Category Archives: Gratitude

Book Endings and Old Orchards

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Please accept my apologies for the sporadic blogging. I’ve already used the birth of two grandchildren and my son’s heart attack as excuses for not writing, although I did try from time to time. Everything I put to paper sounded too whiney and self-absorbed, so I used the time to write fiction instead, permitting murderers and adulterers and Pam Smith’s badly behaved children to take over my thoughts.

Getting down to business, I have problems ending a story. A novelist builds tension throughout the body of a piece, and should try to end it with some pizzazz. All too often though, it falls flat. I’ll use Someone Like You as an example. In this story, two sisters raised in an atmosphere of violence, long to lead normal lives but end up exposing their own children to very similar environments. I felt they had somewhat resolved their issues toward the end, but what then? They were going to live happily ever after, sort of. I wanted to expand the story and show them having a happy time with mom and dad, everything forgiven but it felt like a fairy tale; not usually the way life is. So I left the reader dangling a little. The sisters were going to have supportive men in their lives, but the issues they struggled with would still be there.

In The Savant of Chelsea, the ending came to me suddenly, like a gift. A reviewer who hated the book, said about me; “I could just sense how f*+king proud she was of herself.” Lol! I love that ending! And believe me, it came from some universal energy…I can’t take credit for it. Also, the end of Pam of Babylon; when she tells Andy Andretti, “Call me Pam,” I burst into tears. Family Dynamics and The Tao of Pam, those are powerful endings too, I think. But it’s not necessary to end every book with a bang. In The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt, I was left scratching my head at the ending. But it didn’t make any difference to the Pulitzer committee when they gave her the prize for literature! And Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn. Huh? What kind of ending was that? Yet the book remains on the NYT Best Sellers list because it is a compelling story that was difficult to put down. It had to end the way it ended.
Sometimes I end the books the way I do because there is just nothing more to say about the story.

In Alice’s Summertime Adventure, my editor asked that I add at least another paragraph, but I just couldn’t. For me, the story was over when the action that happened… happened. (Don’t want to give away any spoilers.) Other times, I end the way I end because I’ll start the next chapter in a new book. I’m doing that with A Greektown Wedding; the action picks up where Christmas in Greektown ended, with Liz, John’s wife and Jim, Maria’s husband leaving the apartment above the grocery store together. In the next book, they stop at a hotel on the way home from Greektown after the holiday meal. Anyway, enough about that. I wanted to address it because it keeps coming up and I’m sure will continue to do so. Here’s a great article from Huffington Post about endings.
grove

Last but not least….the grove. Jim and I bought a small piece of land in southern California and we didn’t realize it had a grove of dying fruit and nut trees; avocados, figs, citrus and macadamia. I think I must have an arborist gene; I know I’ve inherited a love of trees from my father. These trees are driving me crazy. I have spent part of every day for the past month pruning, watering, raking, and haven’t touched half the trees. Jim got into the act, bless him and he makes it much easier. A gift from him this week; another hundred feet of hose so I no longer have to carry five gallon buckets of water. We are in a water emergency here in the west, but I’m very careful about watering. My only fear is that I’ll kill something that is doing fine in dormancy, although my Aunt Lil just confirmed I should be watering. Here’s an Indian Prayer for trees.

Earth Prayer
Grandfather, Great Spirit, once more behold me on earth and lean to hear my feeble voice.
You lived first, and you are older than all need, older than all prayer.
All things belong to you — the two-legged, the four-legged, the wings of the air, and all green things that live.
You have set the powers of the four quarters of the earth to cross each other.
You have made me cross the good road and road of difficulties, and where they cross, the place is holy.
Day in, day out, forevermore, you are the life of things.
Hey! Lean to hear my feeble voice.
At the center of the sacred hoop
You have said that I should make the tree to bloom.
With tears running, O Great Spirit, my Grandfather,
With running eyes I must say
The tree has never bloomed
Here I stand, and the tree is withered.
Again, I recall the great vision you gave me.
It may be that some little root of the sacred tree still lives.
Nourish it then
That it may leaf
And bloom
And fill with singing birds!
Hear me, that the people may once again
Find the good road
And the shielding tree.
– Black Elk 3 http://www.indians.org/welker/blackelk.htm

