Book Dedications

I am still editing Patriot's Heart. I dropped one entire thread as I raced to finish the rough draft, so now I am weaving that thread through the book. However, I paused for a moment last night to consider the dedication. When I wrote Sea Of Hope, I completely neglected to include a dedication, but that was my first published book and everything about the publishing process was new to me.

Since then, I have given considerable thought to the dedications in the front of each book. To me, it's the best way for me to thank and honor those who have helped me on my writing journey. I admit that sometimes the seed of the idea for the book came from the honoree, but most often I just want them to know how much they've meant to me and enriched my life.

Heaven's Blue: For my cousin, Sandy Karchella, and all the other lost children. May the Lord find them and bring them home.

A Rush of Light: To my three daughters...
Let your light shine.


The Keeper's Promise: For Bobbie L.

Irons In The Fire: Dedicated to my parents who taught me all about the magic of love.

The Company You Keep: Dedicated to Rich, my very own hero.

The Beast of Blackbirch Manor: For Billy

The Fiend of White Buck Hall: For Jan

Kiss of Blarney: For Emily, my friend

Prince of the Mist: For Tommy, My Irish Grandfather--A True Leprechaun

Daddy Wanted: For A. Thanks for the inspiration.

Who would you dedicate a book to?

I Finished!

Yesterday I finished the JeRoWriMo challenge, the New Jersey Romance Writers' version of NaNoWriMo. I wrote a total of 30,148 words during the month of February. I actually wrote more than that since I deleted 800 words where I had written myself into a corner. On Wednesday, I came to the end of Patriot's Heart, but I I went right on to the sequel, Patriot's Pride.

Now I need to go back and edit. Once it's ready, I'll have to send the manuscript around and see if a publisher is willing to offer me a contract for it. It may be quite a while until it is up for sale. Nevertheless, I was thrilled to accomplish so much in just one month.

I did not come in first among the other writers in the group. There were many who surpassed me, but it did help to have a cheering squad. My thanks to Nancy Herkness for setting the challenge up. It was great!

Required Reading for All

In yesterday's New York Times I saw an article "On Keeping On," by Bill Keller, an op-ed columnist. He wrote about a book of poems Taps on the Walls: Poems From the Hanoi Hilton by John Borling who was a prisoner of war for six and a half years in the infamous North Vietnamese prisoner of war camp known as the Hanoi Hilton. With no pencil and no paper, John Borling found a way to keep his mind active and entertain his fellow prisoners using a code. He tapped out poems and messages. He memorized the poems and when he was finally freed, he recorded them.

Now, forty years later, the poems have been compiled into a book. Late last night, I downloaded the book--and then I could not get to sleep. The poems are haunting and proof of the incredible strength of the human spirit.

Read them.

A Kiss--from HEAVEN'S BLUE

Here's another Valentine treat--a kiss from HEAVEN'S BLUE, my other EPPIE Award-Winning inspirational romance. Enjoy!

He touched her shoulder as she stood grinning up at him,
and strands of her honey-colored hair fell across his knuckles.
He wondered how many nights Samantha had fallen asleep
next to the microscope. How many lonely evenings had she
spent in this god-forsaken wasteland when she had all the
sweet goodness of the sunshine glowing from within her?

His hand went from her shoulder to cup her chin. Her
tender lips drew him, and before he realized it, he tasted her
and found the warmth of the sun along with the nectar of
summer wildflowers in her kiss. Somehow, he had known it
would be special, like her. He had never met a woman quite
as unique as Samantha Lyons.

He came to his senses when a stray mosquito landed on
him, intent on drawing blood. As he slapped the annoying
bug, he drew back and saw shock engraved on Samantha's
face. A flaming blush blooming on her cheeks made her only
lovelier, and he bent towards her again.

“N-no!” she sputtered. “No! I—I...”

Then she rushed out the door and hurried across the yard.

David watched her enter the cottage. He frowned as his
mouth turned as dry as all those grains of sand on the beach.
Realization slammed into him like a direct hit on the solar
plexus. He swept his hand over his face. In a moment of
weakness, he had let his guard down. Would Samantha
dismiss him as coldly as she had the unfortunate Ginger?

He had to stay here! Right now everything hung in the
balance, and he had to keep James safe. Nothing mattered
more than that.

