Hope is a Funny Word

By Diana McCollum

This month is Thanksgiving. I wanted to recycle this blog as it is appropriate to giving thanks. 

Don't  ever give up. Always hope. I hope for a united country, less homelessness, cures for cancer, and other diseases, no hunger in the world., and an end to war, especially in Ukraine.  Some are lofty wishes/hopes but maybe someday. . .

Hope is a sad word to some, as in “I hope I recover from cancer.” The outcome of treatment is not a guarantee of a cure.

“I hope the tornado does not hit our house.” This is hopefulness the weather does not take a turn towards the house.

Copyright : Olga Lyubkin

We can hope for ourselves, our family, our country or the world. Hope can be felt with confidence, expectation, optimism, anticipation, faith and courage.

At one time or another we have all experienced some form of “Hope”. I know I’ve experienced all of the above various feelings of hope.

I’ve lost hope, too. When my Father was dying from cancer I hoped with all my heart and prayers that by some miracle he would be saved. It wasn’t to be. When I arrived at my parents’ house two days before my Dad expired, I went into the bedroom where he lay on a hospital bed provided by Hospice. He looked like he was sleeping. I knelt down on the floor and brushed his forehead with my fingertips. Dad opened his weary eyes and said, “Di, you’re here.” He closed his eyes, and hope fled from my heart.

Those were the last words my father spoke to me.

I try to be optimistic and look at the bright side of life.  I was hopeful I’d get a book published and I did, along with Sister Sarah and Judith. But along with hope were perseverance, dedication and co-operation to make it happen.

Glacier Park picture by Diana McCollum

I hoped my husband and I could go on a long vacation. We had not been on one in three years, and we did! Visiting Montana, Idaho WA and British Columbia, again, it took planning and confidence and anticipation to pull it off. Husband has severe back problems so we had to plan to only drive 3 to 4 hours a day. I 

had to ask my Sister Sarah to leave her husband and stay with our 89 year old Mom so she wouldn’t be alone while we were gone. I had to withdraw money from my IRA. Everything came together and our hope of a vacation became a reality.

Copyright : Marek Uliasz

So my conclusion on HOPE is you can hope for something all you want, sit back and it may or may not materialize. 

Or you can HOPE for something with confidence, optimism courage, faith and participation. One still may not get what they hope for, but wouldn’t you rather be “doing” than “sitting”?

What do you hope for?

HOPE and plans for 2021

 Hi, I’m Judith Ashley, author of The Sacred Women’s Circle series, soul nourishing romantic women’s fiction with light paranormal elements. My stories show you what life could be like if you had a place like The Circle where you are unconditionally accepted, supported and loved. And where, with this support, you make choices to overcome the darkest nights and choose love and light.

Hello 2021! If you are like me, you have great hopes for this year because 2020 had some serious bumps in the road! Listening to the conversations of friends and family the one word I heard most often regarding this New Year was HOPE.

Humble (modest, respectful)

Opportunities (openings, prospects)

Positive (optimistic, constructive, upbeat)

Energy (vitality, drive, momentum)

What words would you use to describe HOPE?

In addition to HOPE, as I learned more about the convergence of Jupiter and Saturn at 0 degrees Aquarius, the word that resonated with me was Creative.

Having my focus on Creative has unleashed a plethora of creative ideas…for other people. One creative idea that was manifested by Hannah White for Arte Soleil included my book Staying Sane in a Crazy World. Here is a link Arte Soleil’s Etsy page where agift box that includes my book is featured.

Now that 2021 has Finally arrived, all those tasks I’ve put off until “next year” are waving at me. I’ll spend the next few days prioritizing them. Here are two:

Newsletter: At least monthly I’ll publish Choices. What will be in it? Information about how our choices today create our tomorrow is one. Updates on my writing progress. Sales, special events and a survey or two during the year. You can sign up for my mailing list here.

Writing: Finish editing my second non-fiction Yes, You Can Create The Life You Love is up first. And then I plan on writing at least one if not the next two books in the Visions of series.

What word(s) do you think of when looking forward into 2021?

What are your plans for 2021?

