my game every year.  After summer with my teacher husband around, and being untethered from clocks, the start of school and alarm clocks and big empty stretches of time suddenly alone, waiting for a call to substitute teach from teachers who are not yet established enough to be comfortable being ill for a day. I feel restless and bored, depressed and excited, like I should have made more out of summer but I have this wonderful new beginning so I should make resolutions and be better at everything this new year.

This book is waiting for me to finish it!
The truth is, there is a new set of students to read my books to, and to convince that they want to be writers, and there are two books getting close to done. There is also an amazing 4 month old granddaughter to snuggle.  Life is Good.

writing today

 When I was a kid, I found a pack of labels designed to join the message space on a postcard. I don't know who wrote them but I memorized them and they said,

Can't think, brain numb,
inspiration won't come,
No ink, bum pen,
best wishes
Amen


even then I was learning the curse of writer's block, the longing to write and the abundance of ideas,
until faced with a blank paper
or a keyboard
and then nothing
doodled and watercolored and added photo faces to
add my boys to their favorite book as a poster
giving my own books the spotlight
playing with book covers
and my Betty Award for Duffy
but I am still writing, grocery lists, or postcards or scribbled poems, or facebook posts or book reviews or blogs, and while I do, the ideas and characters in the two books I am working on keep demanding their room in my mind.  And the stories are percolating and taking shape.  Today I wrote on a a snippet from Duffy Barkley: The Third Charm  This book is taking it's time but did some growth today.  I haven't edited it or figured out where the story ends but there are two groups on an Island, at the brink of war because both groups are uncertain how they got there and one group is trying to attract the attention of a passing ship but the other group is terrified of attracting the attention of whomever dumped them all on the Island in the first place To Boldly Go


So Anyway,
Today's effort . . .



“There are so many things that could still happen here,” Peg said. “There are a multitude of choices, you could erupt into war, which is sure to draw attention if someone is really looking for you. You could leave the Island together, and try to take up the life that was interrupted, maybe never finding out what happened here, or maybe finding yourself in the middle of something bigger than all this by far. Some could stay while others leave. You could continue trying to each live your own way, but that hasn't worked well and has only caused fear and resentment. You could decide to really make this your home and work together to build a new life you all approve of. “There are a multitude of choices here, and probably more than I am seeing now. Until you make one small change, then the fork in the road is behind you and the path seems to narrow and lead you in a new direction. Maybe you go to someplace better or someplace worse, but you find yourself in a new place even if you never leave the island.” A few of the women gathered around her looked uncomfortable, and one of those spoke now, “but what if I can't choose? I don't want to make a choice.” Izzy wondered how Peg would answer that. But she found herself speaking up before her great-aunt said a word, “Ignoring the options and refusing to choose; that's a choice too.” Another woman spoke, so softly everyone quieted in an effort to hear her nervous voice, “but how can we know which is the right choice? I try to sleep and I can't stop thinking about the problems. My head fills with so many things that I hope for and then the things I'm afraid of chase them out of my mind.” Peg smiled, “I know exactly what you mean. Sometimes when I want to work out the best choice among many which are overwhelming me, I have found a simple way to make my head clearer. When I am home, I take a walk where the direction of my feet leaves me no choices. So my mind is free to float where it wants to go and I find out which hopes are the ones I really want to see become reality.” “But if we tried walking like that here, without paying attention, we'd get lost or fall off a cliff or end up in enemy land.” “Well, I don't think they have to be enemies. That may be the first choice, to choose not to see them as enemies anymore.” “My farm has a lot of land, So I made a big path to walk. But it only goes in circles, in and out from a center. It is from an ancient pattern that many cultures in out world had even before recorded history. It starts and ends in the same place but flows through many turns. We call it a labyrinth. It is like a maze but a maze has wrong turns in it and false trails and is designed to get you lost. A labyrinth is designed to get you found.” Peg picked up a stick and smoothed a circle in the sand and began to draw, winding back and forth through the circle in small wedges like the slice of a pie. She wandered in and our of the circle until the design blossomed in the sand like an abstract rose. The women were intrigued and excited and began to expand on the idea until they decided to lay out their own labyrinth and chose a spot on a hill, far enough away that it had been ignored and unclaimed by both groups. As the group trudged up the hill to check out the location, there was laughter and soft, excited chatter. Izzy placed her hand in Peg's and gave it a squeeze. Peg looked down at her, “How are you doing?” “I'm ok, but I wonder if this will matter at all if the rest of the people still want to kill each other off.” Peg hugged her niece, “It might not make any difference at all, but it probably will. It is hard to ignore the voices of the Mom who raised you, and fed you and cared for you. It is hard to ignore the wife who welcomes you home and feeds you. In our world when men want to cause hatred and make people so angry and fearful that they are willing to die for the cause, they know they need to start telling their stories of hate young, and they know the ones whose voices are heard even more loudly than their own are the moms. That is why so many hate filled extremists, do not want the girls to be educated or the women to realize their own power. A good man is not afraid of a smart woman.” “You make it sound like all the war is started by men.” “No, and you know there are good men, and bad women. I don't mean to imply that Dads don't teach their children to be strong and kind, or that women can't be war mongers. I'm old enough that I think in the ways I was taught as a child, and the roles of men and women were more tightly defined then. You are lucky Izzy, you can be anything you want to be and people will judge how you do it. That I wanted to be a woman farmer even without a man around made some people judge me, even hate me, because If I didn't want to be a nurse or a teacher and then a wife and a mom, I must nor be a real woman.” “Then how did you get brave enough to follow your dream?” “I came here as a child, well not here to the Island, but to Uhrlin. And I had to be strong, and bull headed and no-one had the same prejudices as in earth in my time or knew me at all, so they waited to see what I did before judging me.”
“But really, my point here is not what men or woman can do, but that a few small voices, men, women or children, speaking calmly, can show sense to the fearful and calm an angry mob.”