House at the Edge of a Wooded Path

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When I pass by wooded paths, Or see old farm equipment covered in kudzu and brambles, I think of my father. I remember him on tractors or in old cars, Lincolns mostly, classics he collected from the forties. Or Suburbans, … Continue reading →

Barometric Pressure

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I have a new publisher, a new website and lots of new advertising opportunities, including a full page color ad insert in Kirkus Review’s newsletter which will be distributed at Book Expo, and a ‘book tour’ with Pump Up Your Book this summer.  I’m also a sixty-one year old woman who doesn’t want to learn HTML, Photo Shop, or any other technical genius that will make me a better ‘marketer’ for my book.  I was an OR nurse for thirty years; isn’t that enough technology?

However, what I am learning is it doesn’t make any difference how much you ‘hire out’ the work. If you want to be a successful self-published author, you had better learn how to update your own website, photo shop a cover mock up for your book, and more. You better reread your final interior proof one hundred times, because no matter how much you pay for copy editing, you will get your hardcopy proof in the mail and find out that you have used that hundreds of times too often, or put commas in too many places, or my worst mistake; use sole rather than soul.

The Greeks of Beaubien Street is in the hands of the new publisher and I am anxiety ridden. Getting used to a new routine and new people, is so difficult. In my former life, I discovered that I preferred to stick with the tried and true rather than venture out. I stayed at a job I didn’t like for years because the fright of starting fresh somewhere else was too difficult.

My little problems are nothing compared to what my friends are going through right now. Life threatening illness, the loss of a spouse, unemployment, legal issues, the list is endless.  What I have noticed is how one reacts to the trouble says a lot. I have a friend who is bald from chemotherapy for breast cancer, and everyday she crawls out of bed and drives an hour to her very physical kind of job. It’s not one at which she is able to sit at a desk. She alone supports her household, and the job provides her health insurance, so she doesn’t have the option to stay home when she feels bad.  In spite of her situation, my friend is the most upbeat woman I know. She hasn’t whined or complained once, and the only way I will know that she is feeling less than stellar is she won’t talk about herself.  I  imagine myself in her situation and the complaining I would do. We talked this week and she said that if she makes being upbeat and positive an act of her will, she is successful, and then she feels better. If she gives in to self-pity, the effect is immediate; she feels awful and makes everyone around her feel awful, too. She still has children at home and an aged mother who lives with her and its important to her that her family stays hopeful, as well.  Cancer is not her identity, nor are her other problems. We have to work at not allowing those things which will tear us down to become our identity. Because if we do, we succumb to feeling sorry for ourselves. Someone else is always worse off.

So the pressure is on. My husband told me yesterday when he was listening to me having a disagreement with the person who designed my website that I am turning into a real !@#$%^&* and he is glad we don’t work together.  That got me thinking about the fine line there is between standing up for yourself or being an aggressive shrew, being positive or feeling so sorry for yourself that it paralyzes you.  There is just so much a stake right now, and I’ve spent so much money and put so much work into everything that I want to get it right. I can’t afford to have any craziness around me, or any negativity. At different times in my life  my friends have been there for me when my glass was half empty, and now I need to knock it off, belly up to the bar, and get it right.

All Things Books

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My favorite place in our house.

A very early memory takes me to a place that must have been near Detroit, since that’s where  I grew up during the 1950’s.  The smell of what I now know to be old books hit my olfactory the moment my aunt and I stepped over the threshold.  Leather, paper, cigarette smoke and dust mingled into a heady fragrance that to this day, minus the smoke, provokes a visceral response in me. Used book stores introduced me to the love of books.  The introduction to new book stores came shortly after, but new books don’t have the same appeal.

As adults, wherever we traveled began with a search for a book store. I’ve been to book stores in New Orleans, Wichita Falls, and Sacramento and many more places across the country.  Back in those days, customers weren’t allowed to bring beverages in, unlike today where they are sold next to the books.  Books were reverenced.

I am somewhat of a book hoarder, too.  A scene from my marriage has a very concerned and almost angry husband asking me why I needed to bring ‘moldy’ paperback books into our house.  On a weekend antiquing jaunt, I’d happened across a gentleman who was downsizing his own sizable book collection which included a complete set of the paperback Mentor Philosopher Series.  I’ve got ’em all; Spinoza, Bacon and Pascal to name a few.  Then came the great anthropologists.   Margaret Mead is my favorite, (didn’t they disclaim some of her observations twenty years ago?)  She was all sex and culture, all of the time.