You can find all of my books at your favorite e-book vendor. Be sure to ask your local library if you’d prefer to read my books through that resource.

Learn more about Judith's The Sacred Women’s Circle series at JudithAshleyRomance.com

Follow Judith on Twitter: JudithAshley19

Check out Judith’s Windtree Press author page.

You can also find Judith on FB! 

© 2021 Judith Ashley

Without Hope...by Peggy Jaeger

This month's topic strikes a chord in me for so many reasons. I'll try to  keep it down to a few well thought out ones and not drone on or wax prolific.

You're welcome ( hee hee!)

The definition of hope according to Webster's Dictionary is: a feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen. In essence, it's an outcome that we all desire, and each hope is individualistic.

The concept of Hope is something near and dear to me. As a practicing Catholic, hope is one of the cannons of my religious life. Catholics hope for a life everlasting when we die and our souls exit our bodies. We hope to be reunited with our loved ones who have gone before us once we get to Heaven.

Or in my case IF I get to Heaven. Hee hee.

When my daughter was born, I hoped she would inherit a world that would be free of wars, poverty, bigotry, and racism and where very single person is judged by the content of their character and not the color of their skin, where they were born, or their sexual preference.

I'm still hoping for that world and she is now 31 years old.

When I start writing a new romance book, in the back of my mind I always have a question for my hero and heroine: what is it they hope for, or hope to find, once the book is done? Do they want to find everlasting love? Have people accept them for who and what they are? Be the best person they can be?

Do they hope for an easy life, or one filled with excitement? Money, fortune, and fame; or a quiet country life sitting by a fire each evening? A grand passion or the easy, comfortable love of someone who knows you better than you know yourself?

Since I write romance you would think the major hope would be that they find their own happily ever after. Well, that's the end goal for sure. But they may not be hoping that along the way when I tell their story.

My own hope is that when someone reads a book I've penned they've found a few hours of joy and escapism from the horrors of the world we now inhabit and that I bring a smile and a little happiness into their day. I try to instill each book with a sense of hope - for the future and for the lovers - that all will be well and love will rule the day.

It may sound sappy and corny to some, but a Happily Ever After for everyone is my ultimate hope.

In my newest Holiday RomCom, MISTLETOE, MOBSTERS, & MOZZARELLA, Madonna San Valentino hopes that one day she will find a man who loves her for who she is and that she can fulfill her dream of going to design school. Will she get what she's hoping for??
 

You'll have to read the book to find out ( Hee Hee!)

You can follow me here: FOLLOW ME

Finding Hope in 2020 by Lynn Lovegreen

 It’s been a tough year for most of us. I probably don’t have to tell you why if you’re living through it, so 

let’s just say there’s a long list why many of us are discouraged. But I still find hope.

 

I find hope when I see all the great people who are helping others. Essential workers, including health workers, first responders, teachers, post office workers, grocery store staff, librarians, and more are working hard to keep things going. It fills my heart to see how much they care for others. There are volunteers and people in public service working to make life better for others in the future. It encourages me to see “love your neighbor” in action.  

 

I find hope when I see all the artists who are sharing their art and stories. Whether they are visual artists, dancers, actors, storytellers, singers, novelists, or other writers, I feel solace and joy from their work. And of course, romance writers are great at providing hope with their happy endings. They remind me that better days will come.

 

I find hope when I see songwriters and musicians giving us comfort and encouragement. They help us to dream big and see the humanity in each other. I’ve been thinking about a song Bruce Springsteen recorded with the E Street Band, “Dream Baby Dream” by Marvin Rev and Alan Vega. Here’s part of the lyrics: 

Come on open up your heart

Come on and open up your heart

Come on and dream on, dream baby dream

In case you’d like more, here’s a video from Bruce’s website: https://brucespringsteen.net/news/2013/dream-baby-dream

 

Hang in there. Keep on dreaming. We’ll get through this, together.

Lynn Lovegreen has lived in Alaska for over fifty years. After twenty years in the classroom, she retired to make more time for writing. She enjoys her friends and family, reading, and volunteering at her local library. Her young adult historical fiction is set in Alaska, a great place for drama, romance, and independent characters. See her website at www.lynnlovegreen.com. You can also find her on Facebook and Instagram.