...self-control.

David ran his hand through his hair and paced the floor.
How could he have done this? His shoulders drooped as he
reasoned that any man would have attempted the same
thing. She had looked so luscious, like a peach ripe for the
harvest. He licked his lips and still tasted her flavor there.

A dull ache, like that from an old wound, gnawed at him.
How could he have forgotten that he wasn't just any man?
Right now, he was a criminal. Samantha had only to pick up
the phone and call the nearest police station.

Bleakly, he knew the truth was that he had been a little
bored after one week and went asking for trouble.
Furthermore, he had gotten it, risking his own son's future.
What kind of father was he? Would he never learn?

Find it at Amazon--click HERE!

Tally for the Week

I have typed out 7,859 words this week in the JeRoWriMo writing challenge. There are writers who have put down far more words, but for me this is good. I will have to do some major editing later, but the point of the writing challenge is to write and forget about editing since the inner editor stifles creativity. The inner editor can also prevent forward progress, which is what usually happens to me. When I'm writing, I often go backwards and edit. Then I move forward, then I go backward and edit again, which means it takes far too long for me to write a book.:^(

This story has taken a few interesting turns. Joshua Huddy made a cameo appearance in the story this week. The heroine's pig has turned into a wonderful secondary character. I originally planned for the heroine's sister to have her own book, making this the beginning of a two book series. However, now I am considering giving the twins their own books, too.

But I'll think about that later. Right now got type out some more words!

The Editors' Reunion

Four former editors from the Jersey Journal gathered together for lunch yesterday. They usually get together at least once a year. Dad, the oldest of the quartet, is on the left, Marty to his right, then Milty, and Arnie. They started off by bemoaning the loss of yet another daily newspaper, The Times-Picayune. They talked about old times at the Journal and the people they knew.

Arnie said my father was one of two reporters he knew who actually resembled Hollywood's version of a newspaperman. :^)


Miltie is going to be 90 in May. He does not wear glasses and has good hearing. However, he doesn't write anymore and neither do the others. They talked about one journalist they all remembered who typed faster than anyone.


Marty still has an electric typewriter. Like the others, he has an email address, but none of them--except for Dad are on Facebook.

I had a great time listening to their stories. They made the life of a newspaperman sound very exciting. :^)

-30-

The Rewards

I spent many years teaching young children. I taught first graders for seven years and pre-k classes for eighteen years. For me, it was a joyful experience. I read stories, sang songs, made dough sculptures, and macaroni necklaces. Learning the alphabet was great! We baked applecrisp for the letter a, bread for b, and carrot cake for c.

Some of my students presented quite a few challenges, but that's where I honed my teaching skills. It wasn't always an easy job--even working with small children, but it was very rewarding. I got plenty of smiles, hugs, and kisses.

Recently, I've seen some of my former students. They are so grown up. :^) Talking with them and knowing that they've done well in life has been the biggest bonus of all. Obviously, I had a very small part in their success, but I was at the beginning--and that's an important place to be.

Do I miss teaching? Sometimes, but I have other responsibilities now and I always have my writing. I have been productive since I retired from teaching. I finished Daddy Wanted and got a contract for it. I finished The Pirate's Wraith and have been searching for a publisher interested in time travel. I have one third of Patriot's Heart written and hope the writing challenge of JerRoWriMo will speed my word count along.

I am grateful I was able to teach. There was never a dull day in the classroom and we shared far more laughter than tears. For anyone looking for a career, I highly recommend it--as long as you've got plenty of patience and a positive attitude. You won't get rich in a classroom, but the rewards will warm your heart for the rest of your life.

My Mother's High School Class

Cecil Township is in western Pennsylvania. Mom is in the second row from the bottom, the third student from the left side. My mother has such curly hair in the photo! Her hair was naturally straight. Since most of the young ladies have curly hairstyles in this class picture, I assume curls were in vogue.

Mom kept in touch with a few of her classmates. There were some reunions, but as she grew older she could no longer attend the event, the town was about four hundred miles away from where my parents lived. That is one of the reasons why I think social media is a great invention. Keeping in touch is so much easier. Sharing photos is a breeze.

Mom went to art school after high school. Then she joined the Marines and spent World War II in California. Afterwards, she came back east. She was working in a photography studio in Jersey City when she met my father.