Sometimes my Heart Recognizes a Story it could only love

     I can't remember where I first heard of this book, but I found it on my own Amazon page wish list and had obviously thought about it at one of those times when even a kindle book was outside my price range.  But I got an Amazon gift card as a birthday present recently, and right before I went to buy a copy of Two Loves Found, a sequel to a book I had just read by Sandy Graham - I found a copy of that book arriving in my mailbox as an unexpected gift.











my review of that here https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/976807623?book_show_action=false





 So anyway, I actually had book $$ and nothing in mind to spend it on, and found that I had saved The Ruby Brooch to my wish list - So on a whim, I ordered it.  I didn't even check to see what it was about, trusting my own taste even though I could obviously no longer trust my memory.

http://www.amazon.com/Brooch-Travel-Romance-Celtic-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B007QMSONK/ref=la_B007QP1I12_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1407433619&sr=1-1I have never been more grateful that I had waited to get a book.  Yes, I enjoyed it a lot, and yes it was a blend of many of my favorite things, but it really was way too close to my own middle grade novel, Double Time On The Oregon Trail, for me to have been comfortable having to say I had read it before I wrote my own.  In fact, I'm pretty sure I never could have written my book if I had read this first, how would I ever have know for sure that my ideas were not lifted from this story?


So what we have here is a young woman, in 2012 who has recently lost her family in a horrible way, and then finds a letter telling her, that they are not her birth family, but that she was a baby, found on a doorstep, wrapped in a bloody, monogrammed shawl with a ruby brooch that, by the way, transports people and things through time.  When she learns this, she understands why her Dad has raised her with a ton of outdoor skills, and taken her on Oregon trail reenactments. She makes her plans to find out who she is, and uses the brooch to place herself at the start of the Oregon Trail in 1852.