Hope Springs Eternal, Even In 2020

They say hope springs eternal in humanity. These days, I sometimes feel like I’d have to believe in magic to have a lot of hope. (I wonder how the sales of paranormal romances are doing right now.) It’s especially difficult when I hear a child psychiatrist say that one in four people under 24 have seriously contemplated suicide this year.

The year began innocently enough. My big concern in January was whether or not the RWA (Romance Writers of America) would implode. Now all that drama seems to belong to another lifetime, or at least like the prologue for the dystopian bestseller, 2020. And, since RWA did not implode, at least not exactly, maybe that prelude contains a trace of hope for how the year will end. A good writer might try to foreshadow how 2020 goes out that way. Last month I blogged about Covid being a villain cooked up by the 2020 writers’ room. Now I think its just another way to expose human nature. It’s presence saps hope, while exposing human beings who don’t care about each other. There are a lot of those, as witnessed by the super-spreader events we continue to witness, and sometimes attend, six months after this started.

I’m not ashamed to admit that some of the hope I do feel can be traced back to a prescription mood stabilizer my doctor prescribed. Normally, I radiate sunshine during spring and summer. Now, thanks to chemistry, I am surviving, and even finding strength to plug away at a new story.

As a black woman, this year has thrown me back into the sixties. The days when politicians like George Wallace yelled, “Segregation now, segregation forever!” Or the Children's March, where police set dogs after peaceful protesters, and firemen turned hoses powerful enough to strip bark from trees on children as young as six. Now police aim rubber bullets at the heads of chanting protesters seeking justice, and teargas a group of mothers lined up to protect them.

I am a writer, and I would never have dared put some of the hope-sapping events of this year in any book, much less all of them. I would never have killed off a smiling, enchanting hero like Chadwick Boseman, not to cancer. At least he lived long enough to make a lasting difference in the world. Countless young people, along with older people like myself, experienced a sense of awe and historical purpose while watching him play his historical roles on the big screen. He took kids suffering from cancer under his wing and tried to make their lives better while he losing his own. I hope he and his beautiful smile are reunited with the kids he lost and that they are all at peace now.

I feel hope about other heroes too. Thanks largely to the leadership embracing science, New York, once the state most heavily hit by Covid in the US, has kept its positivity rate under 1% for over a month. New York tests heavily. It shows the fallacy in the White House argument that testing causes the number of cases to increase. As a former scientist myself, I gain hope when I hear about others trusting facts over opinions.

Last, but absolutely not least, I feel hope when I see some of today’s titans, basketball players acknowledging that Black Lives Matter, and willingly place themselves on the line as human beings in the struggle for justice. The actions of the National Basketball Association has been one of the most hopeful of these last few months. Led by the players, they have raised awareness to the inequities black people are forced to live with and that black lives do indeed matter in this world. Now, basketball stadiums will be available as safe places for people to vote in November.

I do still worry, I know a lot of people do. Things may get worse before they even approach getting better. November will not be a fun month. But I am holding onto the hope that just like the RWA, America will not implode. That our lawmakers will see the need to stop squabbling and take care of our essential workers and those unemployed. That we the people will wise up and take care of ourselves and each other, so no more people will die unnecessarily.

If I could have hope for the future during the turbulent 60s, I can summon up a little more now. I’ve been attending virtual church every Sunday. Now that the service is online, I even attend more often. Big plus, instead of sliding in the back late and hoping no one notices, I am now upset when technical difficulties make the Zoom session start late. This past Sunday I even had home-made bread and orange juice for our regular first Sunday of the month Communion. Attending church, even on a screen, is one of the most hopeful things I do each week. 

Now I'm off to grab a paranormal romance. I need a few magical creatures to believe in.

You Are The Writer of Your Own Story by Paty Jager

When all else fails, talk about something you are excited about. That's what I decided to do when I could only get one paragraph written on the subject this month of Hope. It's not that I don't have hope, I think of it in a different realm than most. 

