Stephanie Verni's Blog, page 35

The Annual Birthday Post – A Poem

[image error]Celebrating #53. How did I get here?

It’s my birthday, and you know what that means…the annual snarky birthday post. I’m celebrating this year’s birthday with a poem…Dr. Seuss style. Enjoy! Thanks for reading Steph’s Scribe!

Happy Birthday Poem

Another year has passed me by

I could laugh but I want to cry

For time has flown without a hitch

This growing old thing is surely a bitch.

One kid off to college—so fully grown

To explore and call the world his own.

The other in high school – independent and bold

With her, we truly broke the mold.

But with aging comes aches and pains

You feels some losses, you feel some gains

You hang on to time, so you take some trips

You visit the doctor for aches in your hip.

You try doing diets, but they never stick,

You go back to the doctor for the ache in your hip.

You see some grey hairs, so you call the salon

The list to be younger goes on and on.

You’ve got Calcium vitamins D, B and C,

And you see a road sign, so you squint to see.

There’s a detour ahead, but you want to stay straight,

Because you’re growing old and don’t want to be late.

To the party they planned to celebrate your day,

No matter the way that your old bod decays.

You’re happy with the way that your life has rolled

So blow out the candles; celebrate being old.

 

Book Vlog (I prefer to call it a chat) About My Books—Available for Book Clubs

When you have friends ask you what your books are about, you realize you have some work to do to better promote and explain the novels you’ve written.

In this video, I give a short overview of my four published fiction books, including my most recent release, published just three weeks ago. (Sorry about the loud bang when I talk about the first one…still new at this thing…)

I’m also available for book clubs, whether I come in person or call or Skype in–I’ve done both, so whatever works for your book club works for me.

Thanks for taking a peek.

Cleaning Out A Closet Is A Pain In The Hip

I got back from vacation and had to unpack my bags. My closet is stuffed to the gills. Some of what’s in it I can’t stand anymore. Some of it I need to give away. But more than that, there’s just too much stuff in the closet, so it doesn’t make unpacking a pleasant task at all. I’m always jockeying to find space to hang something, which makes me insane. It’s my own fault. I’ve made it this way.

Additionally, with the recent diagnosis of arthritis in my hip, my hip hurts even more when I wear heels. There seems to be a direct correlation, which I try desperately to ignore. It’s sad. It’s sad because I can rock a heel. At 5’1″, heels have pretty much been an extension of who I am. But now, sadly, I am wearing more and more flats simply to fight the pain.

[image error]Which is another reason why I REALLY need to get into my closet and begin to dissect it. My mother asked me what I wanted for my birthday, and I told her I wanted some money for–you guessed it–new clothes. And new shoes. Ones with lower heels. I always update my wardrobe as the semester begins and I head back to work. I love to freshen up the existing wardrobe with some new blouses, pants, jeans, and dresses primarily. But I can’t begin to see what I want to add to the wardrobe until I begin to declutter the crap that’s in there. It’s a pain in the neck, or in this case, a pain in the hip. I must get motivated to get in there and do some work, but I have trouble knowing where to begin. How do you motivate yourself to tackle a job you hate to do?

The mere act of starting the closet clean-out has me bamboozled. I just can’t seem to motivate myself enough to get in there, get rid of things I no longer wear or like, and commence the very sad task of discarding high heels that my hip no longer wants to associate with–it’s heartbreaking.

If you have an idea of how to begin this closet dissection, please advise.

I seem to be finding anything else to do–including weeding in the heat–to avoid this task.

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Fashion & Fiction: Why I NEED Some Bumble Bee Tights. Now.

[image error]I open my closet.

It’s a sea of black clothing.

Black pants. Black tops. Black skirts. Black dresses. Even black jeans.

I wonder what in the hell I’m doing wearing black all the time. I know I’m a writer, and writers love to wear black, but this is getting absurd.

I have to fight to believe that my personality is not reflected in the drab colors and style of the clothes I wear.

