Kerry Peresta's Blog, page 2

Clarity

I attended a church Bible study group this week, and we discussed how God’s presence affects each of us in individual ways. It was a spirited, interesting discussion, and reaffirms my joy in establishing a regular prayer time and seeking wisdom from someone other than myself. Someone bigger, higher, stronger, and all-knowing. That this is even possible blows my mind.

One of the women in the group mentioned that when she feels God’s presence it brings ‘clarity’. Such an intriguing, wonderful word. I asked her to elaborate. She said when she feels that soul-stirring peace and a few chill bumps as she is in prayer, or doing something that she feels she’s been led by God to do…that it brings a sense of ‘oh, yeah, this is what I’m meant to be doing. All that worry, anxiety, and phoofing around about stuff is ridiculous. He is in charge, not me, and all will be well’.

I thought this perspective was magnificent. I’ve been thinking about the word ‘clarity’ ever since and today, my publisher clarified something really well for me.

To give a little background, I’m biting my nails over the release of Book Two in the Olivia Callahan Suspense series, and things have gone wrong and taken longer than I anticipated to get going. Therefore, I’ve not been able to advertise, get my book trailer done, create new publicity sheets, send out a newsletter, or saturate social media with the new cover, or move forward in any way. Pre-orders, for instance. Not happening, at least for now. I’ve sent several emails asking what the heck is going on and none of them were answered. So I muttered and moaned and complained and waited. Don’t we just hate waiting? When we don’t know if, when, why, or how anything is happening in something that seems oh-so-very important to us?

Today, not wanting to bug her but annoyed at myself for thinking that I’m an irritation…I sent yet another polite email inquiring about status. To my delight, I got an immediate answer. Seems this person had had a health issue, had been unable to move forward on many things, but was roarin’ to go, and here, now, Kerry…this is what’s happening and this is what you can do for us.

This was great news to me! I had found my ‘clarity’ and I think it would’ve been easier without the moaning and complaining (my poor husband). Plus, in the vast expanse of not knowing the status, I’d spent a great amount of time designing my own personal version of what I considered to be the best book cover ever. Which is hard for me to resist, because I was in the ad design field for many years. However, today my publisher brought ‘clarity’. I was in no way going to cause them to start over and do a re-design, but they would consider my suggestions and try their best to make me happy with what they had already designed. She promptly sent me the cover designs for my input.

To summarize, they are in charge and I’m not.

I thought back to the Bible study. Isn’t that what God tries to tell us…all the time? That’s He is in charge and we are not, so why waste our time phoofing around endlessly?

I have decided that I will use ‘clarity’ as my focus during my quiet times in the mornings. In these polarizing and confusing times…I can certainly use more ‘clarity’ to start my day.

The Gift That Keeps Giving

My oldest daughter Bonnie, gifted me a Storyworth book in the spring of 2021, which is a series of questions picked out by my grown kids that is turned into a book after a year’s worth of weekly questions. This book will be given to myself, and my four kids, and it is a wonderful, thoughtful, gift.

Little did I know how much of my past this exercise would dredge up – both good and bad. And little did she know it would pull out some interesting conversations between us all. But it’s also been a very cool journey…a way of reminding me how far I’ve come, and maybe bringing to mind issues that even now need to be addressed. It’s crazy though, that since I’m a writer, I can’t just jot an answer down and let it go. My daughter asked recently about how many I’d completed, and I had to admit I hadn’t done it every week as the questions came, I kind of picked the ones I thought would be more interesting and worked on those, but also…I have to edit and ponder these answers. Then find pictures to go along with them. Perhaps go back and edit again. It takes me a while, for sure!

My daughter rolled her eyes and laughed. But as I think about this, and that maybe I should be more quick about it, I realize that for many of these questions there IS no short response. These are major life events we’re talking about that happened maybe thirty or forty years ago, and they aren’t simple to remember, or to unpack now. Once this book is published, it’s out for perpetuity, right? In the hands of my kids and passed down for generations. It is definitely a daunting prospect and I don’t want to be cavalier about it, and I DO want to be truthful, which has caused a few raised eyebrows and objections from my kids.

And there it is. Now I have to think about the weighty subject of ‘how much of the truth is really necessary to share’ and ‘where IS the truth and does it really matter?’ and all that. Big sigh. Nope I can’t just jot down a memory and let it go, because all of it had and still has meaning and heft and motivations and consequences. I must turn it over, examine it, and mold it into some kind of life lesson.