I don't hope for things to happen. I'm a realist, I guess. I can either work to make my goals- desires expectations (hope) happen, or if it's not me in particular but worldwide events or family or friends, I can think of them, give them support, or find a way to make peace with whatever I can't control in my own mind and heart.  

That is how I feel about hope. It's a pretty word. I like it for a name of a person, a town, a boat, a book. I know it gives people strength when they use hope and faith together. But for me, I wish and dream and work to make it happen.

So now, what I'm excited about. I'm not sure why I'm excited, it makes no sense, but I'm closing in on having published 50 books. I won't hit that nunber this year, 2020, but the year 2021 I will. I've already been working on ideas to make a BIG deal out of it. I'm not sure where, or how just yet, but I'm thinking my publishing anniversary month, will be a month long of sales, events, and fun. 

What are some of your favorite author events you've attended?  I'm collecting information for my 50 Books Party.  I had a lot of fun last year holding a CLUE party in December with other mystery authors. I'm thinking I'll do something like that. And have a special giveaway for my newsletter peeps- Paty's Posse. 

My Gabriel Hawke Novel #7 will be book 50. At this time it is set to be about MMIW - Murdered and Missing Indigenous Women. I'm thinking about making the sales from the book go toward that program at the Umatilla Reservation. The one where my fictional character Gabriel Hawke grew up. And where he'll be searching for a young woman who is missing. This is still in the works. I had plans to meet up with members of the Umatilla Reservation in the spring and Covid hit. When things take an upswing and we can get out and mingle again, I'll be contacting people and researching about the group on the reservation. I subscribe to their newspaper and have been reading all the articles on this subject. My goal is to do the organization justice and throw more light on this problem.

Back to the event. I'd welcome any suggestions for naming my event or fun things to do.  

Paty Jager is an award-winning author of 47 novels, 8 novellas, and numerous anthologies of murder mystery and western romance. All her work has Western or Native American elements in them along with hints of humor and engaging characters. Paty and her husband raise alfalfa hay in rural eastern Oregon. Riding horses and battling rattlesnakes, she not only writes the western lifestyle, she lives it.

blog / website /  Facebook / Paty's Posse / Goodreads / Twitter / Pinterest   / Bookbub

photo source: Depositphotos

Hope - with feathers and song

This month’s topic was a tough one for me, given the current world condition. These days, I feel as though I’m holding my breath whilst racing across eggshells. I’m almost afraid to hope. So I looked elsewhere for the words that I was unable to muster.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers – (314)

Emily Dickinson 1862

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard

And the sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet – never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

Closer to home, I’ve always loved this song.  I’ve attached a link to a performance by The Rankin Family, one of my favourite Nova Scotia folk bands. This tune always brings a lump to my throat, and a feeling of hope.

Rise Again (We Rise Again)

Leon Dubinsky 1985

When the waves roll on over the waters

And the ocean cries.

We look to our sons and daughters

To explain our lives

As if a child could tell us why.

That as sure as the sunrise

As sure as the sea

As sure as the wind in the trees.

We rise again in the faces of our children.

We rise again in the voices of our song.

We rise again in the waves out on the ocean,

And then we rise again.

When the light goes dark with the forces of creation

Across a stormy sky.

We look to reincarnation to explain our lives.

As if a child could tell us why.

That as sure as the sunrise

As sure as the sea

As sure as the wind in the trees.

We rise again in the faces of our children.

We rise again in the voices of our song.

We rise again in the waves out on the ocean,

And then we rise again.

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4C5IoSnPEIY

The Heart of the Cosmos

By Robin Weaver

What touches my heart? A myriad of things brings a tear to the eye and a smile to my face -- kittens, babies, the people I love.

While those wonderful things might garner an “aww,” or a “that’s nice,” or even a “bless your heart,” talking about them won’t really entertain you.  Have you already fallen asleep?

Well let me wake you up with my geeky love of science.  And Pluto.  YES, PLUTO.  With Valentine’s day just around the corner, we must honor the planet that literally wears a heart on its surface (See photo below).

