Mel Henry's Blog, page 5

How's that Bucket List coming along?

Last year, I vowed to begin completing more items on my Bucket List. By the year's end, I'd completed eighty-six items on the list, fourteen of them having been done in 2012. WOO! Unfortunately, the claws of depression gripped me pretty hard and I spent much of the year just trying to breathe. Actually getting out there and living was far beyond my capabilities at the time.
This year, I've also been slow on checking things off the list, but even so, checking even one item off the list is an accomplishment because I'm not dead yet, so there's always tomorrow to get more done. Of course, I'm constantly adding new things to the list so my quest will never really be done, but it keeps things fun.
What have I done this year?
February
264. Photograph a Pacific sunset. Done in Malibu at Leo Carillo State Park.
249. Do a tequila shot with Michael Cudlitz. Feb 24th at Chevy's in Burbank.


April
266. Have Buffalo wings at the Anchor Bar. April 9th on our way home from Ft. Drum.
268. Meet Bret Michaels. At 7 Flags Event Center on April 28th


July
267. Have my book published. Distance and Time went to digital sales on July 16th.



August
81. Ride in a private plane. August 9th - A pilot friend of mine took me on a brief flight to the Des Moines area for aerial photos.


October144. Own a white kitten. Meet Jack aka Repo. We adopted him on October 8th.

Happy Fall Y'all!

October 1st. When the hell did it become October first?! Where did the rest of the year go? Feels like just yesterday I was putting away Christmas decorations and it won't be too long before I'm dragging them back out. The good news is that my lazy ass never took them back to the shed, so at least I won't have to be digging them out of the shed when it's cold and there's snow blowing around. 
We're a little more than a month into the school year. Big Man is a senior now (still trying to figure out when that happened, too) and Midget's a sophomore. The older they get, the more I enjoy spending time with them. Sure, they still try my patience at times, but overall, they're pretty good kids.
Hubby has been busy with work. He's the type of person who gets restless when he isn't busy, so between his full-time job and his part-time job, I see him in passing half the time. He's happiest when he's busy, though, so I don't fuss too much. He also started bowling, so he's actually enjoying some of his free time, too.
Me? I've been busy with a thousand things and nothing at all. Aside from working on the second book in the Time After Time series, I've been spending a lot of time with friends and family. We lost Pops (my bestie's dad) at the beginning of September, so we've been focusing a lot more on what's important: loved ones. Sunday dinners are becoming a tradition for us and that's something we really enjoy. With most of my family gone or moved away, this "adoptive" family of mine has been pretty great to kickstart old family traditions. 
This month should mark the release date of Distance and Time in paperback, which I am THRILLED about! I know a lot of my fans are old school folks and have been waiting for this. And I have to admit, it's going to be pretty incredible to have my OWN book on my bookcase instead of everyone else's. Not that being an author isn't a reality for me, but having it in literal black and white somehow makes it more real. Pretty exciting!
I'm hoping to get some Halloween decorations up later today or tomorrow and really gear up for Fall. Who knows, I may even get a hair up my butt and do some baking later. Yeaaaaaah, we all know that isn't gonna happen, but it was a fun thought, right?
What's on your agenda for this month?

Daisy a Day

In 1995, the internet was still relatively new to the masses. We were warned to never give personal information to anyone we met online because it wasn't safe. People weren't who they said they were and everybody was a child molester. Okay, you and I know that wasn't true, but there for a while, it was a little scary and everybody was overly cautious.
Despite that, I managed to navigate my way through a great chat site full of people from every imaginable stretch of life - lawyers, actors, politicians, writers, insurance salesmen, housewives, musicians. We shared little bits of our lives in public forums and, in time, began developing very real relationships in an otherwise cyber world. On New Year's Eve that year, I met Heine.