It would be interesting to know how the rest of her classmates fared after they graduated.

My Thumb and the Synovial Cyst

Last month, a bump appeared on my thumb. I searched around on the internet and decided it must be a ganglion cyst. My primary care doctor thought it probably was that, too. He chuckled and said the old time method to remove it was to hit it with a heavy book. Hubby volunteered to whack it for me, but I declined his offer. (There are scores of videos of people on YouTube smashing ganglion cysts with books. I DO NOT recommend it.)

I went to a specialist yesterday who informed me it was a synovial cyst. He took X-rays and also diagnosed me with arthritis in my fingers, too. Well, my fingers have been very busy for a long time so I shouldn't have been surprised.

The specialist believes surgery to be the best option. However, he said I should think about it as long as it isn't bothering me and it isn't growing larger.

I don't like the idea of going through surgery. I also don't like the idea of not being able to get my thumb wet for two weeks, keeping my hand above my heart, etc.

Daughter #1 volunteered to cook supper but I suspect we would be eating hot dogs and beans for the duration.

I got brave this year and signed up to write 30,000 words next month with JeRoWriMo, NJRW's February writing challenge event. I don't want to miss out on that!

One of my friends suggested massaging the cyst everyday and I may do that because for now I've decided to wait. The cyst isn't that big and it's not bothering me. Having surgery would be a huge expense for such a small thing.

Jenny Milchman's Book Launch Party

On the left in the photo is Jenny Milchman who is introducing Lois Winston on the right. Jenny Milchman had a book launch party at Mendham Books, in Mendham, NJ, last night. Jenny Milchman's Cover of Snow, is a thriller published by Ballantine Books.

I "met" Jenny in an author's discussion forum at Amazon. I read her blog, which includes Made It Moments--the success stories of other authors. It took a long time for Jenny's dream of publication to become a reality so at her launch party she allowed others to speak about their hopes and dreams.

Lois Winston spoke of the literal dreams which started her on the road to publication. Shelley Freydont, pictured in the photo below started out as a professional dancer, but she, too, had vivid dreams which led her to write.

A poet spoke of her love of words. A teacher spoke of her desire to make the world a better place. Rabbi Ilene Schneider just wants to entertain those who read her books.

Hubby wanted me to speak so he could take a photo of me. :^) My hope is that nobody makes the mistake I did in getting an agent who charged a hefty fee just to take me on as a client. I lost a lot of money in the process and the agent did not help my writing career at all--also she made me a lot poorer.

As usual, I digressed so I don't know if anyone really got the message, but just in case make sure you read this article about agents.

It was a wonderful evening! Mendham Books is a terrific bookstore. Jenny Milchman is a talented and gracious author. I am glad hubby and I braved the rush hour traffic on Route 287 so we could join in the party.

Solitude and Creativity for the Writer

Writing is a solitary occupation. Putting words on paper--or the computer screen--involves a lot of concentration. As an author, I record my daydreams and then offer them to others for their entertainment. If readers enjoy my story, they might buy another one of my creations. If not, I have to come up with a better flight of fancy.

Ideas are everywhere, but a book must be specific--it cannot wander around as real life does. There must be a point to the story and it needs a beginning, a middle, and an end. That process takes a great deal of thought. Sometimes I hit a dead end when I'm writing. Sometimes I'm not sure I'm leading my characters along the right road.

I've found the creative process can often be nurtured with solitude. When I was younger and raising three small children, sometimes the only solitude I could find was in a trip to the supermarket or a session of folding laundry in my bedroom. Now that I'm older, I find a quiet walk conducive in stimulating my mind.

I found several interesting articles on solitude and creativity but this one, The Lost Art of Solitude, by Leo Babauta, offers a good guide to finding some quiet space to allow your imagination to flourish.

Give solitude a try.

Mom's Secret Rice Pudding Recipe

This is a photo of my mother from probably around 1952 (I'm guessing). For the record, my mother did not drink much alcohol at all. However, she did spend a lot of time in the kitchen. That mixer on the counter lasted throughout her lifetime.

