I have begun this post a dozen times and then torn up each version. This feels like composing a eulogy for a deceased friend. Romancing The Genres has become my friend, I'm going to miss them.
Fourteen years.
My very first book, PULL, a Young Adult novel, had just been released by a small publisher called Westside Books. I was a brand new published author invited to join a new group blog, Romancing The Genres. I was thrilled to represent the YA genre in the group.
And now it comes to an end. Romancing The Genres comes to a stop after this month. The blog outlasted my publisher. Westside Books closed its doors almost a decade ago. In the years since, I wrote three additional books, Being God. Courage and Unlawful Orders, for different publishers. I also retrieved my rights for Pull and re-released it independently, and sold over a dozen short stories to magazines. I am still getting orders for Pull, a novel about a Young man who coses to enter an apprenticeship program for construction rather that take on the burden of college debt. I love being ahead of my time.
Those fourteen years passed quickly, and the world changed before we noticed. I did realize that blogs were decreasing in importance. Romancing The Genres is the only blog I regularly read these days. I haven't even posted in my personnel blog in over a year. These days I, like so many others, am drawn to TikTok and other video forms of social media.
Times change. We have to evolve. It's time for Romancing The Genres to retire. I will miss writing these posts. Miss having something force me to put pen to paper and be creative every month. (Yes, I do write longhand and in cursive. I find it almost impossible to be creative with a keyboard and an empty screen. It has always helped me to think that there was at least one person out there who read what I wrote and gave a chuckle and maybe a moment's thought.
Finally, me use this last post as an opportunity to share a little news. I have decided to retire from writing.
I've written and taught writing workshops for adults and kids, mentored and critiqued, edited and reviewed stories for other writers. Now I get to relax. I still belong to a critique group, I won't give that up until everyone else in the group stops. And I have a creative nonfiction manuscript I am currently editing. I intend to finish that. After I'm done with it, I will begin a search for a different creative outlet. For now, goodbye readers. Keep having fun.
When I saw this month’s topic was “favorite comfort reads” all I felt was distress. My world is nothing but stress right now. I grew up in a country that, while not perfect, seemed to want to do better. So I was encouraged and hopeful and optimistic. I loved reading lighthearted romances and when I wrote, a happily ever after, or at least for now, came naturally to my books.
Then disasters descended around me. When I looked around a few years ago and that desire to do better became scarce. Maybe it was Covid, maybe MAGA, certainly social media and the search for “likes” amid the direction of the algorithm provided coals to the fire. Certainly the growth in book banning slapped me in the face, along with learning that one of the books I wrote, Courage, is one of many used to train AI bots. BTW, Thank you, Author’s Guild for fighting this.
Add in a few personal health issues, and now money issues from this insane trade war the president ignited, and comfort began to feel impossible. Darn it, I had been planning to attend the 2025 Romance Writers of Amereica conference in Niagra Falls, Ontario as an excuse to visit Canada again. Now I don't think the country will be very welcoming.
There I was, feeling there was no comfort for me to write about this month. Then, while I was listening to the radio (yeah, some of us dinosaurs still care about radio) an old song came on.
It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine by R.E.M. - Composers: Bill Berry, Mike Mills, Michael Stipe, Peter Buck
It was written in the 1980s. You have to be old as dirt to remember it, but then again, I am. You can click the image below to hear the song on YouTube.
I instantly felt better after hearing it. The song fit me, came pretty much as close to real comfort as possible. The words are an incredibly prophetic downer, but the music and tone are upbeat and energetic. That song, those lyrics, that beat almost made me welcome the end of the world I knew. I had to ask myself, why would such a total downer lift my spirits? Maybe its just the kind of person I am. I remember my sister died of a lingering illness in 1997, the same year the movie Titanic came out. I went to the theaters more times than I could count, just to watch that boat sink. I knew exactly the right time to walk in to watch the frantic passengers racing back and forth while musicians played to keep their own spirits up. The mother who realizec there was no escape, and read a story to her children to keep them as calm as possible. The elderly couple lying in bed, clinging to each other as the water rose. And the hundreds of people who went down with the ship, to freeze or drown or both. I'm sorry to be morbid, but at that time, watching hundreds of people die somehow helped me deal with the loss of my sister. And once the boat went down, I got up and left the theater.
Anyway, fast forward from 1997 to 2025. The R.E.M. song led me to think of dystopian and disaster stories. It was just in time for me to get my hands on the newest Hunger Games book, Sunrise on the Reaping. There isn't too much I can say, the book is still very new. On the other hand, there aren't a lot of spoilers, not if you've read the other books. Two things went through my mind as I started chapter one. First, I already know what was going to happen. There is no happy ending in this book. If you know about the world of Panem and the Hunger Games, you know on page one that a lot of people, mostly kids, are going to die in some horrible ways in a so-called game. That Haymitch Abernathy, the sixteen-year-old sole survivor of the game will be so traumatized he will become an unloved, alcoholic hermit in District 12 for the next twenty-five years.
What I didn't know were the details. Haymitch's bravery. The kids whose deaths he witnessed, the ones he caused, and the ones he tried, and failed, to save. And his secret mission against the Capital, his efforts to stay alive long enough to accomplish that mission in hopes of making his country a better place, even if it earns the undying hatred of the villaneous President Snow.
I don’t know why this book became my happy place in spite of the misery and pain, cruelty and loss. It sent me back to re-reading the entire series. I have to admire how neatly Suzanne Collins made this book fit into the middle of the existing Hunger Games universe. Not one of the five books has a legitimate happy ending. Terrible things happen, and people we feel deserve a happily ever after wind up gutted like Haymitch, or dead, while the villains triumph time after time. But sometimes comfort isn’t just about hearts and flowers and marriage vows. Sometimes its something: a song, a movie or a book, that grants me permission to feel what I feel, good or bad.