Heine was twenty-four years older than I was and, while at times he was very much a father-figure to me, there were many times, when he filled a role in my life that until then, no other man ever had. I grew to love him deeply despite the fact that we've never met in person. He was my shoulder during a very dark post-partum depression. He helped me cope with my divorce. And many times, he was the only person I trusted with things that mattered the most to me. I wasn't one to trust easily, especially during that period of my life, so to give that to him meant a lot to both of us.
We had silly times and inside jokes. We had heart-felt conversations and shared our favorite music with one another. Like any relationship, we had our share of disagreements, too but Heine was the kind of person I couldn't stay mad at for long. He was sensitive and generous. His heart knew no bounds when it came to forgiveness and understanding. I cherished our friendship and always made sure he knew how much. Heine taught me how to live in the moment, soak up every drop of rain as well as every ray of sunshine and appreciate life for every experience we have.
Because of that, I wanted to do something special to honor his effect on my life. The tribute came in the form of a daisy tattoo. It was my first and will always be the most special to me for who it represents. Heine used to sing to me one of his favorite songs, "Daisy a Day." It seemed fitting that a daisy symbolize his impact on my life. Heine was deeply touched by what I'd done, despite his religious belief that tattoos were a forbidden thing. Knowing Heine, it was probably because it was forbidden that he liked it so much. He was a rebel like that, sometimes, and he taught me to be a little bit of a rebel, too. He appreciated my spunk and moxie. He liked my sassy, demanding nature and encouraged it in every way. He loved me completely and unconditionally, as did I in return.


On August 21st, 2006, all of that changed.
Heine and his son-in-law went on a fishing trip together on Lake Nipissing, near Toronto. Neither of them came home from the trip. Their boat somehow capsized and both men drowned.
I won't go into how profoundly this loss affected me, but I will tell you that I still miss him. I still think of him. I still go to our private chat room on the site where we met. I still leave messages for him as if he'll log in at any time. It brings me peace and helps me deal with the lingering grief.
In the last seven years since the accident, I've been trying to figure out a way to visit the lake where Heine died, but haven't been able to get there. And honestly, I'm not sure I could handle the reality of seeing it in person, anyway. But I wanted to somehow recognize the place where he took the last breath.
I thought about it for quite a while and finally decided what I wanted to do. Last winter I called on a friend who lives in Canada to see if she'd be willing to do it on my behalf since I couldn't get there myself. I had a very simple, but specific task in mind. She arranged with a friend of hers who lives near the lake to take a daisy to the lake and throw it in the water. I wasn't specific about what to say or do. I knew that Heine would know what it meant, so much explanation or fanfare wasn't needed.
Today, on the seventh anniversary of his death, an "angel among us" carried out my wish. I don't know their name and I'm certain they don't know mine, but I am so grateful for their kindness. This is the breathtaking result:

I'll give you a daisy a day, dear.
I'll give you a daisy a day.
I'll love you until the rivers run still,
And the four winds we know blow away.

Distance and Time - available, at last!

Hey all!
Unless you've been held captive or have been otherwise away from social media this week, I'm sure you've already heard about the release of my debut novel, Distance and Time from my Time After Time series.
For those who have ignored my self-promotion, were kidnapped, or whose internet went down for the week, you can find the book in eReader format at the following links:
Amazon for KindleBarnes & Noble for NookSmashwords (for other eReader formats such as iPad and Kobo)
Many readers have asked for paperback copies and that will be an option very soon. I've outsourced that task to my creative editor, illustrator and formatting genius, Kim, who has assured me it's coming along nicely. Because it involves a printed book, it obviously takes a bit more time to ensure it's exactly how I want it, but I promise, as soon as it's made available, I'll let you all know. It should also become available on iTunes at some point for Apple devices, but as of now, you can buy it through Smashwords in that format. Also, there are free Nook and Kindle apps available for download to your phone, tablet or PC at BarnesandNoble.com and Amazon.com.
To those who have already bought it, read it, and/or reviewed it, thank you SO much! I appreciate all the feedback I'm getting and I'm thrilled that you love Josh and Carly as much as I do. To those still waiting, thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoy it!

Also, please leave me reviews, if possible. As I've mentioned before, I am not only the author, but I'm also my own publisher and marketing team. I am responsible for how well my book is received and I am fully reliant on your reviews, tweets, shared statuses and everyday word-of-mouth to help spread the news of my book. You can leave reviews on my author page on Facebook,  Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Goodreads.

Thanks again!