I’ve been fascinated with little Pluto since the day I memorized the name of the nine planets. Obviously, I know Pluto is no longer a planet. Really, is there anyone on normal-sided planet Earth who doesn’t know poor Pluto is now a dwarf?  Frankly, I don’t get all the fuss? After all, isn’t being a dwarf planet far preferable to being a gas giant? Pluto is actually the kitten of the solar system—just look at the picture, all crimson and shiny white heart.  Almost makes you want to hug it.

Like most heroes, Pluto has been greatly misunderstood.  Discovered in 1930, scientists thought Pluto was a cold dead world, not unlike our moon, although Pluto is only two-thirds the diameter of the moon. Then the New Horizons mission by NASA changed all that.  We now know the planet has an active geology with ice volcanoes; a mountain range 11,000 feet tall; and a subsurface ocean.  Even though tiny Pluto is over 3.5 billion miles from the sun, some scientists believe it might harbor primitive life. There’s a lot packed into that little dwarf.

Pluto epitomizes the wonders of discovery. This little planet—excuse me, dwarf planet--demonstrates that things are not always what they seem. In a remote way, it demonstrates that good things do come in small packages. It also reminds us that we have so much to learn, and that there is joy in the learning. It gives us hope for life, both alien and humankind.

And I hope you have a fabulous Valentine’s day.

Tis the Season

by M. L. Buchman

It's funny how the seasons shift and move around us. I live on the Oregon Coast where we really only have two seasons: cold and wet, and a little warmer and a little drier. The Coast frequently receives over a hundred inches of rain a year and we'll probably add an inch of that before today is over.

But that's not the seasons I thought I'd address today.

Nor do I want to talk about the holiday seasons or the traveling season, not even the election season (except to say that I'm glad its over and I hope that the book publishing industry—which was so depressed the second half of this year because everyone was busy watching the mayhem we called an election that they weren't buying books—recovers).

No, there's another kind of season I live in as a writer. There are the seasons when the words flow and I can't type fast enough. Where I wish there were two of me to keep up with all of the words in my head. There are drier seasons when I may stare at the last line I wrote for an hour or more, wondering what sentence comes next.

Sometimes these variations are cyclical.

Like the ocean tides, I write better in the morning or at night. The afternoon is the doldrums of writing for me. I will often forge through these lulls because the story draws at me so hard that I can't turn from it. Still, I'd probably be better off if my afternoons were spent elsewhere...like out walking in the cold, dark rain. Okay, maybe not that.

There are story variations. For me it doesn't matter if it is a short story or a massive novel, I swoop into the opening. At a third of the way complete, I wonder if I'll ever discover where the ending might lie. At the halfway point, I'm convinced that this story will be too short for what I intended it to be. At two thirds, something clicks and I can no longer type fast enough. And the end is a grand crescendo that leaves me panting at the keyboard wondering where I will ever find another story to so engage me. This cycle is invariable. I now know what long the finished work will be by where I hit each of these markers.

There are series variations as well. I have written over a dozen series. Some are complete, some are in process, and some may never end. But there is an ebb and flow to a series. The Book 1 of hope, the Book 2-3 of discovery, and the Book 4 (or 6 or 10) of completeness. I just finished a series last Sunday. It will be out soon, but at the moment it doesn't even have a cover. But that's not my point.

It was the last book in the series because it completed the stories that I wanted to tell about that place, that time, those people. I know from past experience that I will have a season where I mourn their loss. They were companions as I traveled through the cycle of the seasons that occur out in the world rather than on my screen or in my head.

But I also find great joy in them. It is a cycle of story well told and greatly enjoyed, by me. That is why I write. To spend time with characters I find fascinating and to tell their stories.

It isn't to chase markets or make $9 where I might have only made $8. It is to tell story, no, to discover story. And to reach that place where my cycle is complete and that story of completeness is told.

I know tomorrow, even as you read this, that I will be starting on another book in another series. That I will hope-discover-complete those stories and series as well.

But for now, there is this moment between the completion a series, but before it launches out into the world and becomes an object for sale and marketing.