I am in the middle of a nostalgia craze. For 2025, I am taking a second (or even third) look at some of the fiction I enjoyed in my younger days. As part of this, I have discovered just how much I personally have changed over the decades.
Anne Golon
It surprises me how much I loved historical fiction when I was in high school and college. I hated actual history, but readily buried myself in historical fiction. That’s why I happily my nostalgia effort by jumping back into rereading the best, most satisfying historical romance series ever. The thirteen volumes of the Angelique series by French author Anne Golon takes readers across the seventeenth century globe, beginning in France during the reign of Louis XIV, the illustrious Sun King.
The first book in the series was published back when I was still in high school, and was my very first romance. The heroine, Angelique, begins as a teenager from an impoverished noble French family who spends time playing with local children. She slowly grows from a self-centered teen into a mature woman who finds her soulmate and raises two sons she would do anything for. Then her love story is interrupted as she, and we as readers, has to watch her beloved's execution and tumbles into poverty.
In many ways I feel like I grew up right alongside the heroine as the books progress. Over the years I haunted bookstores in search of the next book in the series. The heroine matures in the books she realizes she cant be helpless with two children to protect. The tagline for the books is "the passionate adventures" but it ends up more of "the boss-lady experiences" of a woman prepared to do whatever it takes to protect her kids. That includes
becoming the leader of a group of thieves
blackmailing a member of the king's court to make certain her children have a royal future
taking full advantage of rumors linking her to the king while actually avoiding him. (Imagine being self-assured enough to say no to the king.)
running a business as a single mother
and leading a peasants' rebellion against the king
She also finds herself taken prisoner during a business trip on the Barbery Coast of North Africa where she is auctioned off to a masked pirate captain. She escapes from the pirate, then uses him and his ship to help her evacuate a group of religious refugees to the new world. By this time she is in her forties, and making the kinds of marks on the world I can only wish I could. Over the course of five books the once childish teen has grown and into a politically acute business woman and warrior, so mature and competent that readers easily accept her efficacy when she negotiates with Native American tribes after she arrives in French Canada.
Then, in book #6 of the series everything changes. She learns that her first husband, the soul mate we all saw executed back in the middle of book #1, is actually still alive and well. He is also the pirate captain in disguise. The question is, what does he feel about her now? And what should she do with the man who has asked her to matty him and is willing to kill that pirate if he has to?
Trust me, this author's writing was so good she actually makes the soap opera scenario work. Every time I reread book 6, "Angelique in Love," my heart flutters.
Versailles, France
The path of true love has never been less smooth or more intriguing for readers than it is on the pages of these books. And not only are there mountains of history and miles of geography (the author and her husband were such meticulous researchers the books could be used in lessons) but loyal readers have spent vacations touring in Angelique's footsteps both in Europe and the New World freom Versailles to Morocco to New England. The books have been translated from its original French into over twenty different languages. I even taught myself to read French so I could read the last two books in the series that were never translated into English. That’s the pull this story has always had for me. Were I stuck on a deserted island, I'd want a copy of this series to keep me going.
I am aware I'm supposed to be writing about something relaxing this first month of 2025. But if you've read any of my other posts, you probably already know that I tend to wander off target. This is you're warning that I'll be doing the same for most of this year.
I have lived a long life. A very long life. During those endless decades I've watched the evolution - expansion - mutation of the tiping culture. I'm not old as dirt, so I wasn't't around when tipping was first invented. But I do remember when the standard tip was ten percent. And that was for great and timely service. The wait staff arrived at your table with a smile and a pot of coffee so hot steam rose as they filled your cup. They never messed up orders, kept water glasses filled and cheerfully replenished the coffee cups. You never had to ask for butter for your bread or cream for your coffee. They were serious about customers, and, in return, for many customers that ten percent was only a starting point.
Decades passed. I looked up one day and realized the standard had grown to fifteen percent. Some restaurants had little cheat sheets for those too mathematically impaired to calculate the fifteen percent on their own. Smart phones with calculators were not yet a thing. [I realize some millennials are having trouble visualizing the world I describe, but I promise it was real."
I rolled with the flow. As a girl who always loved math, and who ended up working as a computer analyst in a Fortune 100 company, I never had trouble doing the math in my head, easy-peasy. As long as I got good service, they got their tip.
The next step in evolution was the twenty percent mark. Suddenly things were serious. Customers began voicing annoyance at the whole tipping concept. More people were expecting tips as their right. The friendly server was disappearing, replaced by unhappy workers who used social media to inform customers they shouldn't go out to eat if they could not afford to add on that twenty percent. I fell in on the side of customers who feel that restaurants should not list artificially low prices on the menu when they expect customers to routinely pay more to support their workers salaries. Obviously they restaurants must be overflowing with customers so they can afford to keep doing this.
Things are worse now. Apparently some feel the standard tip should be thirty percent [twenty-five was completely bypassed]. As a result, I have not eaten in a restaurant in over a year. It's not a protest. I doubt my absence has been noticed. It's not about money, either, I have money for a tip. Just no incentive to keep patronizing this business model. Even when my daughter and her boyfriend offered to take me out to eat over the holidays, I chose not to go out to eat.
I agree that servers have a right to a living wage. But I don't agree that their employers should expect customers to make up the pay they won't give. In the back of my head I still hold the childish belief that tipping should be my choice, a reward for great service. Not a requirement because the boss pays sub-minimum wage.
It's the middle of December, 2025, and I feel overwhelmed.