I love time travel and the Oregon Trail, which is why I had a girl from 2002 communicating with a girl from 1850 in my novel - and traveling the highways that retrace the trail now it is always fun to compare my swimming pools and air conditioning to their dust and drought and campfires but Ms. Logan has so many different comparisons to think about that I was immediately hooked into her novel and couldn't put it down.  It was also interesting to see that even in the ten years between my modern 2002 and her 2012, there were changes such as my girl had a phone card, but her woman had a iPod, mine had printed pictures but hers had a digital camera.  I did have to wonder about one thing, I get that she could use a solar charger and charge the iPod, and show saved information on it back in 1852, but I'm wondering how they managed to get hooked in to see you-tube videos?

I'm not usually one to read romances, but her novel also had a few wonderful characters who felt real, and when I realized that her next book has one of them involved in a romance, non time travel, I still had enough of a balance on my card that I bought this sequel as well. I really wanted to know that this person was ok after seeing where The Ruby Brooch left him at the end.  I guess caring about the characters so much means that yes, I am recommending this book.

http://www.amazon.com/Double-Time-Dixie-Miller-Goode-ebook/dp/B008G3JZB8/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1407433466&sr=8-1&keywords=double+time+on+the+Oregon+trail
and just above is the link to my own.
Thanks for reading.

Fort Laramie at Last

 Even though I grew up in Wyoming, as Did my Mom and her Dad before her - I had never been to Fort Laramie.  I grew up in the North-West corner of the State by Yellowstone Park.  So when I began researching for my Oregon Trail Novel, from my home here in the Pacific Redwoods, I used a lot of library books and mail order brochures, and as the years passed, Google and facebook.

 Facebook has a wonderful page about the Fort Laramie Historic Site at

https://www.facebook.com/FortLaramieNHS

 but still, even though we traveled back to visit family, we never quite made it to the fort, until this July.  This time, with my book published, and with having just taught it to a class of 4th and 5th graders, I really wanted to see the place in person. So we found it, kind of between whereby Sister-in-law and my Mother-in-law live and as soon as we got there, the sky opened up and dumped a flood of rain on us.

 but we are immune to rain after 30 years in the Pacific Northwest and also appeared to be the only visitors there who didn't own umbrellas, they don't work when you live where the rain comes down sideways.
 Anyway, I got to get out and stroll the grounds and grouse the rooms and get in on a "women at the fort" talk.  It was fascinating, but I learned it no longer looks much like the walled compound I had read about on that location in 1850.  The Fort has changed over the years, but the hail and heat and long miles to get to it remain the same, and when you think of doing those miles on foot or in a wagon, they appear so daunting!



 I like to camp, and I guess I could call this fun for maybe a month, but to travel in this for six months? I think I am glad I never had to do that, and yet, I wonder.












 To see my Novel about two fifteen year old girls, traveling across North America 152 years apart, but still helping each other, see here Double Time On The Oregon Trail

http://www.amazon.com/Double-Time-The-Oregon-Trail/dp/1478160926/ref=tmm_pap_title_0

 a bit of the novel where I wrote about the fort follows at the end of this post





 Della stopped writing as a powerful memory hit her. She had been holding the hand of one of her students as the child jerked and screamed and died. There had been no time for the family to stop and mourn, but the men had immediately scraped out a shallow grave, wrapped the small body in a sheet and said a prayer before covering the grave with stones and more dirt and leaving it unmarked. All up and down the wagons, small groups were gathered for similar hurried funerals.
She blinked back tears and remembered the relief she had felt at reaching Fort Laramie for her Mother's sake. Dipping her pen once again in the unstoppered ink bottle, she picked up the writing again,