In this now, I sit here with a strange smile on my face and a feeling beyond peace...perhaps it is serenity.

I could wish you no greater gift this holiday season than to find that end of story, end of series moment of happiness and serenity.

...full well knowing the joy that awaits you around the corner of tomorrow.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

M. L. Buchman has over 50 novels and 40 short stories in print. Military romantic suspense titles from both his Night Stalker and Firehawks series have been named Booklist “Top 10 of the Year,” placing two titles on their prestigious “Top 101 Romances of the Last 10 Years” list. His Delta Force series opener, Target Engaged, was a 2016 RITA nominee. In addition to romance, he also writes thrillers, fantasy, and science fiction.

In among his career as a corporate project manager he has: rebuilt and single-handed a fifty-foot sailboat, both flown and jumped out of airplanes, and designed and built two houses. Somewhere along the way he also bicycled solo around the world.

He is now making his living as a full-time writer on the Oregon Coast with his beloved wife and is constantly amazed at what you can do with a degree in Geophysics. You may keep up with his writing and receive a free 4-novel starter e-library by subscribing to his newsletter at:

www.mlbuchman.com.

Charities and Volunteering in Bend, OR

This month at Romancing the Genres the subject is charities. There are so, so many different kinds from the horse rescue Paty Jager talked about, to the One Bead at a Time Judith Ashley talked about, to charities fighting hunger, for world peace and tons of charities to help research against various diseases.

I don't have a specific charity that I give to on a regular basis. I've given a lot over the years to food banks, free meal programs, save the planet, oceans, animals, water, children etc.

Instead I am going to highlight a few different charities. A few that are more obscure.

Here in Bend there is Friends with Flowers of Bend Oregon. It is similar to the Bloom Project. Volunteers collect donated flowers from weddings.

These flowers are repurposed into smaller bouquets in vases and delivered to Hospice, palliative care patients and their families. It seems like a small thing to have a vase of flowers, but I saw firsthand when I volunteered at the hospital how appreciative patients were for this bit of brightness at a stressful time in their lives.

 

Another local charity is SavingGrace. Is a safe environment for women escaping an abusive relationship.

Here are their services as listed on the website:

• “24-hour hotline
• Support groups
• Emergency shelter
• Professional training
• Emergency transportation
• Court advocacy
• Respite child care
• Systems advocacy
• Programs for children exposed to violence
• Community education
• Hospital response
• Therapy
• Individual crisis counseling
• Public awareness
• Information and referral to social services
• Youth violence prevention
• Supervised visitation and exchange center"

This group is in need of volunteers and donations.

Cascade Youth & Family Center for homeless or runaway teens.

This program serves youngsters between 11 and 17 yrs. From around Central Oregon who are at risk of running away or have already run away or been kicked out of their homes. Young people who come from homeless families where the parents can no longer take care of them. They find safety in a shelter or host home.

Teens would be accepted under the following conditions:

  couch surfing, staying temporarily with friends or family

  living in an unsafe or unstable environment at home

  unable to resolve conflict with parents or guardians

  sleeping unsheltered, outside, in a car, or other places not meant for   housing

services include: 

·         education planning and support

·         employment search assistance

·         career planning

·         life skills training

·         positive recreational opportunities and transition to self-sufficient living

Donations and volunteers are needed.

Do you have a local charity you support?

Hope Comes in Many Forms

By Courtney Pierce 

As a novelist, one question readers frequently ask me is, “What inspires a new character for you?” The answer is easy: ordinary, run-of-the-mill people become my characters. I hope to find the best ones at the gym when I’m on the elliptical machine . . . working hard to go nowhere.

Photo: Vlado at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

But hope is everywhere here.

As I scan the mid-morning crowd, those deep into their huff-and-puff private worlds, I pick out one person and let a new character unfold. The combination of body movement and expression tells a story about a person’s mood, determination, and inner desire. I’m particularly fond of the elderly; the road map of their lives is on full display.

On one particular morning, a year or so ago, my gaze pulled from a petite female jogger with a bouncing ponytail to an elderly man. He'd plunked down on the seat of an arm-strengthening machine. The way he grabbed the two handles made him appear to be bracing for the big dip on a roller coaster. All he had to do was push. What's the big deal? I thought as I studied him. But the man's fictional story peeled away in layers like an onion.