I have dealt with SAD, Seasonal Affective Disorder, for nearly 40 years. I am repeating a post from 2020 because right now I feel a little foggy. Please forgive me for resurrecting this blog post.
Seasonal affective Disorder (SAD) has probably been around since the beginning of humanity but it was not described until 1984 by Dr. Norman Rosenthal. SAD is a form of depression also known as seasonal adjustment disorder.
Thanks to artificial lights, the world is now active 24/7/365. Humanity has lost a connection with the seasons and the rhythm of the days. For some of us, this is extremely bad news that can't be helped by holiday lights, no matter how bright or cheery. As an author, this was a period of disaster. I couldn't think. For someone who calls herself a good plotter, during my SAD times, I couldn't write a thing. Depression is a mind-eater. The only thing usable I accomplished during wintertime was an end-of-days short story back in 2012.
The problem
People with SAD often suffer from the associated depression for many years before they are diagnosed. Many are like me. I self-diagnosed long before 1984. One winter, when I was in my twenties, I went through a period of depression. I knew with absolute certainty that some nameless disaster was coming and All I could do was wait for the end. Coming out of that depression was a miracle that occurred around mid-March. I prayed I would never be that down again.
I went through this cycle three years running. By the fourth year, when the feeling of nameless terror arose again during the short, dark days of October, I remembered the pattern. I was finally able to tell my self that I just needed to wait for the equinox, mid-March. By the time days and nights were of equal length, the feeling would be gone and I could finally say, "Here comes the sun," in the words of the Beatles song.
Estimates are that approximately 500,000 people in the US suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder, and around 10-20% of the US population suffer from milder forms of the disorder.
SAD can begin at any age. However it most commonly develops before the age of twenty-one. This form of depression is almost five times more likely to be found in women than in men.
Many symptoms of SAD are similar to those associated with "ordinary" depression, such as anxiety, changes in mood and panic attacks. Other symptoms include:
Lack of energy for everyday tasks
Weakened immune system
Irritability
Inability to concentration
Overeating and weight gain
Alcohol and/or drug abuse
Feelings of guilt and worry
Sleep problems
Reduced libido
Social and relationship problems
When light hits the retina in the back of the eye, messages are sent to the parts of the brain responsible for sleep, appetite, sex drive, mood and activity. If there's not enough light, these functions may slow down, or even stop. That may be one reason why those with blue-eyes seem more resistant to SAD. Blue eyes allow more light to get into their brains.
Treatment for SAD involves exposure to artificial light from a light therapy box for an average of 2 hours each day. The light given off by the box mimics natural outdoor light and is at least 10 times the intensity of standard domestic lighting.
Needless to say, I have had one of these boxes for years. Unfortunately, it only helped a little. At least I no longer feared the world could end at any moment. I still had no will to write.
My doctor has also prescribed antidepressants. The light therapy alone barely held the unseen monster at bay. The combination does the trick. 2018 was the first time I tried the pills, and the result was amazing. This year, as soon as the first snow hit in October, I began taking my meds. No monsters at all. (Although getting out of bed in the mornings remains a problem.)
The biggest news for me is that with my lights and medicines, I can write in the winter. Yay!! Winter writing is still slower than during the summer months, I can't deny that. But I can now plot, Craft engaging dialog, even perform edits. And the story does not have to be about the end of days! Before, winter was a holding time. I might be able to think about a story, but not to write.
PS, for many sufferers, the worst is yet to come.
According to The Canadian Mental Health Association, January 19, is the most depressing day of the year.
Not only because of dreary weather and lack of sunshine, but also because this is the time people start getting their bills from all that holiday shopping.
It’s also the time where many give up on their new years resolutions.
Many people suffer from clynical depression. This is not the same as being depressed because of an external reason like a death in the family, or the loss of a job. Some sufferes are like me. We manage to function, barely, all the while desperatly wishing we were bears so we had an excuse for hybernation. It doesn't have to be from SAD, in fact the good thing about my form of depression was that there was an end in sight.
If any of you suffer from depression, I would like to hear your strategies for coping and remaining motivated to do things. Don't be afraid to see a professional, it is not a disgrace or a weakness. Don't let the holiday spirits of others war you down they way they sometimes did me.
And I wish you luck in your journey toward recovery.
Many years ago, I saw the musical, Camelot on the big screen. One of the big numbers was about "the lusty month iof May." A time whare everyone tosses self-control and does everything and anything with no regrets. It was all invigorating, and quite literally exhausting just to watch.
Every May that kind of spring fever/frenzy hits and my real life can become just as frenzied as life on the screen.
Now, the Earth has swung half-way around its orbit. It's November 2024, the season of NO.
No & not right now, words that help keep us from being stretched too thin. They give us time to rejuvenate our healthiest selves. Schedules are nice, but - don’t feel tied down. Learn to extricate yourself from commitments with grace. That includes saying no to good things too - even to things you want to do. Create routines that nurture you. Take any snatch of time for unwinding, rest, and rejuvenation. Renew and relax, even if you only 10-15 minutes at a time. Self care does not require a grand event, like a day at the spa. Embrace the changes that bring you joy, both big and little. Matching towels or new lingerie are small things that can make you happy.
Lean into community, the people who celebrate you.
Don’t overbook activities. Don't forget that your family, especially children suffer when the adults around them are unhealthy. You are IRREPLACEABLE in your child's life, so relax and be the best you you can be!
Sometimes you NEED help. For some of us, there is a deeply rooted belief that we should not seek help, either physical or mental. That doing so is a sign of weakness. As if we’re supposed to be superwomen and supermen. learn to seek out and accept help.
Overcome the need to please disease. Give yourself grace and permission to say no with confidence and without regre. Know that not everything will end up picture perfect, and that’s okay.