“People tell me that the cholera seems to leave people alone once they make it to Fort Laramie. No one knows what causes it but they think the water is faster here and the land is higher and someway that adds protection. Our group is much smaller now than when we left St. Louis and the Cholera and accidents and weather and people shooting themselves have caused us to leave too many graves scattered behind us. The saddest part is that we will never be able to find the graves again, even if we ever come back this way. To hide the bodies from the wolves, or to keep them from being dug up for their clothing, we hid the grave by packing down the dirt and after that driving wagons across it, and if we had time, even building a campfire on top. “I doubted that she would agree, because Mother thinks that Doctors are all quacks. The fact that she didn't argue tells me she was feeling more poorly than she allowed to us. We did get Mother to see the fort Dr. today, and the man gave her a bottle of tonic which he says will stimulate her liver and clean her blood and leave her strong and healthy. He also gave her some Calomel, and told her that she should stop taking it once she feels her face go numb and she begins to drool a bit. Then she will know it is working. He said that after that, if she is still feeling poorly it is safer to switch to using arsenic to improve her health. He charged Father two dollars. Then he treated many other members of our group with such complaints as burns and gunshots and the bloody flux.“Orville said he must make a lot of money and the Dr. said he sometimes made as much as five dollars when he needed to perform an amputation. Orville said being a Fort Dr. must be a grand way to become rich and the Dr. did not argue. Later, one of the girls who lives here told me that the Dr. often treats people for free or for a bit of trade if he knows they could not pay for him.“Back East we did not go to Doctors, The home remedies are better and safer, and for certain no-one goes to a hospital if they want to live. Many people decide to hang a shingle and be a Dr. if they can't make money from another trade. Here on the trail they seem to be better, I think they see so many people that they get more practice doing the kind of healing that needs done here. Or maybe the kind of person who cheats people is too lazy to brave the trail.“We did get me a new pen in a leather case, with a few nibs, but I feel guilty for asking when the prices here are so much higher than in St. Louis. “Mother says she is grateful that we have enough bacon, and that our chickens provide eggs, but we purchase more cornmeal to refill the barrels. Maybe there was enough to make it to Oregon but it also protects our eggs and Mother's china, which is packed into the barrels with it.“Orville begged until he convinced one of the soldiers to allow him and three of his friends to climb up on the top of the rooms which are built around the inside walls. The roofs of these rooms become a walkway by which means the soldiers can patrol the high outer wall without making targets of themselves. I was expected to be more interested in shopping, but I envied the boys ability to explore that view. It wouldn't have been right for a young lady to talk so freely with the soldiers and for a moment I wished I were 10 instead of 15, so I could worry less about 'proper.'”

“Della, Blow out that lantern and come to bed now.” Her Mother's voice interrupted the flow of her thoughts and Della looked at the burning candle behind the glass doors of the lantern. Those precious candles must last until Oregon City when they would finally have time to make more unlike the butter which churned itself on the trail, candle making could be very time consuming. She stoppered the ink, put away her journal and blew out the candle. Then she closed her eyes briefly to allow them to adjust to the dimmer light and when she opened them again the brilliance of the stars dancing above her took her smiling into sleep.

Another Birthday

 Every Year they roll around and I do my best to ignore them. Birthdays that is.  Even as a child, I remember being more embarrassed by the expectation that other people would treat me special and insecure how to handle it gracefully, when I spent a lot of my time avoiding being the center of attention.  The little girl I was, was teased a lot, and rebuffed for saying hello, or looking too long at the other, more popular kids.  It was hard to believe that people wanted to make my day special, so I always doubted it, thinking that if kids came to my party, then it was because they wanted to play in the park across the street or because their parents made them.

 I pretty much avoided being in the spotlight, and even on my wedding day managed to sneak away and get married with only my parents, grandma and brothers attending at the last minute in an upstairs office above main street.

 So now, the fact that I have friends and family who have loved me so long, and so completely that I can stand up and say, "Today is my Day!  Look at me!  I am loved."  I can put on the funny hat that demands attention and stand in front of a classroom and demand attention for myself. I can walk to a podium and tell you all about myself and why I love the stories and beauty in this world.
 That is because this world is more full of good people than I ever suspected as a child, and now when I celebrate my birthday, I celebrate another year of being ME surrounded by YOU.