Much to my kids’ everlasting despair.

I have to admit, I find the whole process very entertaining.

Final Stages

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As I finish up Book Two in the Olivia Callahan Suspense series, I’m thinking about what a huge effort it is to take a story from idea to the advance review copy (ARC) stage. I don’t know about other authors, but I’m so sick of my manuscript by the time I’ve written the story, edited it myself and rewritten the story; recruited betas to read it so I can get input from fresh eyes and perspectives, make the changes suggested, look over it again, format the darn thing in a suitable condition for my editor to start a developmental edit…and after that edit, THEN it goes to copyedits and another round of corrections. In between all that, I try to stay current on social media, schedule author events, and submit cover ideas to my publisher that they will then turn over to the artist. A friend of mine asks if after my book is published, will I read it and regret changing some things, or regret ending it a certain way?

I had to laugh. Heck, no, I don’t read my books after they’re finished. It’s too late to do anything about changing things at that point, and truly, I don’t want to lose myself in the story again, I want to write a new one! Besides, after I’ve taken a breath, and looked back on that the journey of that book, I think about how much further I’ve come as a writer, and the progress that occurs at every stage.

The final stage of a book is bittersweet. After all the blood, sweat, and tears…the critiques and changes and hours spent editing…it’s hard to let go of it. I feel the same way about jobs I’ve had, or bitter debates with relatives or spouses over details that in the long run, matter not one bit. Even the Bible states very clearly that ‘things come to pass’, and that there are seasons for things. Right now I’m in the ‘final stage’ season of my book. Relief is right around the corner, and soon I’m going to let go of it, and schedule a break before I start another one.

So my question is, why get so worked up about stuff? Why do we waste our days this way? It all counts. It all teaches us important lessons. And every experience we have eventually culminates in one, big, fat, final stage. And even then, if you believe in Christ, there’s an eternal stage after the final-final-final stage that sounds pretty awesome.

My daughter’s father and I haven’t been together for more than thirty years, so the final stages of that marriage happened decades ago. She called me with the sad news that her dad was in ICU, with maybe six weeks of life left, and she is in his hospital room, trying to help and support, even as I type this. A final-final-final stage is happening for her dad, and she’s making sure he knows that he counted. For him. For her. This is the important thing…that each final stage hopefully makes a positive change in us and others. She is holding his hand and being there for him to let him know…that his final stage…counts.

In the current climate of 2021, amidst all the fear, worry, anger, and posturing…I don’t care if we vax or un-vax, protest or complain about the protests, cling to socialism or cling to capitalism. Sure, I have my preferences, but in the huge scheme of things, it’s all headed to a final stage, anyway. If I get involved, one way or the other, I should be kind. If I disagree with someone, I should respect their choice. If I get upset over a reaction, or government mandate, I should pray, and act accordingly. Above all, I should not waste my short seasons of life with worry, hate, fear, or inappropriate reactions because of someone else’s choices that have nothing to do with mine. Sinking into the abyss of hatred or judgment robs us of joy.

I’m not letting anyone steal one minute of my joy. Venting and complaining and pouting about something is a complete waste of time, and not worth it. (Not that I’m successful in keeping these things at bay all the time, but I DO know life is better without them!)

I can’t even believe the crazy back-and-forth happening on FB, and the nasty, hateful comments. How do these people even have time to sit there and monitor and answer comments all day long? Isn’t there more to life, people?

During every stage, I’m putting joy at the top of my emotional stack, and hatred and judgment at the bottom. Think about it. The final three letters of ‘enjoy’ are ‘joy’. Let’s get out there and roll around in it.

(Hint: it helps to limit time on social media!)

The “What If?” Factor in Fiction Writing

When I started writing in 2009 as a humor columnist, I wrote in 800-word sound bites that wrapped up neatly and made people laugh, but made them think, too. It was a fun couple of years writing that column weekly for the local newspaper. Then I decided to write a book, a completely different animal.

Unfortunately, I just sat down at my laptop with the seed of an idea and started typing. I wasted a lot of time doing that, but I got a feel for how it felt to write a long piece rather than a short one. Then I started attending writing conferences, and my eyes were opened.

