Kathleen Varn's Blog, page 5

Listening to Elvis “I Can’t Help Falling in Love….”

As much as I thought I had prepared myself for January 22, 2014, becoming a grandmother pushed me back in time. Thirty-five years ago, my daughter would have been three months old. I was only twenty years old.

Yes, I not only juggled a new marriage and taking care of a household– I added being a Mommy in a nine month period. As they placed her on my stomach in the labor room, she lifted her head and stared at me with big brown eyes– then peed on me! Within twenty-four hours, I was home with an 8.5-1/2 ounce baby girl with no instruction manual.

I took raising my daughter to be a strong and independent woman very seriously. I watched and journaled much of her childhood. What excited her, frustrated her (there were many of those!) and helped her through social and spiritual issues. She learned gymnastics, and hung out on a plantation riding a pony named Cinnamon. In eighth grade, she wanted to learn to play the flute. Her eyes twinkled when I handed her the first one from the pawn shop.

I tailored her education by homeschooling for many years before releasing her to attend Middleton High School. She merged well with her peers and teachers. I loved pretending that I had no idea she was being inducted in The National Honor Society. Her surprise during induction is one of our favorite memories. By graduation, she met with an Air Force recruiter but set her sights on a career of nursing.

After my divorce, there was line dancing at a western club called Desperado. I had taken up line dancing two years earlier. The eighteen-year-olds loved to go and dance with the young military guys. I loved her lack of embarrassment that Mom was across the dance floor. She often came over and said everyone was boring and she wanted to hang with the fun people.

Eventually, she met her husband. He was stationed at the Charleston AFB and in 2002, I was given a new role– mother-in-law. One year later, I was also a newlywed.

We supported each other through many happy times filled with laughter as well as loss. I probably aggravated my daughter when I tried to still stand in my mommy shoes. I never pushed an unknown role of grandmother on her or her husband.

So, to our delight, last summer we were informed that there would be twins in our future. Thinking back on the journey of raising Chana Spring, I watch the new parents synchronized in the hospital nursery. Her nursing career had given her experience with labor and delivery and preemie nursery care. In spite of her pre-delivery concern that she wouldn’t quit feeling like a nurse- I assured her that would fall off and she’d fall in love. Post delivery I asked how she felt. She gave me a shy smile and said, “like a mom.”

Two little undiscovered personalities that have chosen the best parents. Parents that will instill a well balanced and disciplined upbringing. A childhood inspired with imagination, love of nature and many loving relatives. Welcome, Izzy and Ellie!

Hubby Steve and I with our new grand-babies…

 

 

There are angels….

I have always tried to listen to an inside nudge to be aware of those I meet along my life’s path. Be patient, resilient, kind and aware that someone’s day may have been a struggle in spite of the smile. My faith encourages me to treat strangers as if they were angels unaware. This is a personal goal before and after the holidays. My point? 

Last week, while on vacation with my sister, we received sad news that would affect multiple family members and the ability to enjoy the long awaited vacation. For eight days, we all sifted through the flurry of updates and emails regarding a health diagnosis for a loved one. Unfortunately, it would tug more deeply on my sister’s heart as she tried to balance the updates with an effort to focus on vacation. During the return trip, we hugged and parted on the Atlanta airport train, the lingering hugs and silent sobs confirmed the inability to escape the heavy news on all of us. My sister’s shoulders carried a heavy burden and she headed to her plane’s gate.

The next morning, she called and shared a stranger’s random act of kindness that put balm on her hurting heart. Her plane’s departure was delayed which created an agitated male passenger slamming his briefcase in protest. The temper tantrum continued until the boarding. She dreaded the possibility of his negative presence beside her on the plane. She was already trying to blend into the crowd masking her tears.

A short flight, retrieval of her bag and she was headed to the parking shuttle area. In search of Shuttle 2. The driver of Shuttle 1 idled inquiring if she needed a ride. She confirmed that she needed Shuttle 2, shivering, exhausted and still faced a forty-five minute commute to her home. Within five minutes and no Shuttle 1 passengers, the driver re-opened the warm van’s door. “Honey, get in here,” she said, “I’ll take you to your car.”

Before she could pick up her suitcase and enter the shuttle, the driver reached for the handle. “Honey, that’s my job. Get inside and get warm,” she said and gently loaded the bag to the luggage rack. Before the driver could shut the door, the angry passenger shoved himself onto the shuttle. “I need Shuttle 1 parking lot. Is this the right one?” he said gruffly.” The driver smiled, nodded, closed the door and looked into the mirror. “What part of Shuttle 2 lot are you in, honey?” she asked my sister. Angry man glared as my sister said, “M-3.”

As the driver found her way, she hummed to the Christmas carols playing on the radio. “What kind of car, sweetie?” she asked. The angry man stared disapprovingly at the curbside service. “At the end of that row, the black Honda,” she answered, avoiding the man’s glare. She fumbled in her purse for keys… and a nice tip.

With the van in park, the driver invited my sister to exit as she retrieved the bag for her. After she snapped the trunk of her car closed and hugged the driver, she watched the red tail lights fade as the shuttle turned the corner. Through her tears, there was a halo. If this was a scene from It’s a Wonderful Life, she’d hear the sound of a bell tinkling that an angel had earned her wings.