 The world is made up of good and bad, but my 51 years convince me that it is always possible to see the good if you look, and always possible to choose to let other people see the good in you.

 and you know, I'm looking forward to the rest of my life, to the stories I still have to tell and to the people I get to share them with.  I'm good at being an audience and listening to your stories too.

Happy Birthday to me, and thanks to all of you.

I Am Writing Again

 Today being July First means that Camp NaNoWriMo is once again open and letting people explore the thrill of writing fast and intently without too much regard for the finished product.  This is after all, meant to be a quick and dirty rough draft of a novel.
 I'm not there.  I have been working on this novel for quite awhile and have 60,000 words which tell me not to ignore them just because it is camp time. So this year, I am not beginning fresh, and I am editing and writing and loving it.  Such a good feeling to open a manuscript i had closed months ago, and find things I no longer remember writing, and realizing it is better than I hold even though it is a long way from done.
The first draft of Duffy Barkley and my first completed "books", from when I was 10

 Because it is July, and I am not teaching (or unfortunately bringing in any income) I have time to write, and time to play as long as the play is cheap, so I have also been walking at the Redwoods near home. What a great place to look for something to spark my imagination.

 Nothing makes me feel smaller, or yet more a part of something beautiful, than the redwoods


 Also, I managed to capture a rainbow in my living room, if I can do that, surely I can capture the third adventure of Duffy Barkley on paper

Here is a brief sample from where I got to rereading this morning



Oh-oh-ing's eyes gave him sympathy, but no mercy. “Of course it is hard to be you Duffy, it is hard to be anyone. We all have our burdens and the times when the energy to make the effort seems impossible. Then we keep making the effort until we die and our children keep on in our place.” “Oh, thanks a lot!” he muttered sarcastically. “You are welcome.” She answered sincerely. He looked up in time to see her mouth twist into a smile that was part amused, part sympathetic but wholly without unkindness. Then she used both of her hands to push her mane back from the sides of her face and when she dropped her hands to his shoulders again her face was serious. “I don't know what we do next,” Duffy said, with nevertheless, a bit more hope than before he had been reminded that he wasn't alone. The gathering of Oorah were no longer looking directly at Duffy but had turned away, and now faced the forest. There was a movement in the crowd as it parted left and right and opened a clear path from the back to just in front of Duffy. Oh-oh-ing kept an arm around Duffy's shoulders and murmured low so that only he could hear, “You are not our only unexpected guests at the present time. You remember?” Duffy's jaw dropped as he stared at the approaching trio. The spectacle their combined presence created would not have looked out of place in the Big Parades back on Earth. A large blue bear, not painted, not a teddy bear costume on a man, not a balloon, but a sky blue, lumbering, four legged predator came down the aisle the parted crowd had created. He would have been spectacular alone. He was not alone. Riding on his back was a vividly, orange, wildcat. She stood with her four paws in his fur and balanced gracefully as he swayed from side to side. She was not maned, but her pointed ears were echoed in little pointed feathers of fur at the sides of her mouth and long whiskers twitched there as well. Walking at the bear's right side was a tall, slender girl who appeared whiter than milk. A spiky tuft of green rose from her forehead above a black, v shaped patch of skin descending from her brow to between her eyes and giving a heart shaped look to her face. She was wearing a simple wrapped skirt and top of a glittering sequined blue cloth. Duffy had every reason to suspect that the beautiful wrapping was actually soft, supple leather made from fish skin with gleaming scales in place. At one time Duffy had traveled with and befriended the girl. He had met the bear and wildcat before they helped him get home on his first time in Uhrlin, but the three of them looked so impressive that he froze, uncertain if he should bow or hug them, he did nothing.
The girl stopped and met his eyes and then laughed and twirled in place, skirt flaring wide as her arms swept in a circle that included everyone, “Oh, This is perfect! Duffy is here!” and she bounded toward him and hugged him quickly. As she dropped her arms and turned back to her companions, all Duffy could see was her obsidian black back and the green mane that reached down to between her shoulder blades.