But it’s always black. Gloom. Doom. Snape-like. Johnny Cash-ish. Elphaba without the green face.

I’m drowning in a vortex of black.

And then a fictional character enters my world and I no longer want to wear black. I want more color. I want more life. I want to mix patterns and prints; wear colors that brighten my face; be seen in something that does not make me look sad and downtrodden. After finishing Still Me, I want more color in my life.

Therefore, I decided that I’m buying myself a pair of bumble bee tights. If they can bring happiness to a fictional character—Louisa Clark of the Me Before You series—then they can bring some life to this old gal.

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Sometimes I wonder what the hell I’m doing, but then I remember, black clothing is easy. It’s much more difficult to put boldly colorful outfits together–and to do so whimsically, as our girl Lou does. Her clothes are fun and they offer us glimpses into a personality that is loving, kind, funny, witty, and quirky. Clothes reflect who she is. So, unfortunately, if you judged me by my clothing, you’d say I’m pretty bland and boring. Pretty sad and depressed.

And maybe I am—or maybe that’s what I’ve become. Maybe the sass has been sucked out of me by life itself for various reasons, but I’d like to think that I can be saved.

We all deserve to wear stripey bumble bee tights. We all deserve to show our own spirit, and most importantly, the confidence to wear them with pride.

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Tackling style and fashion does require some means of self-awareness, I suppose. What works for you, what doesn’t. What suits your body frame, what doesn’t.  But who says our personalities can’t shine through and be something truly spectacular? Truly stripey? And truly represent who we are?

References to fashion are in so many books we read, but how many novels show the simplicity of love and kindness and self-assuredness as Jojo Moyes gave us in that scene when Will gives those outrageously wild bumble bee tights to Louisa?

It makes me want to put on a pair and parade around.

And so, I think I will.

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When Was The Last Time You Mailed A Postcard?

[image error]When was the last time you mailed a postcard? Can you think of where you bought the postcard and to whom you sent it?

Postcards are sentimental reminders of places we’ve been, people we’ve met, and maybe even loves we’ve left behind. They are thoughtful snapshots into places we’ve visited and things we’ve learned along the way.

In the title story of my newly released collection of short stories, The Postcard and Other Short Stories & Poetry, a man sends vintage postcards to his ex-love who has left him in France and moved to London, hoping to win her back. Each vintage Paris postcard is meant to remind her–remind her of just how much he loves her.

Vintage postcards are so pretty. I found this Cavallini collection in a store – and just love the images and how classically beautiful they are. 

Maybe you could write one to someone you love when you take that next bit of travel.

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How to Put A Book Campaign Together: A Writer’s Life Tackling Book Promotion

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Below you will find the entire social media advertising campaign that I’ve been sharing bit-by-bit on Facebook and Instagram. I’m sharing the whole campaign here in one place. (I’m going to do the same with the 22 teaser ads I created–one for each short story from The Postcard and Other Short Stories & Poetry).

This was a new strategy for me. When I launched my other three books, I didn’t have much of a social media campaign built. If you’re an independent author like me, you may want to create something like this that you can share–it helps let people know what the book is about and how they can get a copy.

Using a program like InDesign or Canva, you can build these ads rather easily. Create a theme that will work for the entire campaign, and let that theme run through the ads. My theme, as you can see, is “if you’re short on time, this collection of short stories may be right for you.”

If you can’t design yourself, find someone who can. College students are always looking for ways to improve their portfolios. Maybe you can get an intern to help you, or, honestly, you can learn how to do it yourself. It’s pretty easy and there are lots of tutorials out there to help you learn how. Canva.com is pretty simple to use.

I’ll continue to share these ads sporadically, and I’ll probably add a couple more here and there. Next on the agenda, however, is getting my press kit out there to some local media. That takes some time. I’ve already put aspects of the kit on the blog under Author Press Room, but I have to mail out some books to folks to help spark some interest.

I hope you’ll consider picking up a copy of my newest book. It was fun to put these stories—written over many years—together in one collection. It’s truly is the perfect read for people who are short on time, busy with kids, work too many jobs, but who still love to read stories.