I also have all of the Greek classics.  In paperback.  I think Jim must be a book snob because a few years later, maybe in the early eighties, he signed on for the Franklin Mint Library book club. Or maybe he was hoping his purist attitude would wear off on me.  It never did.  Those shining, gold-leafed fly-leafed tomes make my garage sale finds look shabby, but they are behind glass and anyone can pick up one of my used books and curl up with a cup of tea for an afternoon without worrying about ruining it.

My aunt sent me the complete works of Dumas; forty red leather bound volumes of bliss.  I also have an ancient Gibbons The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire, a very early Life and Letters of Charles Darwin, and Winston Churchill’s The History of the English Speaking Peoples.  I have these books; I have NOT read them.  My taste leans toward Pearl Buck, Betty Smith and compilations by Alfred Hitchcock.  (Insert laughter here.) Odd that my own writing tends to be more like a down at the heels Jackie Collins. (with all due respect.)

My books also reflect what I was doing at different stages of my life.  I have an extensive library of Christian literature.  My friends and family have learned that it isn’t wise to argue with me about the Bible; I know what it says and when things have been taken out of context.  Two entire bookcases are filled with books relating to yarn.  I have every weaving book that was published between 1975 and 1980 because I had a store that sold weaving supplies.  I no longer weave, but I don’t think I should part with the books.  I also have lots of knitting books; I like looking at the pictures, and many dyeing, spinning, and surface design books.

I have a friend who has cataloged her books.  At one time that idea appealed to me, but now I realize it would take up too much time.  Imagine being able to put your hand on any volume you need.  I can almost do that without the organization.

The only regrets I have are having loaned books out.  I no longer do that.  If you have ever received books from me its because I love you and want you to have them.  By the time I give a book up, I am so done with it.  It might be taunting me.  Read me again.  Or worse, read me the first time. And I might have no intention.  Or it might be something from my past that I know I will not revisit.  A past loved hobby, for instance.

One thing I should probably not admit is that the Jenkins’ family receives something from Amazon two or three times a week. Scary.  It is sad that the independents are  threatened by such a huge and inexpensive online presence. But one thing Amazon will never replace is the used book store.  We have a fabulous used store in South Haven.  The proprietress is rude, at least to me, but it is so worth suffering through it to browse in the shop.

Last month, when I was in California for a few days, I went to a used store in Santa Cruz with my Aunt Yvonne and her friend, Bruce.  It was truly a reverent experience.  The place was huge, it was open late at night, but we couldn’t stay too long because there was no bathroom to be found.  I could have stayed there for hours, so maybe the lack of facilities was a good thing.

My mother was a lover of books.  I argued with her to get rid of a huge collection of books she’d moved from her antique shop back to her house when the shop closed.  After she died, my sister gave me the job of going through the books and getting rid of them. It should have been easy, correct?  I hounded the poor woman for ten years about giving them away.  And you know what happened?  I could only get rid of one.  One book.  So if she is up there reading this, I’m sorry, Mom.  I know exactly what you were thinking.

I bought home a ten pound Landmarks of Detroit, and old cookbooks to add to my vast cookbook collection. (I don’t cook.)

This actually has a picture of a long lost relative, maybe a great uncle, Richard Haigh, who was an attorney in Detroit.

Most other things I resisted, for now. My mom would be happy to know I am unable to get rid of her books!  It was a joy we shared.

Today I am going to write.  I haven’t done any new writing in months; its been about revising and editing.  The second book just came out last month and third one will be ready in a few weeks. I feel like I should stall it a little bit, because there won’t be another for quite awhile.

Speaking of, I have a new editor! My daughter, Jennifer! Jen’s second degree is in fiction writing and she actually did some editing at her first job out of college.  I’m psyched!

Back to work!

Happy New Year!!!

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Hope today is a good day for you.  I am puttering around my house which is what I enjoy doing the most.  Back in the day when I worked in the OR and had to be in scrubs ready to work by seven in the morning, I used to dream about this.  Today I have talked to my good friends, or emailed them or texted them, cleaned up a little, knitted, played with my pets, and hugged my husband.