She was a good cook despite the fact that she only owned one cookbook. Most of the meals she made were standard fare she had learned to cook from her mother without a cookbook. As a child, I remember Mom's meatloaf with great fondness but she also baked chicken, fried porkchops, boiled cottage ham with cabbage and potatoes. She worked for hours to make heavenly stuffed cabbage. She served an assortment of vegetables, though cauliflower in cream sauce was one of my personal favorites along with her green beans in cream sauce with bacon. She often served lima beans with breakfast sausages for supper and on Fridays we sometimes got a concoction of tunafish in a cream sauce with peas. I forget what the official name of that dish was, but she jokingly called it chicken of the sea to fool my sister who hated tunafish.

As time went on, she added "newer" dishes like chili to the menu. She made pizza from scratch, too. Everything she cooked was tasty and filling--and she cooked enough for an army. (Maybe because she grew up in a family with five brothers!)

When it came to baking, my mother's creations were the stuff of dreams. She should have opened a bakery. Her pies, cakes, cookies, breads, doughnuts and cream puffs were better than anything else I've ever sampled. Dessert was served everyday. None of us in the family were overweight.

I had a great childhood.

Mom had one secret recipe. She had gotten it when she was young and worked as a waitress. The owner of the restaurant gave it to her and asked her not to give it away. However, as the years went by, my mother gave it away to anyone who asked for it. So it really wasn't much of a secret, but she always called it that.

So for all you lovers of rice pudding, here's the best rice pudding recipe ever, Mom's secret recipe. :^)

1 Quart of Milk
1 Quart of Water
1/2 Cup Sugar
3/4 Cup Rice

Bring the mixture together in a pot on the stove, and let it simmer for 1 hour. (Mixture should become thick. Also you need to stir it every now and then.)

THEN, in a small bowl put:

2 Eggs
1/2 Cup Sugar

BEAT!

Pour in some of the hot rice mixture into the small bowl and blend so eggs DO NOT curdle.

Slowly pour the egg mixture into the mixture on the stove and let it simmer about 15 minutes.

COOL.

Add 3 Tablespoons Butter, 1 Teaspoon Vanilla. Pour into a pan and sprinkle with cinnamon.

Enjoy!

A Passive Verb

I had an overabundance of thats in Daddy Wanted, but I have an overabundance of wases in The Pirate's Wraith.

Was is a good word and used constantly in spoken English, but it is a passive verb. It is far, far better to use action verbs in a book.

Here is a passage peppered with the offending verb:

While none of this could be real, in the distance she heard haunting music played on a tin whistle. She did not know the melody, but it was in a minor key and the plaintive notes tore at her heart.

She had been in a horrific crash. Maybe she was actually dead. Maybe this whole scenario was simply happening on some other plane because her soul was now disconnected from her body...

But her body felt heavy and real. Damn. If she was dead wouldn’t she be either in heaven or hell? A terrible chill wound around her heart. Could this be hell? Surely not, for dead people did not eat or drink.

But maybe they thought they did. Maybe the bowl held virtual broth. She sipped more of it. It felt good going down, warming her right to her toes. She peered at the broth with suspicion.

“Is there alcohol in here?”

Here is my current edit after removing the problem. Of course, I changed a few other details in this segment and I still have some passive verbs in it--like be. So I may cross something out and redo it again. That's the problem with writing!

While none of this could be real, in the distance she heard haunting music played on a tin whistle. She did not recognize the melody, but the plaintive notes in a minor key struck a sad chord in her heart and troubled her.

She had been in a horrific crash. She could be dead. Her soul might well be disconnected from her body. The impression of activity about her could be happening on some other plane.

Did the dead go to heaven or hell? A terrible chill wound around her heart. Could this be hell? But her body felt heavy and real. Dead people neither ate nor drank, but maybe they went through the motions. Maybe the bowl held virtual broth. She sipped more of it. It warmed her right to her toes as it went down. She peered at the broth with suspicion.

"Is there alcohol in here?"

Writing is fun but editing is work. A writer must be both creative and meticulous about detail. Much of the good stuff in a book comes about on the third or fourth round of editing.

Computers make it easier. I love the delete key. :^)

Christmas Past

This is a photo of my family's first Christmas in Cliffwood Beach. My parents bought what was originally destined to be a summer bungalow and converted it to a full-time residence. The French doors led out to nothing at first. Years later an addition was built with a larger living room. The room pictured in the photo became the dining room.

Everything was small and cozy. We were happy and loved. That's really all that mattered.