For now, let's recharge our batteries and respect our limits. And know that the world will keep turning. May will come again.
I'll begin by saying Autumn is my favorite time of year. I also have to admit that I had to seek out for this month’s post. When I saw the subject was supposed to relate to pumpkin anything, I wanted to bail. As much as I love the time of year, and Halloween is MY favorite holiday, I simply don’t do pumpkin as food. Not even pumpkin pie (give me a slice of sweet potato pie, a of Black cuisine, thank you very much).
Nor do I sniff pumpkin spice candles, or chew pumpkin seeds, or consume pumpkin bagels, or pumpkin pancakes or pumpkin spiced soup. And as for pumpkin spice coffee… Well, I’ve heard people call the concoction awesome. I drank one once a few years ago. I watched how carefully, almost lovingly, the barista added multiple ingredientsallspice, cinnamon, nutmeg, and even scrapings of orange peel. I drink some of the result, not completely certain it ven counted as coffee anymore. It was nothing I would bother to have again, or write home about or even write to any of you about.
In my opinion, the only reason people long for pumpkin spice coffee is because the coffee makers deliberately keep it scarce. Then they proclaim, get it now or you’ll be forced to try to live without for a whole year. Kind of like candy corn, pieces of diabetes in the shape of yellow and orange triangles. It’s not even all that good, but for eleven months of the tear its rarer than diamonds, so people are buying bags of candy corn right now.
So, as I said, I sought help for this month's post. Help came from the application many writers either hate, or love passionately. Artificial Intelligence or AI. Specifically, I asked ChatGPT to explain the virtue of pumpkin spiced foods to me, because I came up empty.
First, it was nice to learn that AI agrees with me about the whole limited time marketing appeal. That incentivizes people to line up and patiently wait to pay big money for something they survive perfectly well without for ten months of the year. AI also noted other factors that work on most humans. So maybe I’m not completely human? Nostalgia is a big one, tying the scent of pumpkin in food, candles and just about anything to childhood memories. I do remember carving a few pumpkins, but my siblings and I never ate any of it or roasted pumpkin seeds. In fact, I mostly remember the sticky mess we had to clean up. Sorry, ChatGPT, none of this bring warm feelings of nostalgia for me.
The AI almost grew poetic when giving details about the flavor profile of pumpkin spices. Apparently the typical pumpkin blend, including cinnamon, nutmeg and ginger, feels “warm, comforting, and mildly sweet.” My taste buds cannot possibly be typical. Besides, can you really still call it food when your additive list is as long as your arm?
I am convinced that the craze for pumpkin spice anything and everything, and the rise of social media platforms, are aligned by more than coincidence. Influencers create a buzz, good little sheep flock to follow, and marketing experts seek out more things to infect and make more money.
What about you? Do any of you care about pumpkin infused foods and can spare a minute tom reply and help me understand the allure? I will be forever grateful.
As I grow older, I want to be able to look forward to the future of this country, my home that I love. To be able to spend my elder years watching as the United States moves forward toward the goal of becoming a more perfect union. That goal has been in dire danger from things like Project 2025 and some people’s desire to fall backward into a new dark age. If not for the recent sacrifice of President Joseph Robinette Biden, a man who has dedicated his entire adult life to making America better, the future would loom very bleak.
It's one thing for a politician to say they will sacrifice for the good of the nation. Biden actually demonstrated this by sacrifice his career for the sake of truth and our country. When he realized that continuing his race could result in re-electing Trump, he made a decision that went against his own self-interest and personal ambitions. That sacrifice gave me hope for the future. That makes him a real American hero in my eyes.
The issue was never Biden’s competency. He accomplished a great deal during his presidency. He increased infrastructure funding, green jobs, and protected Obama Care. Right now, President Biden continues working on the situation in Gaza on keeping the government working so he can hand over functioning institutions in January. He was asked to step aside simply because of Ageism.
Thank you President Joseph Robinette Biden. You did the most unselfish act in American history in order to protect American Democracy. I now have a reason to hope my country will continue advancing forward. Your unselfish sacrifice has given me a chance to get my wish and live to see a better future. In my opinion, Biden qualifies as a true American hero. I know history will look kindly on him and what he has done for us all.
I’ll start by saying this month’s topic does not really compute, not for me. Maybe they hit my subconscious, but for the most part, I barely remember commercials. Admittedly, an awesome book or movie trailer might stick with me for awhile. In fact mean, don’t let me get started on the Deadpool & Wolverine trailer [Whoooimboutamakeanameformyselfyea!] That one will be with me for a long time, and I refuse to admit how many times that trailer has worked to get me back inside a theater to see the movie.
Maybe that’s what it takes for me to find a trailer or commercial memorable - it has to suck me in. Kind of like what a good book needs to do. But there is one class of commercial that does stick with me, even when I have never used the product. I mean commercials starring animals.
I can go all the way back to the Budweiser frogs in the 1990s. I know, many of you have never even heard of Bud, Weis and Er, but their croaking together waqs the stuff of legends. There were also a set of Budweiser chameleons running around for a few years. Now we are left with the beloved Clysdales.
Obviously, Anheuser-Busch knows the draw of animals. They even have tours available at Warm Sprinds Ranch, the official breeding facility of the Budweiser Clydesdales. There, visitors can experience a number of behind the scenes activities with the Clydesdale horses. https://www.warmspringsranch.com/
Animals just make anything better. Take Smokey Bear, an icon from my childhood stretching all the way to today. The Smokey Bear Wildfire Prevention campaign is the longest-running public service advertising campaign in U.S. history. In 1950, an orphaned black bear cub was rescued by firefighters after it was injured in a wildfire. The cub ended up in the National Zoo in Washington D C and became the first living Smokey Bear. You can explore Smokey's history and future, and find activities for kids, at his official website:
The Coca-Cola polar bears are CGI, but I still love seeing them come out for winter commercials and the Super Bowl. Something about watching that clumsy family always leaves me glued to the screen. I know they are not real, but there sure are fun.Hats off to the animators who produce such attention to detail.