 

Spotlight…. please!

My family has always joked that of the four girls in the family, the spotlight was always on Kerry, Kerry, Kerry. (Yes, she is the topless one in the picture) However, while researching dated photos for my next writing project, I ran into this photo taken by my father as he finished his degree at Purdue University. My sister, Kerry, had even tried to trump me by being born exactly one month before from my FIRST year oldest daughter birthday!  Obviously, I hadn’t got the memo that my time in the spotlight was over!

As I struggled to get a story within the cover of Ameera Unveiled based on my own childhood angst without the instruction of formal dance training, I assumed I had always been shy and fearful. Officially be advised… the posing diva is Mu-ah.At what point did something– or someone — shut down the joy of this little girl feeling safe and hammy within her family unit? We’ve all experienced life lessons through birth order, cultural influences, educational experiences and genetics. As a fifty-something woman, I’ve been fascinated looking back at the tentacles of my personal history’s twists and turns. Highs and lows. Personal growth comes through drought and refreshment. Challenges of parenting and a career.

Just as the character in my book, Ameera Unveiled, had lost her innate dream that she would dance boldly and confidently from outside messages from adult judgments and lost opportunities, I was refreshed from a simple 1959 photo. I adore all my sisters but felt like this picture painted a thousand words that said: “Kat, even as the oldest daughter– you deserve the spotlight sometimes too!” 

 

I’m Off To See The Wizard… Again

As a baby boomer born in the late ’50s, the Wizard of Oz had debuted nineteen years earlier. With the development of television, CBS broadcast the movie annually as of 1959. I’m not sure at what age my mother felt it was an age appropriate movie for her daughters. In spite of the beauty of the ruby red slippers, there were witches and flying evil monkeys. Society was not inundated with games or shows desensitizing children regarding the taking of life. The only act of violence I remember was when JFK was shot; I was in kindergarten.

In spite of owning one black and white television, I remember being allowed to stay up late to discover and soon celebrate Oz’s example of good triumphing over evil. When we bought our first color television, it became a new and still exciting annual broadcast in our home.

After the birth of my daughter, I looked forward to sharing the adventures of Dorothy and her new friends. Almost every home owned a VCR and my mother was quick to make the movie available to show her granddaughters on sleep-overs. For my daughter’s first grade book project, she requested to be Dorothy with her stuffed Benji dog peeking from a picnic basket. I covered her tennis shoes in red sequin elastic ribbon.

Why am I sharing this piece of personal trivia? I wonder how much of those early messages of good vs. evil transcended my own resistance to accepting current trends of bullying and histrionics. Reality shows tend to emphasize negative interactions among circles of ‘friends.’ And I know Oz is the source of my love for ruby red stilettos and meeting new friends through life’s adventures.

In my own story of Ameera Unveiled, the main character finds herself in a quest to find her way home to a natural calling to dance. She seeks the help of her Wizard of Dance, Sybil Yocum.  Leaving the love and safety of her own home, there is a bond created between strangers discovered on a glittery journey to Jamaica.

I feel blessed that so many readers have given me their own appreciation of Ameera and her desire to face her demons and obstacles. Last week, when my sister called and asked me to go to the 3-D version of The Wizard of Oz, I sat among a predominantly baby boomer crowd. Untiringly, we lip synced the words of the songs and simultaneously clapped as Dorothy whispered those famous words: “There’s no place like home.”

It struck a personal victory in my own heart that there is a universal story that people still want to believe in. As we each take our journey down the yellow brick road, with or without our ruby red slippers, most of us want to find a bond. Bonds that remain in spite of physical separation and time. Experiences that urge us to move forward and to never stop discovering our own personal enlightenment.

Dear Pen Pal

I grew up in the days of pen pals. Looking back, the closest I got to social media were ads in the back of my comic books or Mad magazine. There were little postage stamp size ads with addresses to find a pen pal in another part of the country. I’d use loose leaf paper and start with “Dear Pen Pal… How are you? I am fine.” I probably asked what was their favorite television show, cartoon or share what book I was reading. I’d give them to my mother and she would show me how to address the envelope. I’d lick my stamp before depositing in the classic blue tin mailboxes. I can still hear the clunk of the door when I released it from tip toes. Ahhhh… the days of snail mail have been left behind by the internet energizer bunny!

As I moved into adulthood, marriage and parenting, I looked forward to finding a fat envelope in my mailbox. I was eager for news and updates from my out of town friends and family. The fatter the envelope, the more excited I became as walked back to the house. It was like Wells Fargo or the Mail Boat had visited and left precious cargo.

Since 2000, my new pen pals tend to be connections through social media. Last night I received a Facebook message loving the message from a gamer of my recent book. I was reflecting on how amused I’ve been with my Facebook game friends. I have friends all over the world that I’ve met through Farmville, Candy Crush and other minor distractions. Shari Stauch opens new social media doors for me to promote my love of writing. As I promote, Ameera Unveiled, my gamer friends leave me messages declaring their amusement and enjoyment of her journey. It brings back that same feeling I experienced seeking pen pals.