Happy New Year

Tempus fugit. Time flies. (Or flees if you're concerned about the original Latin translation.) 2012 is history. 2013 presents opportunities. A whole lot of luck would be a nice thing to own, but it is something I don't count upon. If I want to get another book published, I have to write it, edit it, present it to editors, get rejected, and keep plugging away at the book until someone decides it is worthy of their publishing house. Or I can publish it myself, a wonderful option but it requires even more effort because then I am responsible for everything!

In 2012, I happened to catch a post announcing that the Prism Book Group was looking for manuscripts. I never heard of them until that point, but I decided to give them a try and they decided to give me a contract for Daddy Wanted.

That was either luck, a happy coincidence, an answer to prayers, or some sort of cosmic karma thing where the stars lined up just for me. I don't know--although I prefer to think God is listening to me, watching out for me, or trying to direct me. (Which is, I'm sure, a nearly impossible task.)

My mother, the daughter of immigrants, was extremely concerned about luck. Steeped in the traditions of my grandparents' old ways, she kept the rituals she felt would guarantee her a fine future. Though she was intelligent, she feared letting go of the ancient customs that had been handed down to her. Therefore, Mom roasted pork every New Year's Day but even more important to her was the poppyseed roll. If we did not have a poppyseed roll, she knew the coming year would be a disaster. When she became too frail to bake a poppyseed roll, I baked them--or bought them.

We often complained to Mom about some years that were very difficult. She warned us that things would have been worse if we had not eaten the poppyseed.

We will be eating pork today. We will have poppyseed rolls, too, which I purchased for an exorbitant amount. The rolls won't taste as good as homebaked, but I saved myself some time in the kitchen.

I know there will be good times and bad times this year. One special meal isn't going to change things. I know I have to glue myself to the chair and type out as many awesome stories as possible if I expect to get anywhere in the book business.

Still, I will be thinking of my mother when I put that poppyseed roll in my mouth. And maybe, just maybe she can shine a little love down on us as we sit around the table. That would be worth more than luck to me.

No Cookies, But Edits Nearly Complete

This Christmas I was--for me--ahead of schedule. I sent out the cards, I bought the gifts and wrapped them. Then my editor sent Daddy Wanted to me for preliminary edits. I decided the Christmas cookies will have to wait.

Last night, I finished combing through the edits. I've removed many of the obnoxious thats peppering the manuscript. I spell checked the document and discovered I spelled interrogation incorrectly. :^(

I printed out the whole thing and began reading through it today. I've found some little mistakes so I'm glad I decided to give it another look.

I can always buy cookies.

The Cover for Daddy Wanted

Here it is! The cover for Daddy Wanted. I love it. It's perfect. Really.

The heroine lives in Brooklyn--a place I've gotten to know fairly well.

I do not have a release date for the book, but I'll tell the world when I find out.

Visit the Prism Book Group to see more of my publisher's titles and take advantage of a special offer--30% off all titles until January 2nd and there are two free books available for a download as well.

Times Have Changed

This is my first grade class from 1973. Over the years, I taught in both public and private schools, but I always felt safe and secure on the job--despite the fact that for most of those years the schools did not have security systems.

Times have changed. Now, nobody is safe.

My heart goes out to those who are grieving in Newton, Connecticut.

Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord,
and let perpetual light shine upon them.
May they rest in peace. Amen.

Overused Word--A Plague of THATS

I am bogged down with the preliminary edits of Daddy Wanted and working away until I am bleary eyed every night.

I don't mind. I want my book to the be best it can be. The passage below needed to be fixed.

So I studied it, switched words around, eliminated the plague of THATS and now it looks like this:

I hope the editor will find it satisfactory, but it is definitely better than it was.

Playing With Photoshop

I have an ancient version of Photoshop. Mostly, I use it to fix red eyes in photographs--but there is a lot more the program can do. I wanted to superimpose one photograph onto another and layer a transparent image onto a solid image.

Using the Help menu in Photoshop, did not help me. Instead, I found clear, concise answers from other people online. The internet is a wonderful thing.

So after an evening of fooling around, I can now place a giant woolly bear caterpillar on a bridge. This is wonderful because I have an idea for a book cover. No, the book cover will not be an image of a woolly bear on a bridge. That is simply practice, but it is a lot of fun. :^)