Author Presentation Pays Off Big

 In my last post, I told you that I had been invited to do a presentation as an author to Pine Grove School.  My biggest message that I wanted to get across to these kids was't that they should buy my books, or be impressed with me, or even that they should want to be a writer.  I told them that they should look at me, someone who has dreamed of being a writer since I was their age, and know that if I could make that happen, that they could make their own dreams come true as well.  I admitted that following those dreams might need to be supplemented by something that gives them an income, but that, the thing that makes them most fully them, like writing does for me - should never be abandoned just because it is hard work for little financial gain.

 And after I talked to three groups of students, and ate at their wonderful banquet, I left and went back to work as a substitute teacher at another school.  But unknown to me, the kids were paying me for the message I had given them, and on the last day of school, I found my mailbox stuffed with the reward.
 Here are the Oohrah at the village off Oohline from my novels
 Dear Mrs. Goode, Thank you for teaching us about authoring and writing."

"Thank you for telling us to fallow our dremes"

"I'm writing my own book called, "The Mystery on Ridge Street", I'm on chapter 5, The Mist."


 "I want to be an author too.
sisirily,"


""I imagine it was hard making  book with waht evar you named yer book.
Sinserly,"

"My favorite book was your second book that you made for us to read."
 "Thank you for coming to Spring Arts Day. We learned a lot about writing a book. We would all love to buy your book."

"I think that you taught us a lot of tuff about how to make books. I have one of your books that you made."

"Thank you for telling my class and I about your books. In fact, one of my class mates bought your book."

"It is cool how you made your books and I would really want to read your books."

"I make better illustrations because I listened to you."


 "I think you did a good job on the book you read to us. It's so cool that I can know someone that wires books. It is just amazing how long they take to make."

"I really enjoy your novels, I am going to save up my alowance so I can buy your novels. The idea of a flying tiger is so creative. When I grow up maybe I can make a movie about your book if that's ok with you."


 "Thank you for telling us about your book you made. It also impressed my friend Kaleb. You told about some of it to us. I decided to buy one. I bought number one and two. They are really good so far. I enjoyed it when you were telling us part of it.  I told my little brother about yo and he wants to write books too."

"I would love to read your books and I want to be a singer."

 "Dear Mrs. Goode,
  Thank you for coming to Spring Arts Day.  I allways whonted to be an illustrator and now I know how hard it is to be a illustrator. "

 "Dear Mrs. Goode,

I think your the best substitute teacher in the world.! I mean, we're both writers so I love hearing about your books and reading them! Oh, and I have great news for you!  remember, "Duffy Barkley is not a Dog"?  Well, I'm writing a story with the same Oz/Narnia concept.  It's called "the Adventures of Nina and Lilly 1# Portal in the Mountain side"  It's basically about talking mountain lion named Nina, and her hymn best friendLilly going on all these adventures but something always goes wrong. Happy Book Making!"


and the one last, but not least from a student who made me smile


"Dear Mrs. Goode,

I had a majestic time with you. I've never herd any stories like yours'.  You're Oregon Trail Story is like fiction in descise, (disguise) You have a really good amagination.'

Author Presentations, Speaking Instead of Writing

As soon as I began following my dream of being a writer, I realized that it had many parts I loved, but also many parts that were scary, and unrewarding, and completely out of synch with my personality.
I am an introvert.  I hate talking on the phone, and being social in a big group may be fun for awhile but it doesn't energize me, it leaves me exhausted.  My favorite activities involve small groups of people, my family or a couple of close friends, and even then, I prefer to linger at the edges, listening and taking pictures and writing in my notebooks instead of diving in to the center of the board games or sledding or other pursuits my favorite people indulge in when together.

enjoying spring and the Rhododendron at homeAnd I don't just LOVE being alone, I need it more than sleep or food, so that on extremely hectic days I may be exhausted but I'll choose locking myself in the bathroom in a hot bath with only bubbles and a book over dropping in between the sheets.  On my own, I write letters and stories and poetry, I take pictures and play with editing them, I cuddle my cat or my sons dog while I watch NCIS or I put on my old Record albums from the 70's and sing along at the top of my voice while painting or drawing or even mopping the floor and doing laundry.