I’d made…Every. Mistake. In the book. (Pun intended)

I went back to my laptop armed with hundreds of pages of notes from writing conferences, and began afresh. One thing that finally wormed its way into my brain, after studying the publishing business from the ground up, was that I was cross-pollinatating women’s fiction and suspense, a process referred to as “genre confusion.”

This is not what publishers are looking for. The book has to tidily fit on a shelf beside other books of the same ilk, and my ilk was confusing. Genres have extremely specific rules, at least if you want to land a publisher; and if those rules aren’t respected the manuscript gets tossed on the slush pile. At the bottom. I got rejected more than thirty times, but kept trying. Finally, I landed a knowledgeable agent that had worked as an acquisitions editor for a major publishing house, and this woman taught me a lot about genre. As we worked together on my manuscript, she proclaimed that I had to choose: women’s fiction or suspense, and if that if she were me, she’d choose suspense.

So I did. Everything I wrote had a dark side anyway, and it didn’t appear I could willingly leave this behind, so instead, I embraced it. This has been great fun. Then, in wondrous and fabulous epiphany, at one of my writing groups, I heard the best definition of the difference between mystery and suspense ever: Mystery is Whodunnit. Suspense is Whydunnit.

The intriguing “Why” of the suspense genre nudges my books toward a women’s fiction/book club slant, and I’ve been writing dark and twisty stories about psychologically or emotionally flawed women ever since.

THE ‘WHAT IF’ FACTOR

Upon finally landing on a genre I enjoyed writing, I looked around for ideas. I am one of those people who enjoys talking to strangers and discovering fascinating tidbits about their lives, so it was no surprise when at one of my writing events for my first book, I stumbled across a story idea for the next one. Among all the authors sitting at tables, salivating for customers to buy their books, one woman drew potential customers like flies to honey. I couldn’t stand it, I had to find out what was so different about this author. I ran over to her table, and we began chatting. She told me she’d had a horrible car accident that had nearly killed her, and she’d been in a coma for six months. When she woke up, she said, she was completely different. Instead of a shy wallflower, she arose a confident, funny, arresting woman, in love with life and grateful for every second. She laughed about it, and I was somewhat horrified, but thoughtful. We parted ways, and The Deadening was born from that idea. I started playing the “What if” game. What if this woman was assaulted? What if her identity has been erased and she lands in a hospital as a Jane Doe. What if her personality is so different, that even her family cannot believe it. What if she had a ridiculously tragic marriage, and her new personality isn’t swallowed so well by her husband?

See how it works? It’s best to play the “What if” game with a couple of glasses of wine and a cat in your lap.

I am happy to report that as a result of playing the “What if” game, my publisher offered me a contract for the next two in the series. “The Rising” releases in 2022, and the final book in 2023. By the time these books release, ‘what if’ I stumble over countless other story ideas in this wild adventure that we call life? I’m positive that I will, and I’m pretty sure they’ll end up as books, too.

Ramblings about Character Development

“Write what disturbs you, what you fear, what you have not been willing to speak about. Be willing to be split open.” — Natalie Goldberg

It worked to my advantage, in the end, to have married men I wasn’t supposed to.

Multiple messy divorces and child custody issues have a way of hanging around in one’s brain for a long time. As do the legal bills.

Alighting from these experiences as a frantic and focused single mom with four kids, I didn’t have time to think about how any of it could end up being a good thing, but it has turned out that way. Miraculously.

As I sit here and write guest posts for the promotion of my second book, and think about the next two I’ve been contracted to write, I’m darkly grateful for these experiences, because I can write my edgy, page-turning thrillers with the quiet competence and composure of “been there, done that.” As hundreds of thousands of other women before me. Single moms, I salute you. It’s not an easy task, or one that anyone would undertake willingly.

Thanks to my graduate degrees in divorce and overly complicated relationships, I can write with astute clarity about psychological warfare, passive-aggressive game-playing, righteous indignation, chronic deception, destruction of property…the list goes on. This makes for a really nasty bad guy, and to my utter delight, I find that most suspense and mystery writers love to write and explore the underpinnings of their bad guys (or girls) more than they like to develop their protagonists. This is both ironic and hilarious to me. I do write my bad guys with a focused contempt…my fingers fly across the keys and I have this little, sardonic smile that pastes itself on my face. With every stroke, I feel a kind of retribution, which is really sick because I should walk in forgiveness.