Follow-through

My name is Mel and I have a problem with follow-through.
Hi, Mel!
I'm 39 years old and for the very first time in my life, I set out to do something and accomplished it. When hurdles came between me and my goal, I found a way to knock them down or go around. I didn't let naysayers get the best of me. I refused to listen to the voice in my head who said repeatedly, "You can't do this." I pushed. And I busted my ass. And I did it.
I published a book.
Is it a best-seller? I don't know. I don't even care right now. All I care is that I did it. I did something that I've wanted to do my entire life and I followed through with it until the end. It wasn't without help from others, of course. Encouragement, support and physical assistance through some of the tougher parts, but dammit, I did it. It's my moment to celebrate, so if you'll excuse me for just a moment...
Cheers, bitches!

Thirty-nine

In an hour, I turn thirty-nine. That's a lot of cakes, birthday candles and parties since this first birthday in 1975. I still love cakes. And birthday parties. And presents. But I don't get too many of those these days and that's all right, I guess.
Mom always made the biggest deal about birthdays. She threw me a party every year. Many of you may remember the slumber party I had in 1982. 


And 1983.
  

And 1984.

My mother was a brave soul, lemme tell you. After my 8th birthday, she swore she'd never throw another slumber party with that many kids again and she stayed true to her word.  

I did have a 50's theme birthday one year and a swimming party the next. Mom was always good about making me feel special on my birthday. I miss that. I'm sorry to say I don't make big deals out of my kids' birthdays. We'll have parties every once in a while, but for the most part, a special dinner and cake is about all we do.
The thing is, for as great as all those birthdays were, it's the every day I cherish the most. It's laughing at the goofiness my kids come up with. It's crying over their sentimentality. It's enjoying their stories and company. It's having all the kids meet up with us at Buffalo Wild Wings and having a good time. It's listening to them interacting when they think I'm not paying attention. It's not about the birthday candles or the cake or the presents. 
Scratch that. It's TOTALLY about the cake, too - ice cream cake from DQ, thankyouverymuch.
But mostly, it's about enjoying the company of my family.
And I gotta say, 39 is looking pretty awesome.

Sneak Peek at Distance and Time

Sleepless nights. Writer's block. Rewrite after rewrite. It's been a long time coming, but I am so excited to announce the book is officially on the way!


July 16th, 2013, I will be releasing my debut novel Distance and Time , the first book in the Time After Time trilogy. It will be available through Kindle, Nook and other digital formats, and, for those who prefer a physical book, a limited number of paperbacks will also be published soon thereafter. I'll post the links for purchase as soon as they're available, but it should be available through all the same means you purchase books now.


As an independent author, I need your help. Whereas most authors have an agent and publisher to help market their book, I am my marketing team. But, I have what those authors don't have: YOU! You are my most important asset when it comes to word-of-mouth advertising and online reviews. I'm sharing the first chapter of Distance and Time here and, if you like it, I'm hoping you'll share it with others. When the book is released on July 16th, I'm asking you to go online and review it on sites like Amazon and Goodreads.


Without further ado, I give you Distance and Time:


Chapter 1

July 2003

            I gasped as my driver blasted his horn and slammed on the brakes sending me, my bag and my cell phone careening toward the Plexi-glass partition.  It was the third time we’d been cut off in less than two blocks. I adored living in Manhattan, but the traffic was murder. I despised city traffic. I used to despise cities, in general. How I ended up in the biggest city in the country still baffles me.

            I am from a small Minnesota town just outside Minneapolis, where I was headed in exactly two-and-a-half hours, provided I didn’t get smeared across 3rd Avenue first. Another cab nearly sideswiped us, and I held my breath again. My nerves were shot, and we weren’t even out of the city yet. I scrambled to gather my belongings from the floor and stuff them back into my purse.

            “Damn it! Watch where you’re going!” The cabby combined a verbal lashing with a blare of his horn again, though we both knew the offending driver wouldn’t hear him or the horn. Everybody honked his horn in this city. It was second only to breathing. In fact, if one listened closely, there was a melodious rhythm to horn-honking, each horn having its own tone of voice. A series of quick beeps could be perceived as friendly encouragement to merge ahead of someone while a long blast indicated impatience or frustration. This horn was definitely the latter.

            This trip to Minneapolis was not my idea, but since my broken engagement in May, my best friend Alejandro had been hounding me to snap out of my depression and visit him. He apparently believed that catching up with old classmates at our ten-year reunion would help me do that. He was mistaken –- I needed far more than that to fix what was wrong, but I humored him anyway. And by “humored him,” I mean that I let him buy my plane ticket and pay for my hotel room for the weekend. I suspected he would also be picking up my liquor tab, too.

