If You Only Have A Little Time to Read....

I am currently bogged down in the second round of edits for Daddy Wanted, which should be released sometime next month. (I can hardly wait!!!!) But in the meantime, the rest of you should be reading. Summer is coming with long, lazy days (I hope), where you can sit outside in the shade and devour lots and lots of books. So get your reading muscles in shape now and download some short, free stories.

Once upon a time, two people met--Luke and Rachel. You really should read about them--especially since you can do so for free. Prism Book Group has free short stories available at their website as well as at Amazon and Barnes & Noble. At 24 pages, Lightning Stikes is great for your lunch break. After the Storm, which comes in at 31 pages, is a sweet dessert. I helped to write the ending for After the Storm, so you really MUST read it.

Blizzard Wedding, part of the continuing saga of Luke and Rachel, will soon be available at Prism Book Group, too.

Get your reading muscles in shape now! You don't want to have a flabby brain when the warm weather hits. :^)

Transitions--Or How Did I Get Here?

I'm on the second round of editing Patriot's Heart, the book I finished during JeRoWriMo. On the first round I found plenty of glaring errors, but now I'm using a fine tooth comb--so to speak.

I've discovered some transition problems in my story. There are many ways to handle transitions, but each one must be clear.

I've found several blog posts with good advice:

http://menwithpens.ca/how-to-write-transition-scenes/

http://theeditorsblog.net/2010/12/16/mastering-scene-transitions/

There are many more blog posts on this topic for it is important. Transitions should be smooth and carry the story forward without boring the reader. The reader should know where the characters are and how much time has elapsed.

Writing a book is challenging! There are so many details to work out, but I have fun doing it.

My Job at the Glass Factory

Pictured above is a large lump of glass. I got it from the Midland Glass company where I worked two summers during my college years. The plant was located in the Cliffwood section of Aberdeen Township and employed many of the residents. You can read about the history of the plant HERE and HERE.

I considered myself fortunate to get the job because the wages were very good for a college student. I made about $1,000 each summer. (My salary for my first year as a teacher a few years later was $8,000.) I got triple time for working on the Fourth of July and overtime was usually available, too.

While many of our neighbors in Cliffwood Beach worked at the plant, only one was on the same shift as me. My family had only one car which my father needed to get to work, so I rode with our neighbor to work everyday.

The glass factory in the summertime was really hot. I swallowed salt pills so I wouldn't pass out from dehydration. There were fans here and there but they did not help. The noise level was horrendous. That is where I learned to yell, "Yo!"

I worked packing bottles into cartons on a line with two other women. I stood for most of the time although if I was lucky I got to sit at the light box and watch the bottles twirl by so I could spot bad ones and pull them out of the line.

There were a number of furnaces and each one produced millions of bottles. The bottles never stopped coming at us. If we didn't pack the bottles fast enough, the line would back up until the bottles started popping out. I got cut several times.

Sometimes, if a particular mold was bad, I had to run over to the lear, a huge metal link chain belt that brought the bottles from the furnace. I would pull out a whole row of that mold. Run back, pack bottles, and then run back to the lear to pull more of the bad bottles before we packed them.

Sometimes, the supervisor told us to look for a particular mold number on the bottom of the bottle and toss it out. When you're packing a gazillion bottles, it's hard to read mold numbers. We snatched up four bottles at a time, glanced at them and stuck them in the box. The supervisor would glare at us and tell us we were packing bad bottles.

No surprise there.

For me, the hardest thing about the job was the fact that we worked rotating shifts. We worked 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. one week. Then 4 p.m. to midnight the next week. Then came the midnight to 8 a.m. shift. Getting through that shift was a struggle. Some nights I found myself nodding off at the lightbox. One night, all the bottles twirled into dancing ladies with lovely long dresses. I nearly fell off the stool.

Working that shift messed up my entire body. I didn't know what meal I was eating and I wound up with strange cravings. I came home at 8 a.m. and gobbled down heaping bowls of instant mashed potatoes. I went to the pool, fell asleep, and wound up with a bad sunburn.

It was a terrific incentive to finish my education.

When we were cleaning out my parents' house to sell it, my sister brought the glass lump to me.

"Don't you want this?" she asked.

"What am I going to do with it?"

"Use it in the garden," she said.

Mostly I use it to hold down the tablecloth on the picnic table, but I'm glad my sister salvaged it before it wound up in the dumpster. It's a good souvenir of my job at the glass factory.

Win This Book!

There is ALWAYS a contest at my website. The two winners of the next contest will receive paper editions of The Company You Keep. This is my Fourth of July contest--so the winners will not be announced until July, which seems like a long time from now but it will go fast. So sign up today here: Contest.



There are some great reviews for this book at:

Novelspot (with the original cover)

Mindfog Reviews

Coffee Time Romance

Of course, if you cannot wait until July you can purchase the book at Amazon or Barnes & Noble (or Kobo, etc.)

The winners--as usual--will be announced in my fan newsletter in July. Good luck!

The Belford Special

Here's the Irish side of the family at one their summer bungalows in Belford, New Jersey. (There were two bungalows. This photo is probably from around 1930 or so.) My grandfather is the man who is standing up on the right, my grandmother is leaning forward over the table, and my father is that cocky kid at the end of the table smiling at the camera. From what I've been told the family spent summers in Belford every year when my father was young. They lived in Jersey City, but air conditioning had not been invented yet, so summers at the beach must have been far better than roasting on the sidewalks of the city.

One of the favorite dinners in Belford was what my father called, "The Belford Special"--meatballs in tomato sauce served over mashed potatoes. An odd combination but I guess it adequately fed the small Irish army sitting at the table. At my father's request, my mother frequently served The Belford Special at our home when we were growing up.

Many years ago, we picked up my father's cousin Rosemary and went looking for one of the bungalows because Dad did not remember where it was. We found the little house had been converted to a year round residence complete with a deck. It was nice to know it was still there.

I should go back and see how it fared Superstorm Sandy.

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.