For me, an added plus comes from knowing that the company works in partnership with the World Wildlife Fund to help communities facing the climate crisis and those in need of fresh water. They also work to address the melting arctic ice caps that leave real life polar bears stranded and starving.
Speaking of CGI, the Geico Gecko has held a spot in my heart since the first time I saw him. No, I don't have Geico, but that gecko gets to me. The elegance, the accent, the savoir-faire - I just love the whole little package.
Before I stop, I have one last commercial icon, going from CGI all the way back to the good old-fashioned cartoons of my youth and my very first beloved commercial character. As a child, I sat at the breakfast table and studied pictures of Tony the Tiger, the jungle cat from Kelloggs. He had me devouring frosted flakes and practicing my roar before I even had an inkling about what marketing was. He and those boxes probably helped me learn to read.
Lo these many decades later, I still fully believe frosted flakes are GR-R-REAT!, proof that if you start them off young you can instill anything inside impressionable minds. I for one will never cancel Tony.
Welcome back to the summer edition of Romancing the Genres. The 2024 Romance Slam Jam conference begins on July 11, and I hope to share this anecdote during this three day on line writer's conference. This summer I decided to relax and look back at old joys of my youth, while at the same time working to give something back for the future.
There are the two parts to today's post. By the end, I hope you will see how they connect and not think I am just throwing out content to fill a post.
Part 1: The past is hard to relive
This summer, I decided to take the proverbial stroll down memory lane and set out to re-read a number of my childhood favorites. Many of them are officially out of print (yes, I am THAT old.) One of those was a book I felt was my teenaged girl-power anthem. It was published in the 1960s and was there on the shelf of my high school library, waiting for me when I needed it. At a time when almost every book on those shelves featured a male hero/main character, this book, Podkayne of Mars was narrated by a sixteen year old heroine who radiated girl power. She was smart, sassy, dealing with dual-career parents wha had little time for their childreen, and a genius level younger brother well on his way to becoming a Despicable Me style sociopath. Plus, she was born on Mars in the future. As a science fiction lover since my elementary school days, I loved every word of her first person story.
I grabbed an electronic copy, happy to see that you really could find almost anything on the internet, including books that had been out of print for decades. I settled down to enjoy an old friend all over again.
Then I reached the final chapter and found myself facing a stranger. Someone had messed with my story. I found other editions, each containing the same unfamiliar and unsatisfactory ending. And they all called it the "original" ending. I found a note written by the origional author stating this was the ending he always wanted, not the ending the first publisher had him use, the ending that infused me with that girl power feeling that helped me get through my tumultuous teenaged years.
Apparently, the author intended for the book to showcase that nothing good came from mothers overly concerned with their careers. (Mothers, not fathers) Never mind that the young protagonist's mother was a renowned scientist doing world changing research. He needed that first ending to show that problems arose because she was too busy to notice the things happening to her kids. I don't know who the unknown publisher was who told him to make changes, but I am forever thankful to them. That original ending would have ripped me apart back then.
Part 2: the future has its own issues
This spring I volunteered to be a mentor to an aspiring author of middle grade fiction. I was looking at people with a completed manuscript who wanted help whipping that manuscript into shape for publication. I was volunteering my time at no cost to her, to help her revise the story into something more publication ready. I picked someone on the basis of their fabtasy story. I forgot to query about her experience with things like writing groups or critique partners, at facing any type of feedback at all. I assumed the mentee would want help and advice and be professional enough to realize she needed to revise before she was ready to face a publisher.
We had exactly one meeting. All I had to do was mention that the prologue seemed to be giving information the reader did not for the story, certainly not at the beginning. And that chapter one had a forest and trees situation where things were so wordy readers might have difficulty seeing her story points.
She burst into tears, said she could not work with someone who did not share her vision, and severed ties with me.
Tying the parts together
This is my tale of two writers. One, a professional, the other not so much. One hated being told to revise his ending, but he did so, albeit grudgedly. As a result, his book changed the life of at least one impressionable young reader. The other writer refused to even consider making a change, and, at least for now, she remains a novice writing alone.
I am not a publisher, and this author had every right to decide to ignore my suggestions, although I felt the tears were a little much. The author of Podkayne of Mars was a multi-published author, at least in part because while he wrote angry letters afterward, he heeded criticism. I truely hope this aspiring author eventually learns to accept feedback. She really did have an interesting science fiction/fantasy story. I hope to see a smoother version of it some day, perhaps in my local library, where her heroine can inspire others.
I bet you thought I spelled the word "triskaidekaphobia" wrong. The truth is, not everyone hates or fears the number 13. And that's a good thing, because RtG plans to make 13 look good 2024. This blog started 13 years ago, and I've been here almost from day 1, something almost impossible for me to believe.
Whew.
For people who suffer from triskaidekaphobia, a thirteenth anniversary might be considered scary. They consider the number 13 to be synonymous with bad luck. Some point at the explosion that almost wrecked the Apollo 13 lunar spacecraft in 1970. (Although it did return to Earth safely.) Thirteen guests at a dinner party is considered very unlucky. A few fearsome folks worry when they find their hotel room is on the 13th floor or their plane seat is in the 13th row. Some even refuse to get behind the wheel on Friday the 13th.
Statistics says the number makes no real difference. But many triskaidekaphobics, including author Stephen King, don't need statistical evidence believe the number is truly cursed. Anything that scares him should leave the rest of us terrified, right?