Ries & Trout, the famous marketing and advertising duo, would be happy to see that I “positioned” the book that way.

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What Summer Offers You And Your Family – Reminiscing

[image error]Angelo DeMarco preps for one of his amazing dives.

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When you were a kid, do you remember how summers seemed to linger, the days felt long, and you stayed outside until dark catching fireflies in your Mason jars?

Do you remember playing Marco Polo endlessly at the pool, riding your bike to the park and feeling the burning heat of the day on your legs as you slid down the metal slide, and getting ice cream every day from the pool snack bar without counting calories?

What I remember most about my childhood summers is being outdoors. Sure, some days in the backyard were hot, but we’d spread out a blanket underneath a tree and break out the Barbies — sometimes we’d even wash the Barbie clothes and hang them on the line to dry. Sometimes we would pitch our white and red striped tent with the window that opened and park ourselves in there or sell lemonade to the passersby on the sidewalk. We’d use our imaginations, and make up stories; sometimes we were pirates or circus folks or dancers on a stage. Other times we were swashbucklers and knights. Summertime was meant for family and friends; it was meant to connect you in ways you didn’t connect when you were busy during the school year.

I have such vivid memories of summers spent at the Jersey Shore or Bethany Beach with my parents and grandparents. The photo above is of my grandfather at the pool in Bethany West–we had so much fine doing dives and jumps for hours. And when we were rounded up to go home to eat, it was always too soon.

Summer forced us all to just slow.down.a.bit.

It was summertime magic.

And thank GOD we didn’t have electronics to beg for our time.

The best thing you can give your child–in my humble opinion–is a set of great childhood memories. Sure, you want your kids to succeed in high school and college, to make the varsity squad, and to be successful in life. But success doesn’t always mean you have to be driven during every waking moment. Success can also mean that you were influenced by things that are real and tangible, by a magnificent gaggle of love that surrounded you no matter what. Because those wonderful memories will stay with you and impact you as you make decisions about how to raise your own children and spend summers with them.

Summer, I have always loved you.

Today is July 31, and August is upon us, which means summer is coming to an end.

But not without a fight.

At least, not from me.

[image error]That’s me with my grandmother, my mom’s mother, Eleanor. My daughter is named after her and my other grandmother, my dad’s mother, Elizabeth.

Short Girl. Short Stories.

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My whole life has consisted of people calling me short. I’m 5’1″ and my height seems to be something that amuses people. I’ve taken it on the chin many times, especially in high school when I was called a name that I’d rather not share as it is not at all politically correct, and it’s also not very nice. Honestly, I have a good handle on myself, can laugh it off, and, truthfully, being vertically challenged has never bothered me. (Okay, that’s a lie: the only REAL time it has bothered me is when I am shopping for something I WOULD LOVE TO WEAR, but it doesn’t look good on someone of petite stature. Then, I’m annoyed.) Other than that, I’m rather comfortable in my own skin, in my own height bracket, and in my size 6.5 shoes, because I buy so many of them on the sale rack for discounted prices. I get GREAT discounts on shoes.

The word “short” has been in my vocabulary for as long as I can remember. I just adapted to being tiny, and I learned to love myself no matter what. I make no apologizes for the mere inches I was given in height by my parents. We can get a boob job, a nose job, eye lifts and Botox, tummy tucks and lipsuction, but we cannot get a height adjustment. Only my platform sandals and stacked-heeled boots can give me that. And I do tend to wear those on my feet.

So when I was creating my ad campaign for my latest book, I thought…why not take advantage of the word short? I have written an entire book of short stories (along with some poetry), and the word “short” to modify the word “story” is not a bad word. I love a good short story. And I love to tell a good short story. I fell in love with the genre by reading wonderful short stories by notable writers. There’s something fun about getting readers hooked on plot and story right away, and offering readers the chance to indulge at their own pace, on their own schedule.

Short girl. Short stories.