Oh well. God understands.

So I take these experiences and meld them into antagonists and stretch and pull them in a thousand destructive ways, like a demonic manipulation of the Stretch Armstrong Action Toy. (Have you seen this guy? Why would kids need a stretchable bodybuilder to play with? Just wondering.)

I give them my own form of retribution in the plotline, make them sag and sigh and work out their personal issues, because in my books, and it may be by the skin of her teeth, the woman fights back. She won’t stay down. It may look like the bad guy won. It may look like the woman has bailed for the tenth time. It may look like she has lost everything, but wait.

Things are not always what they seem.

And to this end, my current book, released in February of 2021, is titled The Deadening. The next in the series, releasing in 2022, is titled The Rising. I sense a theme, here.

Click here to purchase “The Deadening,” Book One in the Olivia Callahan Suspense Series!

The Conundrum

“But He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.’ Therefore, I will all the more gladly boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may reside in me.” 2 Cor 12: 9

Weakness presents in many forms.

Often, weakness presents itself as strength. Anger, temper tantrums, pity parties, self-indulgence, climbing the corporate ladder at the sacrifice of self or family, and more. The list goes on. The ever-present drumbeat of our culture demands that we strive in a direction…any direction we believe is our path. Fight for it. Struggle for it. Marinate in it. Demand it. Weep over it. Scream for it. Get arrested for it. Even die for it.

But what if we’re fighting for the wrong thing? What if what we’re fighting for is vain and futile and wrong-headed?

Conundrum: a riddle or anything that puzzles. Often the answer is a play on words, as in ‘what is black and white and read all over? A newspaper’.

Today, I am pondering the puzzle of how to discern my weaknesses that masquerade as strengths.

Things just don’t always line up as I expect, and when that happens, I rotate through confusion, discouragement, self-pity, temper tantrums, and finally…resignation. In Christian circles, this is also referred to as ‘surrender’, but includes holding God’s hand.

Today, resignation is the flag I’m waving, and I’m putting the words down in order to vent, I guess. I’m pretty puzzled about many things right now, and a definite weakness of mine is a lack of self-control when I’m disappointed or frustrated. I am fond of putting a ‘why’ to everything that happens, and the conundrum here is that life experiences rarely explain themselves. If I have no point of origination…no way of preventing a future futility with an understanding that helps me sidestep the pothole…it makes me crazy. Is that a weakness? I’m not sure. The older I get, as the cliche goes, the less I know. Even the Bible, my handbook for life, is a conundrum lately. A source of frustration, not peace, and I’m sure this is me, not Him. He’s perfect. He doesn’t even have a reference point for impossibility or personal conundrums. He has no obligation to explain Himself, and I’m not handling it very well.

Not well at all.

Conversely to what I stated above, strength also presents as weakness.

According to scripture, humility is strength. Joy is strength. Righteousness – a manner of conduct that is right (which, culturally, is a sliding proposition…), and obedience result in strength. Taking the position of ‘the least of all’ or ‘being a servant’ is strength. Trusting in God equals strength. Seeking the presence of God equals strength.

As a Christian, I know all this in my head, but acting on it is not so easy today. Boasting about my weaknesses like Paul did in the scripture reference above? This is a promotion well above my pay grade…another upside-down event in God’s world…the last will be first and the first will be last. So a promotion isn’t a promotion, not really. In God’s economy, a promotion is a life event, not a coveted place of honor. The faithful servant-warrior Mother Teresa is walking around with a thousand jewels in her crown right now, and if I were to be airlifted to Heaven at this moment, my crown would be put on hold.

I’m realizing that my faith is more in money than His provision. It’s more in things of this earth than things on a supernatural plain. It’s more in whether my husband is in a good mood and acts the way I want him to than gratitude that God gave me a good man. It’s more in prestige and status than humility and serving. It’s more in whether the circumstances of my life turn out the way I want them to than hearing from God and walking in righteousness.

The things I draw strength from actually rip it away.

Dictionary.com’s definition of the word ‘strength’: the quality or state of being strong; bodily or muscular power, mental power, force, or vigor. Moral power, firmness, or courage. Power by reason of influence, authority, resources, numbers, etc.