Then along comes Taylor Swift, born on Dec 13, 1989. True, that was on a Wednesday, not a Friday. But she happily celebrated her 13th birthday on Friday the 13th. This year, 2024, she will reach 35 on a Friday the 13th. Romancing The Genres and the Genre-istas celebrate our own 13th anniversary this year. Swift makes 13 cool, and I'm happy to be joining the Swifties of the world in rocking the number with joy instead of fear.
Don't be frightened by any number. The negative superstition about 13 is pretty much an ancient European thing that we in America simply inherited. Then we enhanced the fear factor by making movies like Friday The 13th. In many other parts of the world there are other traditions where the number is considered neutral, if not lucky. There are people who believe the Number 13 has the ability to bring about positive changes, and symbolizes love and compassion.
Yeah RtG! Positive Change!
Readers, can't promise you 13 more years, but I will continue blogging here about anything that hits me as long as I can. As for you, whether you are a long time reader, or brand new to the blog, welcome (back). Hope to see you again this year. And I'd love to hear where you stand about the big 13.
Let me begin with an apology. This post should ha been up las night at midnight. I happen to have been incommunicado with the real world since last Thursday. I had no idea how cut off and off the grid I would be until today. Blame it on Monday’s eclipse.
I experienced my first total eclipse of the sun on a freezing February in Canada, and it was such an awe inspiring few minutes that I became an eclipse chaser. As I told one of the other people in the woods with me, almost all of my vacations in the last fifty years have been to experience another eclipse … with a little sight-seeing on the side. Inspiring. I’ve done Russia (back when it was still the Soviet Union), the Black Sea, Iran, South America, and I’m still kicking myself that I decided to skip the eclipse trip to Antarctica because I was afraid of a little cold. I will never find another excuse to go there.
I saw totality at the first Great American Eclipse a few years ago. Naturally, I felt I had to see this one too. I reside in the Chicago area, and would have seen a partial eclipse had I stayed home. Two problems with that. Eclipse chasers know that the best, most important and truly awe inspiring portion of an eclipse occurs between second and third contact.
First contact is the moment the moon seems to touch the edge of the sun, like a butterfly kiss between parent and child. Second contact is the moment the moon completely covers the sun. That’s when the eclipse glasses can come off, and you can stare directly into the glow of the sun’s corona surrounding absolutely nothing - a giant hole where your brain knows something should be,but it’s missing. The darker the area is the better, the more likely that stars will come out, and planets become visible in the day. It only lasts a few minutes, then comes third contact, when the moon, which has been constantly moving, moves far enough so that light from the sun’s disk again lights the sky, and glasses need to go back on again. Finally, fourth contact, when the sun and moon have finished their heavenly dance, at least until next time.
I live in the Chicago area, where there would not be a second of third contact, no moment of totality. I’ve been spoiled, I need the full monty, totality and as close to darkness as our world's attempts at perpetual lighting make possible. Staying close to Chicago meant only seeing a 92% eclipse in the "bright lights, bid city" world. Nice, but not the big show. Its a little like attending a football game and seeing the players introduced, but having to depart just before kickoff. You never even get to take your glasses off, not if you are smart, anyway. Plus, the city lights are always on, dimming out that sky show.
In 1917, I took a chartered bus tour to the southern states to enjoy that Great American Eclipse while sipping beer at an isolated eatery reserved by the tour company for the occasion. Even that was too bright, they kept trying to sell us things. This year I headed for a group going into the woods at the south end of Illinois. It was isolated, dark, and without internet connectivity.
I didn’t realize how little interaction I would have with the outside world when I reached the woods on Friday. My biggest concern was the weather. Saturday and Sunday were both overcast and raining. Actually,so was Tuesday. But Monday in the woods turned out to be a day made for eclipse viewing. I preserved the perfect record I never dared mention out loud for fear of jinxing things - I have never, ever had bad weather keep me from viewing an eclipse, not even once.
Second contact arrived, and I whipped off my glasses in time to ses a totally gorgeous diamond ring to kick off totality. I watched two bright red prominences extending out of the sun’s corona. I saw a planet close to the sun, Venus, I think. And I almost got run down by a boy who insisted on riding his bicycle around instead of staring up. At least, that’s what I thought.
Several families had brought children camping with them. Some stayed with their parents during the sky show. Two were on swings in a playground area. Then there was speed racer on his bike, his only concern seemed to be the adults standing in his path, too mesmerize to move when he rang his bell. During totality, the playground kids stopped swinging. I heard young voices from the swings saying “That’s amazing.” Meanwhile, speed racer kept going. There was a second diamond ring at third contact, the first time I’ve seen two rings on the same eclipse. As we adults sadly put our eye protection back, two kids started swinging again.
I thought that was the end, until the bicycle rider rode over to the swinging kids and stopped. I stood close enough to the group to hear him say, “That was great.”
I could have sworn he was too busy pedaling in the dark to have looked up even once. Now he calmly revealed to the other kids that has favorite activity did not prevent him from experiencing the same sense of awe everyone else sitting on the grass, or in lawn chairs, or simply standing motionless in the path like me, blocking his way. I will never again think someone didn’t care about something just because they didn’t react the way I assumed they would.
I took an extra day in the woods because it was isolated and warm and I wasn’t ready to hit the traffic for the long drive back north. As I said, Tuesday the weather was awful again. Sorry I got this out late, but it was really nice to have no idea what was happening in the world, to just care about nature. Now I’m back, and there is wifi and power. But I think I’ll take my time before catching up with the world.
I think I’ll do another one of these escapes from being connected to everything, even if there is no eclipse to provide justification.