            Traffic began to move again, and I settled back into my seat, my thoughts quickly drifting to my high school years. While school itself wasn’t bad, the relationship with my parents was shaky at best, so I was more than ready to leave town by the time my senior year came about. I researched colleges nationwide, even the University of Hawaii –- whatever it took to get as far away from home as possible. That was my goal: to escape. My guidance counselor reminded me daily that the only way to get into a decent school was to get good grades and be involved in as many extra-curricular activities as possible.  I did as much as I could so my bases were covered, but I focused primarily on the activities that would look best on my college applications, like editing the school newspaper and participating in speech and debate. My stepfather made it blatantly clear he wasn’t paying a dime for my schooling. “If you want it bad enough, youfigure out how to pay for it,” he said. So I did.

            Four years later with a degree from NYU in my hand and my whole life head of me, I rented my first grown-up apartment. While small, it was clean and in a safe neighborhood just a few blocks from Columbus Circle. I loved it, and it suited me perfectly. I was one of the few single women in New York who could afford to live in Manhattan without a roommate or a sugar daddy. That didn’t come without a price, though. I had run into my soon-to-be landlord at Starbucks –- literally –- just a few weeks before I had to give up my student housing. Ira Goldman was a sweet, small-framed Jewish man, and I hadn’t seen him when I turned around too quickly in the crowded coffee shop. He ended up wearing my latté. I begged forgiveness, and he gave it to me, but not before he introduced me to his son, Eli –- who was a not-so-sweet, not-so-small-framed Jewish boy –- and guilted me into a date with him. I barely made it through the date with Eli, whom I would liken to a whiney octopus, but I did manage to land a great one-bedroom apartment out of the deal. Six years later, Ira still charges me half the rent he does the other tenants because he’s convinced someday I’ll convert to Judaism and marry Eli.

            Another car horn jolted me back to the present. An impatient driver behind us motioned to move out of his way. My driver glanced in the rear-view mirror but dismissed his impatience with a shrug. His indifference was returned with some foreign hand gesture –- probably Italian –- of which I’m certain I didn’t want to know the meaning. I definitely hated big city traffic. This little vacation would do me some good. My stress levels were high. Deadlines were constant, and I had to frequently remind myself that writing was my passion and not the tedious job it often became. I blindly reached into my handbag and dug around for my container of Tums, shaking a couple out and popping them into my mouth. I was sure I was getting an ulcer.

            Going to the class reunion didn’t remotely interest me, and while I debated not going, I couldn’t avoid home forever. As a rule, I didn’t believe in regrets and had never wished I’d done anything differently, but I suppose I had to face my demons at some point. I’d faced my biggest demon –- my stepfather, at my mother’s funeral in 1995, but other than that, I’d avoided home for the most part, offering one excuse after another why I couldn’t join my siblings for the holidays or other special occasions.

            Alejandro was the only reason I was going to this reunion. He didn’t really give me an option. “We’re both fucking fabulous! You’re published. I work for the Chicago-fucking-Bulls. We’re going if for no other reason than bragging rights. Pack your shit!”

            I’d known Alejandro since junior high. His family moved to our little town when Alex and I were in seventh grade. In our town of 1,500 people, he and his family were the only Hispanics. Needless to say, in a world of pasty-white Minnesotans, he stuck out in the crowd. He’d been teased mercilessly by our classmates, first for his heritage and then, in high school, for his sexuality. Our friendship started out of pity; I won’t lie. But we soon forged a strong bond. He was my best friend in high school, and now, years later, he’s still my best friend. We had gone through everything together. He was there for me when my first boyfriend broke my heart. I was there when his did. He was there when I stood up to my parents about moving to New York my senior year. I was there for him when he came out to his family the same year. To say we’d been through Hell and back was a mild understatement. If best friends could be soul mates, this man was mine.

            Even now, with eight-hundred miles separating us, we stayed in touch. In college, we’d begun our traditional “Friends Night” every Thursday. We’d watch Friends, then one of us would call the other, depending on whose week it was to foot the long-distance bill, and catch up for the next two hours.