His physical characteristics started the process: well into his eighties, somewhat paunchy around the middle, thin gray hair in a wispy comb-over. The skin on his neck and jowls appeared to be filled with sand, as if preventing his head from flying away. His lower eyelids drooped to reveal the shiny pink inside, relenting to his doctor’s orders that he replace cholesterol pills and blood thinners with a dose of exercise. Purple bruises from a run-in with invisible obstacles dotted his arms as confirmation. 

But something else . . . soft and yielding. I dug for more.

Photo: Idea Go-FreeDigitalPhotos.net

The man stared at the handles, as if willing them to move. At one time in his life, he probably could have pushed them to a blur. Maybe he used to be a whisky runner during prohibition, possibly a mobster who slapped the backs of his gumbas over eggplant Parmesan. He had saved lives, taken lives, and laid awake at night, haunted by the lives of those who hadn't been so lucky to dodge the bullets.

The machine's mechanism appeared to have been bolted in place, immovable, a trick. And then the old man did something that paused my loopy trek on the elliptical machine. He entwined his hands in his lap and stared at his swollen, arthritic knuckles. Was he . . . hoping? Praying? Remembering? Crimes didn't keep this man awake at night; the loss of that injured kitten, stuck in the wheel well of his Lincoln, is what kept him tossing and turning for fifty years. One little fella he couldn't save. The man’s thoughts became a vibrant aura.

Photo: Keerati-
FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Sprites of story.

I had attached a name to him: R. D. Griffin, a widower with the nickname Ardy. The sag of his lower lip . . . loss. He longed for his deceased wife to be waiting at home, dishing out a steaming plate of those special scrambled eggs she used to make. The standard poodle he'd rescued from a shelter waited at home by the front door. Ardy be home soon. Yellowed newspaper articles about his crimes sat in an open scrapbook on the kitchen table. Another life, a former life, before entering the Witness Protection Program. Too quiet to go home. No passes; one more try to make it right.

After another unsuccessful attempt to push the handles, Ardy returned his hands to his lap, convinced he was weak. But he was far from weak, just worn out. No one was left in his life to impress with heroic feats, no one who cared that he'd been something special back in the day. Living large and long had carried painful disadvantages without his wife. No phone calls from his buddies to transform painful memories into celebrated escapades. Now, Ardy was getting ready to pull the hardest job of his life, armed only with hope. He didn't fear the reaper; Ardy only wished to not die alone and that someone would love his dog as much as he did.

The old man pushed. This time the handles inched forward. My own arms tightened as I stretched my hope to him from fifteen feet away. Success! I blew out a breath. I hadn't realized I'd been holding it.

Ardy slid off the seat and lumbered away from the machine, disappearing and emerging as he passed behind the row of windows to the front door. That was it. All he could do. 

Photo: Photostock-
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His story became mine, awarding me with the ability to transform this seemingly ordinary man into a character. Real to me. He became the elderly character of R. D. Griffin in my latest novel, The Executrix.

I re-started the elliptical machine and zeroed in on Ponytail Girl. 

So, what’s her story?

Courtney Pierce is a fiction writer living in Oregon with her husband of thirty-six years and bossy cat. She enjoys writing for baby boomers. Her novels are filled with heart, humor, and mystery. At least one trickster animal steals the show. For the past three years, Courtney has studied craft and storytelling with best-selling author Jennifer Lauck at the Attic Institute and has completed the Hawthorne Fellows Program for writing and publishing. 

Colorful characters come alive in Courtney's latest novel, The Executrix. When three middle-aged sisters come together after the death of their mother, the manuscript they find in the safe will test the thickness of sibling blood. Mom story becomes larger in death than in life. But it is the elderly neighbor and his dog, Pogo, who just might inspire the story that will change the sisters' future. 

Visit Courtney's website at www.courtney-pierce.com. Her books can be purchased at Windtree Press, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo Books, and at several independent bookstores in the Portland area.