I’ve written to you about my issues with SAD (seasonal affective disorder) in earlier posts. For decades my mood has been controlled by the amount of sunlight during the day. By October, there is so little sunlight that my brain goes dark too as depression descends. Fortunately, by this time of year, my depression has fled. Good, because April 8, 2024 is coming.
The sun has such a powerful effect on me, its no wonder I see why ancient humans worshiped that
glowing yellow ball dominating the daytime sky. The Egyptians, Incas in Peru, people in Babylon, China, Africa, even Rome did the same. Some Native American tribes considered the sun part of the Great Spirit. Solar eclipses were frequently considered signs of the god’s displeasure. People were often terrified during the few minutes of totality, worried that the sun might have abandoned the Earth forever. In fact, the word eclipse comes from a Greek word meaning abandonment.
These days we know the cause of solar eclipses. We know its just the full moon’s shadow passing over the Earth’s surface and temporarily obscuring the sun. And we understand the math and physics enough to accurately calculate the dates, location, and duration when this shadow will touch down and hide the sun from view.
And yet …
Some of the old superstitions still nestle deep inside some human hearts. My heart, at least. I realized that in a frozen Canadian plain on February 26, 1979, when I experienced my first total solar eclipse. The sub-zero grew noticeably colder as the sun faded away. But I forgot that I was cold once this gigantic hole opened in the sky. The place where the sun had been was now a void empty of stars. A magical nothingness surrounded by a ring of fire. I stood, open-mouthed, just staring into the void. Animals were headed for their homes, leaving only a gaggle of foolish humans standing motionless on the ice, staring up at that emptiness.
I had paid big money (for those days) to travel from a warm apartment in Chicago, Ill to Manitoba, Canada just so I could stand on an icy field so I could witness the phenomenon that had terrified so many of our ancestors. I spent just over two minutes in the darkness known as totality that day. It was my first eclipse, but not my last. Over the years I became a veteran eclipse chaser. Instead of fearing the darkness, I raced to meet it across the globe wherever I had the opportunity.
June 11, 1983 for almost 5 minutes
July 23, 1990 for 2 minutes
July 11, 1991 for almost 7 minutes
August 11, 1999 for over 2 minutes
March 29, 2006 for over 4 minutes
August 21, 2017 (nicknamed “The Great American Eclipse”) for 2 ½ minutes
And now, April 8, 2024. This one is expected to last almost 4 minutes in southern Illinois where I will be observing with others at a special presentation at Southern Illinois University, only a five hour drive away from my home. I have traveled as far away as Russia, Lybia and Argentina in pursuit of an eclipse. 2017 found me close, in Missouri. This time I get to stay even closer to home, in Illinois. Fitting, because this will likely be my last eclipse. I will have spent almost a half hour in totality. April 8 will be a bookend to my expriences, and I am looking forward to relaxing, looking up, and staring into the void.
February is a strange little month. Accent on the word little. Twenty-eight days, except when it’s twenty-nine, and either way it remains the shortest of the twelve. Yet those few days are choc full of special days. In addition to being Black History Month, February also contains the birthdays for both Presidents Lincoln and Washington, Groundhog day is one of my a personal favorites even when the little critter hands out bad news. There is Mardi Gras and Fat Tuesday, and surely everyone knows and loves Valentine's Day as an excuse for hearts, flowers and chocolates.
There is one additional holiday that is growing in popularity. Black Love Day was created in 1993 by Ayo Handy-Kendi, the founder of the African American Holiday Association. Black Love Day is an African-American “wholyday” in the tradition of Juneteenth and Kwanza. The holiday was created to demonstrate love, forgiveness, and acceptance.
While February 13 is not a federal holiday, it is a deeply meaningful celebration rooted in the Black community based on 5 Tenets (specific acts) of love -
love for the Creator,
love of self,
love of family,
love for the black community,
and love for each other.
This is the perfect time of year to show the love by reading a Black romance or watching a Black rom-com. Let me offer up two of my favorites.
What a Match is a delightful book by Mimi Grace. Gwen Gilmore is newly single and out to find the perfect man with a list of what she wants and the assistance of a matchmaker. Anthony Woods has a long-standing crush on his best friend's sister, made worse when circumstances force him to crash in her apartment. She thinks he's grumpy, and way outside her dating list. He thinks she's perfect. Will she stick with the matchmaker's plans for her, or or take a second look at the Mr. Right who is right under her nose?
Love Jones is one of the best Rom Coms ever to hit a screen, and perfect for celebrating Black Love Day. In this classic, Nina Mosley, a photographer, and Darius Lovehall an aspiring writer,fight their romantic addiction to each other. But, fear not, they are a perfect couple and end up together at the end.
Technically, this post should be about New Years Resolutions. You know, the promises we make to
ourselves every January. Whether they are broken the first week, or we manage to claw and scrape and hold on to them, at least in spirit, all too often we end up heartbroken and worse off than ever by February. New Years resolutions are overrated, and almost literally made to be broken.
So, instead of touting the list of things that inevitably lead to feelings of depression and failure, I dedicate this post to to some positives.
Day by day, minute by minute, the sun hangs around just a little bit longer. Trust me, when you are living with SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) every minute helps, along with mood stabilizing medication. I don’t need to resolve to be happier, it’s just happening.
If I one resolution, it is this: I will forgive myself when I flop. It will happen time and again. Life means I'll keep moving forward, even if its only baby steps. Each step mastered encourages me to take another. Meanwhile, I shall remain calm in 2024. In the words of an old song, "Que sera sera, whatever will be, will be".
PS, here’s some special advice for writers. Remember that being a writer without expecting rejection is like being a boxer without expecting to be hit. Success demands stepping up and taking a blow.
