Annette Dashofy's Blog, page 23

The Dream Meets Reality

It’s been a wild few weeks. A combination of euphoria, celebration, panic, and nose-to-the-grindstone work.
I have wonderful friends in the writing community who have been eager to celebrate with me. I’m overwhelmed. I keep recalling that infamous acceptance speech Sally Field made. You like me! You really like me! I’m touched and honored, because these people who are congratulating me and buying me chocolate and wine are the same people responsible for making me the writer I am.
Anyhow, while the celebrations keep cropping up (surprise pie courtesy of Paula Matter at the Pennwriters board of directors meeting!), mostly I’m settled into the rhythm of work. Write, write, write, and write some more. My goal was to finish the first draft of Sins of the Fathers (book #2) by the end of September. Today! And I did it! Okay, it’s a prime example of what Anne Lamont calls the “shitty first draft,” but it’s words on a page. So much easier to fix than a blank one.
In the next day or two I expect to get Circle of Influence back from my editor with copy edits. So there’s no time for rest beyond the two Godiva truffles and cup of coffee I’m currently enjoying. I’ll need to work on those revisions to the first book while polishing the second one so I can ship it off to my beta readers and critique buddies.
And in my spare time, I’ve been asked to compile a list of media markets in the area. Thank goodness I’ve done some of this media/promotion stuff for Pennwriters conferences. I’m not starting out cold. Just chilly.
AND there’s a small matter of book #3. I’d like to get it outlined by the end of October so I can start drafting it in November.
I love it. Yes, it’s more work than I imagined, but this is what I’ve wanted for…well… forever! Writing every day is no longer an option or a luxury to be squeezed in after my other commitments. Writing every day is now a requirement and comes FIRST. Gradually my family is getting used to the idea. Hubby, who used to refer to it as “playing around on the computer” now says stuff like, “Oh, you’re working. I’ll get out of your hair.”
Who is this man and what has he done with my husband???

On the other hand, I do have to get out and remind people I’m alive. I’m scheduled to teach two workshops at A Writers Road Trip, a one-day mini conference held by Pennwriters in Erie, October 12. If you’re in the area, you can register here. 

Dreams

Last week was huge.
It started on Monday when Diana Nyad completed her life’s dream and successfully swam from Cubato Key West. After her feet touched sand in Florida, she managed to say something that I plan to print and frame:
"I have three messages. One is, we should never, ever give up. Two is, you never are too old to chase your dreams. And three is, it looks like a solitary sport but it's a team."
All three totally apply to us struggling writers. I took it to heart.
Then on Wednesday, my own dream started to come true. Henery Press offered me a three-book contract for my Zoe Chambers/Pete Adams mystery series.
The contract was signed on Friday and all became official. I’m the newest hen in the Henery Hen House! My debut novel, Circle of Influence, will be released in March 2014.
I have bruises on my arm from pinching myself. Seriously. More than once I stop in the middle of the day to wonder if I imagined it all. Thankfully the news is all over Facebook, so I only have to look at the posts to realize—nope. It’s definitely real.
No, I’m not comparing my journey to Ms. Nyad’s. I certainly don’t expect to swallow salt water or get stung by jellyfish. But she inspired me.
The point to my struggling writer friends is NEVER give up. You’re never too old. And join writing organizations like Pennwriters or Sisters in Crime. Because it does take a team.

Rock on, Diana Nyad. And WRITE on to all my fellow authors!

Post-op Post

Fair warning to my male readers: You may want to skip this post. “Female issues” will be discussed. The kind many men would prefer to avoid. HOWEVER, have the women in your life read it. Just saying…
I wasn’t going to blog about this. But every time I’ve mentioned what’s been going on with me over the last month, my women friends jump in with their own stories. Or tell me they haven’t had an exam in a long time and now think they should schedule it. So in the spirit of shining light on women’s health issues, here we go.
In early July I had my overdue annual exam at the Midwife Center. Yes, they do more than just deliver babies. I’ve been in fine shape. No symptoms of anything and I expected a routine “everything looks good, see you next year” comment. But during the exam, she palpated a “mass” and referred me for a sonogram. I could have it done at the same place and same time as my also-overdue mammogram, so no big deal. I still expected to receive an “everything looks fine, it was nothing,” response.
Except everything did not look fine. There was something there, probably a fibroid since I had a history of them. But whatever it was blocked their view of the right ovary so they couldn’t give a definitive diagnosis. Whatever it was, it was big and needed to come out.
I spent the next few weeks going through proper channels and getting an appointment with the same doctor who had removed a large fibroid from me twelve years ago. I love my doctor even though he sent me for every blood test known to mankind (womankind?). SIXTEEN vials of blood. I also had a second sonogram and an MRI. He wanted no surprises. Everything came back “benign.” All signs pointed to a fibroid.
Last Wednesday I went in for a total hysterectomy. I admit I was anxious. And annoyed. I felt FINE! But I knew when I woke up I wouldn’t. Abdominal surgery is painful. This wasn’t my first rodeo. I knew what to expect.
And I was right.
However, it seems in spite of all those tests, my doctor got a surprise after all. While, yes, I had two small fibroids, the “mass” was actually my right ovary gone wild. He told me the name for it, but I’ll have to get back to you on that. I haven’t seen the ten-dollar word for it in print yet, and my drug-fogged brain didn’t detain it. But the important word is still BENIGN.
My ovary was 10 centimeters, which as I understand, is over twice what it should have been. Yet I had no pain. No discomfort. NO SYMPTOMS. I was lucky it was benign. Ovarian cancer is a silent killer, and now I truly understand what that means.
Ladies, girlfriends, moms, sisters, pals: Have your annual exam. Get a sonogram. Don’t assume just because you feel fine that you ARE fine.