Strong’s Concordance translation of the word ‘strength’ used in the Bible: power, mighty work, miracle, might, virtue; by implication – a miracle of might, an abundance of miraculous power; supernatural

So a big piece in my puzzle is this: apart from the presence of God, there is no real strength, only vanity and futility.

Which is what I’m walking in today, and I feel every, stinking, inch of it.

I doubt I’ll ever reach Paul’s proclamation of boasting in his weaknesses, but at least I know enough to fall at God’s feet and trust that He will never leave, never forsake, never ignore or reject. He is a perfect father who loves perfectly. Even me, in all my imperfections. Even you.

His grace is sufficient, but I am flat today. He knows, and He understands. I’ll end on this note: ‘What is black and white and red all over?”

The word of God, covered by the precious blood of the Lamb. Our saving grace.

Summer Nights

Me and a friend in 1974!

I remember when a summer night was an excuse to get out of the house, find the nearest outdoor bar with ambiance (or not), drink Long Island Tea or Screwdrivers or Scotch & Soda with a twist…or whatever. It was party, party, all the time! And somehow, the next morning, I made it to work, and did a fairly good job managing the hangover.

Now I look back, scratching my head. How on earth did I do that?

I was in my twenties. That’s how.

In my thirties, I started having babies. And divorces. My thirties were a blur of joy and crisis, so I can’t even remember much of them. Summer nights meant getting the kids to bed, the bills paid, the house clean, and still having energy left over to read before bed. This was my recipe for a great summer night in my thirties!

My beautiful kids circa 2003

In my forties, I began to gain a semblance of sanity. And my kids became teen-agers. At this point, I began to drink wine, exclusively. No more cute, little, designer drinks that looked good but made me throw up. Wine, I could control. Summer nights amounted to a few lake weekends with girlfriends, and marathon talks with teen-agers, trying to instill common sense into all those hormones. Ha! Ha! What a futile task. But I did my best, and a great summer night was a relaxed discussion on the deck with one or two of my teen-agers.

In my fifties, I had the best time ever. My kids were grown and gone or going; I discovered online dating, I had a great job, I’d learned to recognize and avoid toxic relationships. My summer nights were spent on my backyard deck, drinking good wine (by this time I’d become somewhat fluent), and having marathon conversations with other single moms about kids, men, and, well…mostly, men. How to tell the right ones from the wrong ones, which sounds simple, but isn’t.

Now in my sixties, I find that summer nights are for chats with my husband on the deck. Embracing the starlight. Enjoying a full moon and high tide coming into a Lowcountry marsh. Never forgetting bug spray. (It is interesting to me that when I was young I didn’t give a thought to getting a hundred mosquito bites, but now, I cover up with bug spray every, single day in the summer.) Summer nights are for…being still. Appreciating what I have, and laying aside regrets. Summer nights now reek of contentment, and appreciative, secret smiles.

However, I’m amazed at how much I miss fireflies.

When we moved to Hilton Head Island from Baltimore in 2015, I never gave life without fireflies a thought. I assumed fireflies were all over the place. Maryland, and everywhere I’d lived before, had spectacular firefly displays every spring and summer. I am still saddened by their absence. They are tiny, summer jewels – nature’s sparklers. Now, I settle for a flock of ibis in the yard, or the squawk of herons flying overhead. Egrets camping down for the night in a tree.

I guess that’s a good trade-off.

I ponder my deck on the back of our house and the light bulbs so carefully chosen and staple-gunned in place underneath the eaves to illuminate the night. I guess it was automatic…get the deck ready for a party…and now, I think…what was the point? We hardly use them.

I think that God…all this time…has been waiting to show me the rewards, the simple pleasures, the earned delights…of surviving all the previous decades and alighting with determination and grace into this one.

Summer nights now, are for softer things. Quieter things.

Like fireflies.

Or in my case, egrets.

Thoughts of Malice…the Virtual Version

I just want to be grateful for a hot minute.

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I’ve been writing a long time, and it’s an isolating affair, and often writers feel like they are writing into voids of rejection and futility.