I stopped doing New Years Resolutions decades ago. Keeps me from having to begin the year filled with regrets for the promises I failed to keep. But I do keep a set of tips for myself about writing. Writers, the road to publication is hard. So give yourself an extra special gift right now. At the end of each year, I like to sit around the Christmas tree, stare out at the landscape and ruminate about those tips. Today, I want to share one of them with you.
I’m fortunate to have learned a big lesson with my very first manuscript. Once you heaven agent, you tend to get better responses from acquiring editors who look at - and then reject - your manuscript. And one of my best lessons came with my first book. It was a YA romance, PULL, with a heroine I loved creating, Yolanda Dare, called “The Dare” by the boys in her high school. I wrote her to be smart, empathetic, and a fashionista - a whiz at making her own clothes and accessories. I also gave her an abusive ex boyfriend, PULL's antagonist. She is prepared to return to him to protect the hero’s younger sister. (Relax, the hero, aptly named David, saves the day.)
I remember the rejections I received from two agents in particular. The first told me that Yolanda’s actions around her ex proved she was too dumb to have accomplished so much. I was just about to look at her and see about making changes, when I received a second rejection the very next day. That editor told me Yolanda was obviously brilliant, accomplished and self-assured, not someone who would ever be foolish enough to be involved with the antagonist, the ex-boyfriend.
That left me scratching my head. Was she too dumb to live or brilliant and accomplished? Fortunately I didn’t change her. About a month later, another editor bought my manuscript with the Yolanda I originally created.
Those words and other rejections, along with a few acceptances) now make me laugh when I hear aspiring authors say hat agents and editors do or do not want. When questioned, it almost always ends up that one person told them something, and they have extrapolated that to the entire industry. If I were to do that based on some of my more recent MG rejections, I could tell you that agents and editors don’t want dead parents, mean girls, or heroines that are too smart or mature. (Shades of poor Yolanda).
Four books later, I still struggle with the same questions I had with poor Yolanda. At least now I know there is no industry-mandate that young heroines can't be smart and mature. The order against dead father's is only one publisher. Mean girls are still a reality in both real life and in books. So now, come the new year, I will grab a cup of hot chocolate and relax while my manuscripts keep searching for a publisher tha will love it the way it is.
Actually, I think I'll get eggnog instead of hot chocolate, while I follow my own advice to relax and be good to myself over the holiday.
This time of year, with the lowered temperature, short days, threatening snowfall, the world is filled with holidays. Reasons for people to find cheer and keep going (and spending money) even in the most depressing times. The first of November starts things out with the Day of the Dead, All Saints Day, Prime Meridian Day, National Cinnamon Day and World Vegan Day all crowding in together on November 1.
Holidays like National Spicy Hermit Cookie Day (November 15) and National Homemade Bread Day (November 21) combine to make November and December quite cozy. As a person who suffers from SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder), I need every excuse to help me look up after Daylight Savings Time ends.
All these happy holiday and dark days make November the perfect time of year for picking up a cozy mystery, especially one involving food. Let me suggest the newest of member of Cleo Coyles Coffeehouse Mystery series, Bulletproof Barista.
In the new Coffeehouse Mysery, titled Bulletproof Barista, a film crew has chosen to spotlight a century-old Greenwich Village coffeshop, the manager Clasre Cosi, and its quirky crew of baristas as they film an episode of a popular reality show. Suspicious accidents plague the shoot until a stage gun fires a real bullet, and amateur sleuth Clare is a single mother with a quirky lovelife who who helps the NYPD solve crimes.
She becomes convinced the "accidents" signal that something sinister is afoot. The murderer lurking in the wings forces her to root out the killer before the lights go out on her.
Author Cleo Coyle is actually a writing team, made up of Alice Alfonsi, and her husband, Marc Cerasini. This is their 20th Coffehouse Mystery book, releasing on November 14, 2023.
We all know about the Mother of All Eating Days, Thanksgiving, the fourth Thursday in November. And never forget to celebrate November 11, whether we call it Armistice Day, Remembrance Day or Veteran's Day.
Following November, its time to hit the big host of holidays, including:
Dec. 5: St. Nicholas Eve
Dec. 7-15: Hanukkah - a Jewish holiday
Dec. 8: Bodhi (enlightenment) Day - a Buddhist holiday
Dec. 21: Winter Solstice, also known as Yule
Dec. 25: Christmas, a Christian holiday
Dec. 26: Kwanzaa
Whether you celebrate only one of these days, or all of them, you should have time to sneak in a great holiday read. My December holiday reading suggestion is A Christmas To Remember by NAACP nominee and USA Today bestselling author Beverly Jenkins, published in October, 2023.
The relationship between Bernadine Brown and diner owner Malachi "Mal" July has had its share of ups and downs. But now they're finally ready to say "I do."
Or are they?
As wedding preparations go into full swing, and families begin to gather for the festivities, that long awaited walk down the aisle hits a speed bump.
Mal and Bernadine's relationship isn't the only one being tested.
Preston Mays aka Brain, loves his girlfriend as much like he loves physics. His heart breaks when she decides being a couple is no longer a good thing. He's ready to try almost anything, including connecting with his bio dad's family, to help ease his pain.
Meanwhile, Reverend Paula Grant has been patiently waiting for God to send her someone to share her life. When a charming new chef arrives in town, she wonders if he could be the one.
And then there's former mayor Riley Curry who throws a parade with his hog Cletus! Really, is there even a hope that all ill end well in the small town of Henry Adams, Kansas?
I hope you find at least one of these stories stories enjoyable for the Holiday season. And if you have anything you enjoy and want to share, please add it in the comments.