I traded a copy of my book for Clint Brill's Sci Fi thriller and loved itBut writing in a vacuum is not effective. Without interaction I would never sell a book, or share an idea, or even write convincingly abut how humans relate to each other.  So I have to do more than exchange facebook and twitter posts with other authors and read their books.  I have to get out and talk to the people I think might love my stories as much as I do but I am not comfortable with only marketing my books, I don't want to join all the other voices with nothing to say except, "Buy MY Book NOW.  It is a Must Read!!!!"

So I have begun reading and talking with classes and working on what I want to share with the young people of today.  I want to combat the constant negative news and violence that they are surrounded by, I want to let them know that constant connection to an electronic device is not a substitute for hugging and LOL doesn't hold a candle to really laughing out loud, rolling on the grass and giggling until your belly hurts with a best friend.


I want to tell them that my dream of writing didn't happen until I was willing to put time into it several times a week, and that it may never make a living and allow me to quit my day job, but it is still worth it, because it allows me to be the best me, I can be.  it allows me to have something to share with the world that might make a few other people smile for a moment, and realize that if I can be a writer, they can also ignore the people telling them their dreams are impossible, and realize that yes, you have to be able to support yourself with rent and groceries, but you also have to support your emotional needs with fun and with something that lets you be happy, even while dragging to work every day.

So I went to Pine Grove School, and presented as an author, to kids I know as a substitute teacher, and they were attentive and curious, and most of all they were willing to share that they were dreamers on the verge of being doers too.

And then I came home, visited my beautiful new granddaughter


Celebrated my 30th anniversary


Hugged the toddler who is like a granddaughter to me and looked at my broken down furniture and my ancient Dodge caravan, and laughed out loud.

because my life is full, and my dreams have come true mostly, though not always like I envisioned,

Then I got on facebook and found a post tagging me, from a teacher who had been at my presentation. She said an incredibly well-written article reminded her of the talk I had given.  I read her link, and only wish I had said it so well

part of that post is below


“Listen to your heart when you hold that basketball. Listen to your heart when you take that pencil in your hand and can’t stop writing. Think about what it feels like to sing at the top of your lungs. Think about what it feels like to do something you love to do. But don’t stop there. Share that incredible feeling with someone else. Because if we share OUR remarkable thing, someone else might notice his or her remarkable thing.

So maybe you don’t make it to The Voice. Maybe you don’t make the pros or land a book deal. That doesn’t mean you didn’t succeed. Maybe sharing your journey, your dream, or what excites your heart IS the achievement. Maybe inspiring someone else to see his or her life differently IS the success.”

As I walked out of the school holding my daughter's hand, I decided now, more than ever, we must speak of remarkable things … now, when undivided attention is a rare and priceless commodity … now, when we too often choose glowing screens over shining sunlight … now, when digital notifications take precedence over soul-to-soul connection. Now more than ever, we must speak of the remarkable things that make our heart sing … that fill our eyes with tears … that bring beauty, comfort, and joy to our ordinary, mundane lives. 

Why? 

Because you never know who might be listening … and using your dream to envision her own.

© Rachel Macy Stafford 2014

Friends of The Hands Free Revolution perhaps you have had a lifelong dream, a passion, or some activity that makes your heart sing. And maybe you’ve never told anyone about it fearing you could never be “successful.” Well, today I hope you will rethink that secrecy, as well as your definition of success. 

My Writing Process Blog Tour

Last week blogger and writer of great stories for all ages, Rebecca Douglass, tagged me in the "My Writing Process" blog tour. My mission: to answer three questions about my writing process, and to tag three other writers. Life was going a bit insane at that point, actually doing a lot of joy and grief combined.