Level Best Books, my current publisher, is not about to let that happen to their authors! Case in point: More than Malice, my publisher’s answer to the pandemic-exhausted populace. Instead of postponing the typical Malice Domestic Writers conference, which they’ve been involved with for twenty years; they pulled out all the stops and produced a virtual conference that defied the odds, and had a lot of fun doing it. (Well, in addition to the blood, sweat, and tears of the learning curve and all the technological nuances and stumbling blocks). Now up to 90-something authors, give or take, Level Best Books is growing! And they still try to make sure every author is given attention in some shape or form, on this wonderful but terrifying journey called publishing.

Little did I know.

How much…WORK. IS. INVOLVED.

http://www.linktr.ee/klperesta

Like now. I’m sitting here, trying to catch up, because I took time off to love on two of my granddaughters, ages five and eight. Two, whole, days without one single ounce of marketing, writing, or deliberating plot twists. Two whole days, stiff-arming the desire to troll local bookstores in search of an author-signing venue, or create a FB ad, or do an edit on the first draft of Book Two of the Olivia Callahan Suspense series. (Which actually, I should be doing right now, but noooooo…I felt that my blog needed some attention.)

At Dolphin Point with my granddaughters, on Hilton Head Island

I repeat: Work. Is. Involved.

What makes it much easier to swallow this harsh reality is Level Best Books. My fellow authors are so supportive, I am, admittedly, stunned…and one of them, a gregarious, Italian, dark-haired bundle of bubbling optimism and generosity named Tina, has started a monthly Zoom call. My gosh, there are upwards of fifty authors on this call every month, plus the publishers/editors! These are so much fun, and a way to connect and be (gasp! dare I say it…) ENCOURAGED.

Encouragement is often in short supply for up-and-coming novelists, of which I am one. Encouragement, the up-and-comer figures, is only for the multiple-published, award-winning, A-listers. For the up-and-comers, we sit in self-flogging misery, pecking away at our manuscripts, with scant-burning embers of enthusiasm. For us, a compliment tossed in our direction is a bright sun on a cloudy day…a long drink of water in a wasteland. And a five-star review? You’d think heaven had opened its arms and christened us with crowns. (Please give your favorite books reviews on Amazon, in case you missed the huge, huge dose of guilt I just heaped upon you, dear reader).

I want to shout out a heart-felt THANK YOU, to Level Best Books and its ever-growing stable of authors, for the generosity of spirit, the support, the great marketing assistance, and the willingness to share time, author events, and information to help fellow authors. It’s been…and still is…an excellent experience.

Author Interview Questions for THE DEADENING

1) Tell us about Olivia Callahan, the protagonist of your latest release, The Deadening.

Sure! Olivia is 38 years old, has auburn, curly hair, was raised by a devoted mother who struggles with marrying the right kind of men. This caused Olivia’s mom to be somewhat absent as she was growing up, as she was handling crisis after crisis. Olivia subsequently met her husband early, while she was still in high school, and married him. As a married woman, she wrestles with how much of herself to reveal in her marriage, as she has believed the lie that she should let the man always have the last word, and her husband is very happy about that. For twenty years, Olivia is content to let Monty make all the decisions that affect the family’s lives, and eventually, of course, this kind of behavior backfires and Monty wants nothing more to do with her. Olivia is in a growth pattern, that will hopefully cause her to look deeply at her past to figure out what and why and when she became so passive.

2) What intrigues you about a person’s identity, a central theme to The Deadening?

Good question! I feel everyone has a story to tell, and I love to pull from people those stories. In almost every case, traumatic or chaotic circumstances have led to an identity journey. I find this fascinating. We may or may not reach our God-given potential due to how we respond to these crises, or circumstances over which we have no control. As the saying goes, when we stumble over obstacles, setbacks, or assaults, crimes…whatever life throws our way…we have the option to get bitter—or get better. The journey can take many twists and turns, and it would be a shame not to share these situations in order to perhaps help someone else find their way in life a bit easier.

3)The Deadening is the first in a three-book series. How much do you know already about the next two books? What’s it like to have to think so far ahead?

This is my first series. My other book, The Hunting, is a stand-alone novel. I took a deep breath when my editor suggested I write a series, but in actuality it is easier than starting from scratch because I already know these characters and settings. I know their history, their fears, their doubts. I know Olivia’s children. All I’m doing now is continuing the story, and it’s proving to be easier than I thought it would be. We’ll see what my editor says when I’m about halfway through Book Two, titled “The Rising.” And I do not think so far ahead. I plot out one book, then the next one. It would be impossible for me to think all the way to the end game of the third book!