As for me, I’m in recovery mode. I’m catching up on naps and books. Even post-op, life ain’t bad. 

Ride 'em Cowgirl!

Horseback riding opportunities have been sparse of late, so when my friend Stephanie invited me to come riding with her on her farm in Beaver County(about an hour north of me—when I don’t get lost), I jumped at the chance. The second the heat wave broke and the monsoons stopped, we made a date. Tuesday, I printed out directions, punched the address into my GPS, and headed out.
Beaver County, Pennsylvania is beautiful. Lots of woods and big hills. Rugged and rustic. 
I used to have family up there. My parents used to take me to visit when I was a kid. Some areas are vaguely familiar. Others, not so much. Yes, I got lost. Thankfully, my new GPS doesn’t growl, “Recalculating!” every time I make a wrong turn. I would have heard it a LOT.
I finally arrived, only about 15 minutes later than planned.

Stephanie brought Jonas, who was to be my mount, in from the field. He’s a big (BIG!) flea-bitten rose gray off-the-track Thoroughbred who’s been trained for dressage and has power steering and all the bells and whistles. The horse version of the car we rented in Colorado. Stephanie was excited to have me ride him, telling me how nice he was. But since he’s a dressage horse and I’m an old cowgirl, Steph and her mom cut me some slack and put the Western saddle on him.

Then they brought in Jonah (Yes. Jonas and Jonah. I was just going to call them both Joe) and started to saddle him for Stephanie to ride.
I led JoNAS around in a flat area outside the barn, then decided to climb on board while I waited. I’d been told he didn’t stand real well for mounting. And did I mention he was big? So I was rather proud of myself for being able to get my foot up in the stirrup and swing up into the saddle without help.
The next thing I knew, JoNAS was airborne. I think I lasted one jump. Maybe one and a half. Then I was on the ground and JoNAS was standing quietly over me as Steph and her mom came running in a panic.
It’s been years since I’ve been bucked off. Around twenty, as close as I can figure. Surprisingly, I popped right back up and walked off. Nothing was broken. My neck was a little out of whack. But not terribly so. Poor Stephanie was horrified. They’d never seen this horse do anything even remotely bad.
They’d also never had him in a Western saddle before. That’s the only thing we can figure. JoNAS (or JonASS, as I now not-so-lovingly refer to him) did not like that saddle. At all.
So we launched into Plan B. Yank the Western Saddle off Jonas and slap it on my NEW ride, JoNAH. English saddle and Stephanie on JonASS. (See? I can keep their names straight now!)
Jonah is a large, round, sorrel with flaxen mane and tail. He’s half Belgian and looks the part. He doesn’t have power steering, and he’s used to getting his own way because he always gets stuck babysitting the inexperienced riders. When I found out he’d been through police training (bomb-proofed, riot-proofed) I knew we’d get along fine.
I climbed into the saddle, and this time I stayed there. Much to Jonah’s dismay, I made him work figure-8s while JonASS was getting tacked up the second time. I also made him backup. He tried to tell me he didn’t know how. But I convinced him he did. I was right.
We had a great trail ride. I ate some spider webs. This may not sound like fun, but it’s been so long since I’ve been out in the woods on a horse, even a face full of web made me smile. Of course, they were empty webs.
I hope.



JonASS was a perfect gentleman for Stephanie and her English saddle. JoNAH finally gave up playing stupid and stubborn and turned out to be a real joy to ride. Even if he didn’t get to be the boss.

I’m looking forward to my next trip to Beaver County. Hopefully I won’t get lost. And Stephanie has already assured me that Jonah is MY horse whenever I want a trail riding fix. 

Woody the Woodpecker Comes to Call

One afternoon, very early in our trip out west, I received a text from my friend Sara, who was checking on Skye and Kensi back at home. Just receiving a text from her sent me into a panic. The opening lines of it did little to calm my nerves.
I don’t know if you can receive texts or if they cost extra, but I figured it was the fastest and easiest way to reach you…
Oh, my God.
The kitties are fine…
Phew!
But what do I do about the woodpecker???
To which I texted back, “WHAT WOODPECKER?”
I was picturing Woody loose in my house with the cats trashing the place trying to catch the laughing little fool.
http://youtu.be/5Xan2dkMouM
Sara assured me the woodpecker was on the OUTSIDE of the house, so I didn’t think much more about it. We’ve had them drum on our log house before from time to time.
I put the whole woodpecker issue out of my mind. Until the morning after we returned home. Then I took a stroll around the house…and nearly fainted.
We’ve battled bore bees AKA carpenter bees for years. The large, but stinger-less insects drill perfect little holes in our logs and lay their eggs. During our absence, a pair of woodpeckers discovered the bee larvae smorgasbord and turned those little holes into BIG GAPING holes.