So on this beautiful Sunday afternoon, I have a whole bunch of shortness just for you.

xx

P.S. I may have told a white lie above. I do curse when I have to reach something up high in the kitchen cabinet when even standing on my tip-toes, I can’t get to it. Frustrating as ****!

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Quick Chat About My New Release

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Hello all, and happy Saturday!

I prefer to write and be behind the camera, but every once in a while I get up enough nerve to post a little video where I discuss my latest work. My newest book, The Postcard and Other Short Stories & Poetry, was released last week, and I’m in the throes of the first few weeks of promotion.

Above, you will see one of the ads from the social media campaign that has been put together for the book. I will post the entire campaign later in the week.

Here’s just a quick clip about what the stories contain. All my books are available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble by clicking here for Amazon and here for Barnes & Noble.

Have a relaxing weekend, sneak in some reading, and as always, be kind to each other.

Much love, xx

Coping With Your First Child Heading Off To College: A Mother’s Lament

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This concept of a child going away to study at a university shouldn’t really phase me at all, right? I’m a college professor. I have been for years now. I’m the one smiling at other parents during Open Houses as I say all the right things to them about how their student will love college; how they will grow and flourish; and how they will have the time of their lives. This should be easy for me as I have a son who will start his freshman year at a university in Pennsylvania in a few weeks. I’ve been in this profession since 1993, long enough to know that all that I say to parents is true: college is a wonderful, meaningful, explorative time for maturing young adults.

So why I am I sitting here typing this with tears in my eyes knowing that in a matter of days (yes, I have started the mental countdown of how many nights my son will have at home before he leaves), he will be living with a roommate in a college dorm? Because it’s difficult being a parent, all around. It’s difficult to raise a good kid, and it’s difficult to temporarily say goodbye (for now) to a good kid.

The power of time—and how quickly it flies by—never ceases to amaze me. This afternoon, I went for one of my long walks in the neighborhood, and an empty house that’s been renovated for the last several months had a moving truck in front of it. New residents were finally moving in, and the place was bustling. It reminded me that only five short years ago, we moved into this neighborhood as well, and I remember driving into our lovely pool and tennis facility and thinking: the kids are gonna love it here.

Boy, have they. From playing tennis to golf to hanging at the pool to making some spectacular friends, my kids have enjoyed our neighborhood. The high school is a little over a mile away and is brand new; they participate in activities and are spoiled by the state-of-the-art, new facility. My son played on the tennis team, then transitioned to the golf team, where he made strong friendships and eventually became the team’s co-captain; and he loved every minute he was in DECA, serving as Vice President to his best friend’s presidency. My son was going into his eighth grade year when we moved, and to be honest, I wish we had moved here sooner. I would have loved for him to have spent his entire middle school years through high school in this setting and with his wonderful friends.

He’s going to miss these guys—a great group of young men he’s been tight with for five years now. He readily admits it. And I’m going to miss the whole crew of them coming in and out of our house, playing Xbox and eating all our Cheese-It crackers and playing 80s tunes and rap music in the basement.

There’s a sense of emptiness that I’m fully expecting to feel as I pass a tidy room with a made bed when he’s gone and not the sort of organized chaos that takes place in his room currently. I’m going to miss seeing the golf spikes near the doorway and the golf club head covers resting on my kitchen counters. I’ll miss the backpack that was always parked across the dining table and not in the cubby in the office where it belongs. And to be honest, as a working mom, I’m going to miss giving my son a quick call in the afternoon if I have to stay late on campus asking him to pick his younger sister up from school activities or take her to her job.

He probably doesn’t know just how much we love having him around and how much we rely on him as a part of this family. He also probably doesn’t truly comprehend how much I will miss him. He and I have a similar sense of humor and find the same things funny; we share inside jokes that no one else in the house gets; and he still hugs and kisses me without being asked to do so.

Yes, it’s going to be a lot quieter around here. A lot emptier. When we eat dinner, there will be that empty chair.

I should be ready for this—I’ve had 18 years to prepare for it.

But as you can ascertain, clearly I am not.

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