And now, a few personal questions!

A few of your favorite things: My three cats, the sun faces I collect and hang on an exterior wall, my long view of the Lowcountry marsh off my deck. Good red wine. Jazz. Oh, I guess I should add my husband.

Things you love about writing: I lose myself and time can pass very quickly. How a scene develops under my hands. Editing after the first draft is done, which is much like fine-tuning a piece of sculpture by scraping away the bits that don’t work and polishing the bits that do.

Hardest thing about being a writer: Promotion. Who has time to set this stuff up? But we have to.

Things you never want to run out of: Easy…coffee and wine.

Words that describe you: Optimistic. Stylish. Fun. Nurturing.

Words that describe you, but you wish they didn’t: Decisive. Blunt. Opinionated. (These traits do not work in my favor sometimes…)

Favorite foods: Filet, quiche, asparagus

Things that make you want to gag:  Onions. Liver. FISH, and anything else that comes from a body of water. Yuck.

Something you’re really good at: Interior decorating. Loving my grandkids. Cardio & weight training. Makeup. Playing piano. And hopefully, writing!

Things that make you want to run screaming from the room: Arrogant, condescending people.

Things you always put in your books: A pet. Dog or cat.
Things you never put in your books: Sex scene.

Things to say to an author: I could not put down your book!!

People you’d like to invite to dinner (living):  Jeff Goldblum. Vincent D’Onofrio. Stephen Furtick. Angie Harmon, Louise Jensen. (This list changes often)

Proudest moment: Those moments I see my grown kids fulfill their unique, wonderful purpose in life. For instance, one of my kids was destined to sing. When she steps onto a stage, I cry every time.

Creeping Back to Normal

I love this store. Mostly the prices.

I had a serious melt-down, sloppy-cry moment yesterday.

It started out as an ordinary day…morning quiet time, then to my desk to write for about three hours, then figure out routine chore-type things that needed doing.

Like grocery shopping. Which I hate.

However … on the tail end of the COVID panic, we somehow made the dubious decision to buy a 4-DR Jeep Wrangler, which has made all things ‘chore’ a delight, since I’m now toodling around Hilton Head Island in a black Jeep with oversize wheels/tires with no top or doors. This has changed my life for the better all around. Did you know Jeepsters have a ‘wave’? Like the peace sign, only it’s not. When driving a Jeep, one must put a hand at twelve o’clock on the steering wheel in preparation to raise the two designated fingers in a Jeep ‘wave’ upon seeing other Jeep brethren toodling around. Yep. It’s a thing. We are learning all that stuff.

But I digress.

So, breeze blowing through my hair, music pumped up, I’m happily driving to Kroger, which is mid-Island. And I think, well, TJ Maxx is right next door and I might as well go there first. This cheered me up considerably, as the Island has unmasked, for the most part, and it’s not a hideous mask-thing anymore to go shop for clothing, purses, and the like.

I hop out of my Jeep, thinking out of habit … I need to lock it. But no, the doors are off, no need. This also made me smile, and I trotted into the store, twirling the keys around my finger and looking all “Jeep girl.” I pick out a great purse, wander through the rest of the store, pick up another couple things, including a new pair of jean shorts. I guage their size with a sigh, thinking, ohmigosh another piece of clothing I have to take home that I will probably need to return. *I hate returning stuff* just saying. I head toward check-out. Notice the growing hubub at the back of the store.

What do my wandering eyes behold?

I crane my neck to look. “What’s going on?” I ask a fellow crane-necker. He doesn’t know and doesn’t care. I jerk to a stop, pull my cart out of line, and head to the hubub, just for the heck of it. As I draw closer, my heart rate picks up. My eyes moisten.

“It can’t be,” I whisper to myself. I push my cart ever closer, wondering at the mob waiting, their carts filled with clothing. I draw in a breath, and hold it until I’m finally in the center of it all. With a gasp, and a rush of tears, I cry out, “Hallelujah!” Several women, also with tears of relief streaming down their cheeks, give me a smile and a nod. They, too, cannot believe it. I dance to the front of the line and hug the woman checking us in. She laughs.

Yes, it was true. At TJ Maxx on Hilton Head Island … the dressing rooms … are … OPEN!!!

Happy, happy tears.

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