            Alejandro wasn’t far off the mark about us being fabulous, actually. If the alumni newsletters were to be believed, we were more successful than most of our classmates. I worked for one of the most circulated papers in the nation, and I lived in one of the greatest cities in the world. It would be fun to act a little haughty, I thought. And really? It wasn’t much of a stretch for me these days. I’d always felt like I was too good for the simplistic, slower lifestyle of the Heartland and wanted more. I considered myself an East Coaster within ten minutes of stepping onto New York concrete. I snipped many of my Midwestern roots as quickly as possible, wanting to distance myself from everything I’d grown up with. If truth be told, other than the occasional e-mail or phone call, I had cut ties with almost everyone back home. I moved on and outgrown so many people I’d once called friends. Alex and I were very much alike in that respect, which is what had cemented our friendship all those years ago.

            The cab finally pulled up in front of the terminal at LaGuardia, and I went inside. I checked my suitcase, waited my turn to be molested by Homeland Security, then headed to my gate and waited. I sucked back half a bottle of water and downed two Dramamine. I didn’t usually get sick when flying, but I hadn’t felt good for a few days and hoped it would help. Between my anxiety over the reunion and the deadlines at work that had me running on empty, I had been burning the candles at both ends for quite a while now.

            I pulled out the yearbook I’d put in my carry-on, flipping through it and smirked at Alejandro’s signature inside the back cover. He had filled it with random memories in the form of a top-ten list –- typical Alejandro: lists and summaries. He had always been OCD like that. God love him. I was looking forward to seeing him again.

            I thought back on our friendship and random memories filled my head: sophomore year and the argument over which one of us could have the tall, quiet one from our favorite boy band (He won, of course, because he’d read in some tabloid that they batted for the same team. “You’re not even his type!” he said. Who could argue with solid logic like that?); Junior year when he lent me his cardigan because I forgot it was picture day for the yearbook and hadn’t worn dress clothes; Senior year when I told him I’d been accepted to NYU, and we spent the entire weekend holed up in his room eating ice cream and lamenting how we’d never see each other again (even though we both knew we’d talk every day on the phone). Although we weren’t as close as we once were –- the distance between Chicago and New York caused much of that drift between us –- I still considered Alejandro my best friend.

            The loudspeaker boomed with the boarding announcement for my flight. I stuffed the yearbook back in my bag, handed the attendant my ticket and made my way down the jet bridge. I grabbed my iPod and the latest Cosmo from my bag before I tucked it in the overhead luggage compartment and settled into my first class seat, a luxury I refused to compromise on, at least for this particular trip. The complimentary (and much-needed) liquor was worth the price of the ticket. Within a half-hour, we were soaring down the runway and lifting into the sky. When we reached cruising altitude, I tucked the magazine away, stuck my headphones on my ears and turned on my mp3 player. I filled an entire playlist with songs from the 80’s and 90’s, and I couldn't hold back that nostalgic lump in my throat as their song came on. I forgot they were ever that young…that any of us were. I was immediately transported back to high school.

The Calm Before the Storm

It's not many authors who get the chance to take a month off from their lives to go on a writing sabbatical before their first book is published. In fact, there aren't many people in general who get to take a month off from life. Given the chaos in my life over the last year, I feel especially blessed to be able to do this.
I recently touched base with a couple of friends of mine -- one in the writing world and one who is a former PR person -- who gave me some priceless advice on launching my book later this summer. So while I'm technically supposed to be spending much of my vacation writing, I'm also using this time to reach out to those who have been valuable assets to me during this writing phase. 
As a reader, I never truly appreciated the work that goes into writing a book, much less getting one ready for publication. My job consisted of buying the book and inhaling it as quickly as possible, then waiting impatiently for the next book. I had no idea what went on behind the scenes. Up until recently, most authors had an agent and a publisher to take care of all the details. But, in this world of self-publishing that so many authors are entering lately, the hard work is up to the authors themselves. Being a rookie in this field, it's even tougher because I don't have a lot of people who've gone before me to pave the way. I have numerous author friends, but as I mentioned, most went the traditional path. I'm sure I will screw up at some point -- at many points, probably -- but that's all part of learning the process I suppose. 
All I know is that I'm enjoying all of it, despite how overwhelmed I feel at times. I can't wait to get Distance and Time into the hands of my readers so you can fall in love the characters as much as I have. I think maybe I'm even more excited because every minute of the process is in my hands. I am a little nervous, of course, but knowing that I'm in control of each step of this book helps me appreciate the process that much more. 
Be sure to follow me on Twitter at @Mel_Henry for the latest book updates. If you're less of a Twitter person and more of a Facebook person, you can find me there, too: Mel Henry. I look forward to getting to know my readers!