Thanks to technology, I saw a picture of my sister Sarah as she had lunch with Liz at noon, sent a video of myself (terrible) back to her, spoke with my aunts on different coasts, texted both my kids, got an email from the guy who built the electric spinner I bought, sent the winners of the giveaway on goodreads their books by ordering them directly from the publisher, had a crying fit until Jim intervened because I couldn’t find the Nook version of Pam of Babylon to send to a customer and finally, spent a small fortune on a device which converts an old spinning wheel of mine into the latest of modern convenience. How did I spend my time before the computer? I’d probably have rested or watched TV.

We are having the most winter like weather; high winds and precipitation which vacillates between rain, sleet and snow.  The yard is filled with birds but no deer since the bow and arrow catastrophe a few weeks ago. Betty told me deer season ends today so maybe that’s way there hasn’t been any deer around here. They’re hiding and don’t feel safe anymore.

The Lions are playing today.  I just couldn’t bring myself to watch the game. I hope they win.. Turn your volume up and you might hear Jim yelling Lions scores in the background.

What are you doing today?  I hope its restful, peace-giving. I hope you find your passion this year, that the things that scare you are resolved, and any lingering issues come to a positive ending.  Thank you for being in my life, because I need you there.

Undeserved

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I’ve been away from home more in the past year and a half than ever before.  When I am here, I feel so grateful that we were able to find this hidden sanctuary after the years of living in what is touted as the most densely populated state in the country.  Moving away from Jeni was not easy.  Although my first, beloved grandchild has arrived, I still love west Michigan.  All I have to do is hop on a plane or get in the car and I am there to see baby Carlos.  My son and father’s sister and brother live in California. It is an easy plane ride there, too.  It was on a trip to see them last week that I ran into Sgt. Lopez and his bomb sniffing canine, Colli at the Minneapolis airport.

Maybe because Jim was in the Air Force and went to Vietnam or maybe because we lived next to both Maguire Air Force Base and Fort Dix when we owned our little  farm in New Jersey, I have a very strong reaction when I see a fellow American in a uniform.  It takes my breath away.  And to see a soldier with a dog, another passionate soft spot, I generally lose it.  When I saw Sgt. Lopez and Colli, I hesitated.  I gave myself a minute to catch my breath and let a few tears fall.  I didn’t want to embarrass him, but I had to connect with he and his dog on some level.  I wanted to thank him for his sacrifice.  And I wanted to see the dog up close.  So once I was somewhat in control, I called after him as I ran to where they were standing.  I just yelled ‘Sir and your dog!’  He stopped and turned toward me.  And he smiled at me.  I got the feeling right away that he had been through this before, maybe many times.  He was patient with me as I attempted to ask him questions with my hands over my face while I sobbed.  He let some slack out on Colli’s leash so she could come to me and comfort me.  She rubbed up against my legs with enough pressure to push me backwards, her head twisting around to look up at me.  All I could get out was ‘thank you’.  He was so gracious.  We said goodbye and then I remembered my iphone.  I could take pictures of him.  I ran after him again and he waited for me and submitted to photo taking.  We said goodbye.  When I got to my gate, I remembered I didn’t get his name, so I went looking for him again and there he was, walking with Colli. He was interested in giving me information; I told him I blogged, but I forgot about the notepad on my phone and didn’t have a pen or paper and forgot most of what he said.  I think his first name was Joseph and  remembered that he was going home to Colorado.

Once I got home from California, I began researching how the Army and Marines use dogs in combat and I came across Rebecca Frankel, a reporter, er, Canine Correspondent, for Foreign Policy magazine.  Her column is titled Rebecca’s War Dog of the Week.  Foreign Policy is supposed to be without bias, but I decided I don’t care if it is or isn’t. That it chooses to report on something so dear to my heart covers a multitude of sins.

We are so lucky in this country, so blessed.  How do we deserve it?  I’m overwhelmed with gratitude.  I am also saddened that not everyone has the same standard of living.  Not everyone has a job, or is able to keep their house, or has piles of Christmas presents under their tree.  But everyone benefited from Sgt. Lopez and Colli,  who went to Afghanistan and to risk their life.  Some of their colleagues made the ultimate sacrifice.  It reminded me that almost everything I complain about is ridiculous.  I am very, very lucky.