Stay in touch. As much as we tend to resist change and love the clanging of that blue tin mail box, I also love hearing “You’ve Got Mail!” or So-and-So needs lives.

First Booksigning Jitters!

When I hear the word performance, it stimulates my imagination and relevance in my life. In hindsight, I guess I’ve performed in some way shape or form since birth. Taking my first steps, learning to talk and playing well with others. I remember suppressing tears of fear as I was walking to my first day of kindergarten. As the oldest daughter, I was the first to perform in many new venues.

As a newly published author, I knew I would face another performance—a public appearance at a bookstore. I knew I’d have to do it one day. The weekend before I was to vacation in San Francisco, I isolated myself, looking up Google advice on ‘how to perform at a book signing.’ My publisher had hinted they were trying to get me into a book store while I was on the west coast. As I jumped from website to website, my stomach nervously cringed. My inexperience raised questions faster than I could find the answers.

Ten days later, I was planning my reading/appearance at Green Apple Bookstore at 6th and Clement Street. My husband and I took a cab to preview the location and get direction from our contact, Nick. The reading room was amazing and intimate. It brought my performance terror down a notch. While my lunch gurgled in my stomach, I made a trip to Kinkos to print documents, including a blog I wanted to open with. I exhaled in an effort to get my nerves off the ledge as I dressed. I’d decided that I would always perform in my favorite red glitter stilettos. It helped me get in character—author.

I was surrounded by my travel buddies and some of their old friends. The cherry on top was the appearance of two audience members that attended voluntarily. Any script that I may have thought I’d prepared went out the window. It was relaxed, spontaneous and I loved the questions. What did I learn from my first book promotion?

Have fun engaging with the readers! Accept the spotlight but share the stage with potential followers. I wanted my room to feel like they were sitting with me in my living room.
Prepare but be flexible. To read or not to read? I felt the pulse of the room and used the reading materials I’d marked in my book, and had a website blog ready if I needed it.
If this had not been so last minute, I would have used my social media more. One of my readers was an old acquaintance I met on a dive trip in 2005. She saw it on Facebook only a couple hours before the event. The other visitor was associated with my publisher and book coach. Subsequently, she followed me with a message on Twitter.
Thank the organizer. I brought San Francisco’s Ghirardelli chocolate for the staff. I followed up with a thank you and tagged their bookstore in photos.

Having experienced my first book promotion performance, I now look forward to another. And, I will be wearing my glittery red heels!

 

KOBO Book Sale This Weekend: Ameera Featured!

Excited to be part of a special promotion on KOBO this weekend… Enjoy the weekend sales at KOBO, including a discount on Ameera Unveiled!

Green Apple Bookstore appearance

Another serendipity moment. I’m cutting my teeth for a book appearance revealing Ameera Unveiled at an iconic bookstore in San Francisco, CA —– Green Apple Bookstore. I hope when it the clock strikes midnight, I lose my glass slipper and my coach turns back into a pumpkin!

I feel like Cinderella

Ameera’s in a Beauty Pageant!

Ameera Unveiled finally hit the door on Thursday, July 25, 2013. Last night, I found out my book cover is being competed in Southern Writers Magazine Best Cover Contest. Would you go look and vote? Listed alphabetically by author… Kat Varn — Ameera Unveiled. If you can get anyone else… that would be awesome. Voting is open until August 30, 2013.

http://www.southernwritersmagazine.com/index.html

She really is one of the prettiest….

“It was never just about the cards… Patricia Sands”

Recently, I was honored to be on Southern Writers Magazine’s must reads list. Gary Fearon graciously alerted me and I hit his link. Penning and marketing a book is still an unexplored territory for me. Seeing my cover beside a blog by Patricia Sands regarding her message in The Bridge Club, put a lump in my throat.

It was never just about the cards… Patricia Sands

Three years ago, when I approached my writing coach/editor, Shari Stauch, with my story idea— without hesitation she pushed me to my laptop to learn my character’s voice.

Like Patricia, I didn’t write the book with publishing in mind. I wanted to scratch writing a novel off my bucket list. And, I’ve always marveled at how life throws twists and turns. I’ve learned if I keep a sense of humor, there is usually a serendipitous ending. Our concern was ‘could a book focusing on women bonding’ vs. ‘a book with cat fights and mean girls’ be embraced? I’m a lover of Peace signs and patchouli. So, I went with the first idea. I wanted to capture the essence of women who have a magnificent ability to find deep bonds in spite of their diverse walks of life.

Who did SWM display my book next to? I read the blog and my jaw opened at each paragraph. Here is one of my favorite parts of Patricia’s blog: “It was life I wanted to write about. The strong supportive non-judgmental bond, which the true friendship of women delivers: like that of my Bridge Club. My editor urged that readers want to see conflict and drama between women. I argued this is a stereotype often applied to women and their friendships and I refused to fall prey to it. Often friendships are true, honest, and strong. Often the issues we face in life do work out. That was the story I wished to tell.”

So, with that said, I hope readers of Ameera Unveiled find the same amazing message as the characters find each other through an advertisement to learn belly dancing. I blow all of you kisses with glitter!