On March 27th, one of the Grand Dame's of my family died at the age of 91.  Aunt Sally was actually my Grandmother's first cousin and someone who had always been an important part of my life, even though she lived in Illinois while I was growing up in Wyoming, we visited and wrote and stayed in touch.
Sarah Manning
Then on Monday, March 28th I took my students to sea on a tall ship sail on the Lady Washington, a ship used in the Pirates of the Caribbean and in Star Trek. There were 32 students and 11 of them, and some crew members were puking seasick as the boat rolled and heaved and my phone buzzed.  My daughter-in-love texted the words which always stand out in the movies as the beginning of great drama, "My water broke."  So within 24 hours I lost my Grandma figure and became a Grandma!


So I haven't written on here recently and yet I am going to Pine Grove School on Tuesday as a guest author for Fine and Performing arts day, and I welcome the excuse to remember that among all the other title's people call me, Writer is one I struggled to earn for myself.









So Thank You Rebecca, and here is my post


BTW. Check out Rebecca's at 
http://www.ninjalibrarian.com/2014/04/w-my-writing-process-blog-tour.html
First the questions:

1.  What am I working on?
Well, honestly working on any writing has been set aside briefly but will resume soon. The Grandma thing is my delighted focus but the stories are still there and insisting on being told.  I have two going now.  Double time: About to Erupt uses the same time twisted writing desk to share glimpses of journals and other objects as was there in my Double Time: On the Oregon Trail http://www.amazon.com/Double-Time-The-Oregon-Trail-ebook/dp/B008G3JZB8 but it connects two boys, one living in Pompeii prior to Mt. Vesuvius erupting and one in Portland, Oregon 1901 years later.

The other book I am working on is the third book in the Tales of Uhrlin series about Duffy Barkley and his discovery of the strength's hidden within his own handicapped self. In this third book he has grown from 9 to 13 and has returned to Uhrlin after his sister and Aunt disappeared back in our world.
http://www.amazon.com/Duffy-Barkley-not-Tales-Uhrlin-ebook/dp/B004478F5M/ref=la_B004458ES2_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1399251077&sr=1-2   
2.  Why do I write what I do?
I started writing what I do because I had two boys who shared their playtime and active imaginations with me, and when they were tucked in at night my imagination reuse to turn off. And I kept going because it was fun both to write it and to see the wonderful reactions of others as they discover my stories. I thought that I was writing just for me, but when I finished the first book and read it to my boys it amazed me that it sounded like a real book, and now I have people in other lands who have read it and tell me they love it, Like India and England.  I have students who study my books and teachers who share them at book clubs and people asking for sequels and it is just simply fun.  I haven't made much money so I still have to juggle bills and work in the real world - but being a writer just fits me, and I feel more complete than I do when I am not telling stories.

3.  How does my writing process work?
Does it work?  Well sometimes.  I start a novel in a mad rush of getting words on paper like I learned at NANOWRIMO. I do the quick and dirty first draft and if I can't get a new thought then I go back and reread until I find something I can say more about.  I read it over and over as I go and I leapfrog around in everything from the end to the middle to the beginning until all those bits connect and the story is complete.  Then I start rereading and asking others to read it, and I put it aside and start a new novel, or start reminding people to buy the ones that I have out there already.  Marketing is a never ending process because every time I stop, sales stop.

Now for the three  writers I want to tag, to post about their own writing processes in the next week or two or so 

So I will get to the other authors now.
A book I really enjoyed is The Dominion Of Light by Nicole Murphy. She has a facebook Author's page at
https://www.facebook.com/NicoleMurphyAuthor



An Author and wonderful woman whom I admire a lot is Betty Dravis
http://www.amazon.com/Betty-Dravis/e/B002BLJJIU/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1


Check out Pure Control by Clint Brill If you like Science Fiction. I don't think he has a blog up and running yet but he is working on it, and his book is one I read recently with a lot of pleasure



http://www.amazon.com/Pure-Control-C-Brill-ebook/dp/B00JKTXTQE/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1399252348&sr=8-1&keywords=Clint+Brill