Saying no and setting limits

When I got on the plane last week that brought me to Colorado, I only half-listened to the safety demonstration given by the flight attendants. After as many trips as I've taken, I pretty much know them by heart anyway. But as I sat there waiting for take-off, I heard the attendant talk about the oxygen masks. She instructed us that in case of depressurization of the cabin, these masks would drop from the ceiling and we were to put on our own masks before helping anyone else with theirs. I've heard this speech a dozen times, but for some reason I was feeling philosophical and took it with deeper meaning this time.
It made me realize that I have to stop, breathe and gather my strength before I care for others.
As I limped my way through the depths of depression this last year, I learned many things: about myself, about my family, about my friends and about my faith. If I had to limit myself to just one lesson to remember, though, it would be that I have to take care of myself first before I can take care of anyone else. That means setting boundaries and recognizing my own limits. That's not an easy task.
This oxygen mask thing is exactly that same way. I'd be the moron trying to hold my breath while my mask swings in my face as I help somebody next to me. Hello, dumbass! Put on your mask! Save yourself first!
I've always felt selfish putting myself ahead of my loved ones. To put my own needs first meant I cared more about myself than I did about those around me. 
And that, my loves, is the point exactly.
I've spent my entire life putting everyone else first. My husband. My kids. My friends. My pets. My neighbor. My family. I give them what I have and if there's anything left, I'll take it for myself. Over the last few years, I've learned to take time for myself - vacations, nights out with the girls, dinner with hubby, eating the last package of popcorn without apologizing for it.  But I still hadn't learned how to care for myself emotionally before expending that energy on others. I'm the friend people call when they need a listening ear or advice. I've always been that person and up until now, I've never turned anyone away.
The other night I had dinner with a new friend who is also a therapist and the conversation we had was exactly what my broken spirit needed. I realized that chaos, noise and craziness is overrated and when I'm in the midst of those things, I can't find peace for myself. I'm a strong woman - one of the strongest I know, actually, but I'm only strong enough to carry my own burdens.
So while I hate that someone else is hurting, I can't pick up the pieces for them. Someday I might be able to, but right now my hands are full with my own pieces. It doesn't mean I don't love them. It doesn't mean I don't care about their problems. It doesn't mean I don't want them to get better. It just means that I can't hold my breath while I help them find theirs.

I heard it through the grapevine...

An opportunity has come up for me to spend a month in Denver with my friend Kim. She's recently moved back to Colorado after having spent a year in New York City and is getting settled back in. She's asked me to come spend some time with her while she reacclimates to Rocky Mountain life. It started out as a weekend, but said I was welcome to stay as long as I want to. I've decided to take her up on that offer. I'm struggling creatively and I've been stuck on this second book for over a month. I'm hoping the change of scenery will help break through the writer's block. In such a beautiful place, I'm sure that won't be an issue.
I have discussed it at length with my husband and kids, and I have their full support . Midget has her summer planned out with her bestie, Big Man, too, will be busy with friends as it is his last "free" summer before he graduates next year. Hubby, too, is happy to let me go since he's got his racing hobby that keeps him busy all summer. Obviously, I will miss them and they me, but they also understand that I go where I'm needed and most productive. 
I want to make it clear that my marriage is FINE. We are not separating. We aren't having trouble. We aren't dealing with problems. My relationship with my kids is also fine. Which is why this is the perfect time for me to get away...there aren't any lingering issues that I should be working out instead of traveling. 
I know in the past when I've traveled or spent any time away from home, questions have been posed to my husband about the "obvious downfall" of our marriage, why he "lets" me travel so much, why I enjoy being gone so much, blah blah blah - the list goes on. Let me say this much and then I hope the subject will be closed - frankly, it's nobody's business but my family's as to what we do, where we go or why we do it. But I knew if I didn't say something, the rumors would fly and it would be a bigger nightmare than if I just address it ahead of time. If you are concerned about the health of our familial relationships, we welcome your contact, but if it's to criticize or judge us for the choices we make, we'd just as soon you keep your opinions to yourself.