Over the next several days, I heard them out there rat-a-tat-tatting on my house. I’d chase them away. They’d fly to another corner of the house. I’d run after them. Three or four laps around the house later, they would either fly off into the woods in a huff, or they’d fly into the trees across the road and sit there scolding me.
I used to like woodpeckers.
Hubby tried to scare them away with mouse traps. 

No, we never planned on catching one. But we figures the drumming would set off the trap. The snap would scare off the woodpeckers. No such luck. They just moved to another bore bee hole. By the way, the reddish stuff you might see on the holes? Hot sauce. We tried everything to discourage the winged beasts.
The only option (legal option, at least) we had open to us was to bring in an exterminator to treat the house for the bees. No larvae, no smorgasbord, woodpeckers move on.

And I think it’s worked. I haven’t seen them back for a few days. I did hear them in our big maple the other day, squawking. I guess they weren’t happy that their favorite fast food joint went out of business. 

Go West: Heading Home

Sunday, June 16, 2013
My soul may have completely fused with the southwest, but my body—especially my sleep habits—never really made the switch from Eastern Time. I awoke at 3 AM and stayed that way. I dragged myself out of bed at 5 AM. The atmosphere at Leta’s house was subdued with both of us battling tears. And failing miserably. Hubby and I loaded up the Edge and said our sorrowful farewells. We were on the road by 7 AM.
I think I wept most of the three hour drive to El Paso. I finally came to grips only to burst into tears again when I spotted the “Leaving New Mexico” sign. And again when I turned over the keys to the Edge in the airport lot.
We were early and easily reached our gate well ahead of our 1:00 flight, in spite of being pulled aside during the security check for a brief inspection of my carryon bag. The mount for my GPS apparently triggered questions. But once they determined what the weird-looking item was, they waved us on with a smile.
Hubby and I settled into our seats, hoping for an uneventful flight home. After all, we’d used up all of our bad airplane luck with the four hour delay back on Day One. Right?
Wrong.
As soon as the plan was loaded, the pilot announced they had found a fuel leak. A mechanic had been summoned, and we were in for at least a fifteen minute delay.
Hubby and I started checking our watches. We had a connecting flight in Atlantawith a little over an hour layover. Fifteen minutes? We should be fine.
Fifteen minutes later, the pilot announced the mechanic should be arriving shortly. This message was repeated about ten minutes later. Our chances of making our connecting flight were dwindling. And Hubby planned on being at work early the next morning.
The “fifteen minute” delay turned into an hour. The pilot promised to try to get us there as quickly as possible. Do airplanes get speeding tickets?
Hubby was antsy and grumpy. The idea of trying to find another flight from Atlanta to Pittsburgh didn’t appeal to him. As it was, we wouldn’t get in until nearly 10 PM if we made our connection.
I noticed that there was a wi-fi sign above my head. And I had my little Chrome netbook in my bag. So I pulled it out along with our itinerary and started researching. I found our new ETA and the gate we’d pull into in Atlanta. I checked our connecting flight. ON TIME. Figures. The one time I’d hope it was running late. I was also able to find out which gate that flight was departing from. Next, I pulled out the airline’s magazine which contained a map of the Atlanta airport and noted where the arrival and departure gates were located. We might just make it. Maybe. Think The Amazing Race.
We landed safely and taxied to our gate. Then the pilot announced, “Add insult to injury, folks.” Another plane was parked in OUR spot! Tick tock.
Valuable minutes dragged by. Eventually we were able to pull into a neighboring gate. I double checked the airport map to see if the change affected our planned route. It didn’t. We were actually one gate closer to where we needed to go.
But of course, we were near the back of the plane and had to wait for everyone to get their luggage from the overhead bins.
Finally we made it off the plane. I nearly flattened a little girl along the way (just kidding! No children were injured during the mad dash) as we jogged (in cowboy boots!) down a hallway, down two flights of escalators, and into a tram. Only one stop. Get out of our way, here we come! Around a bend. The gate was in sight.
We ran up to the podium, panting as we asked, “Did we make it?”
The Delta guy calmly looked at us and said, “Oh, yeah.”
We were the last ones on the plane with about five minutes to spare before takeoff. Hubby and I high-fived and proclaimed those teams on The Amazing Race have nothing on us!
By 10 PM, we were on the ground back in Pittsburgh. Home. But I definitely left a big chunk of my heart out West.

Thank you, Donnell and Leta for opening your homes to us and for giving me the time of my life.