My word!

About ten years ago, someone somewhere talked about choosing their special word for the year, a word by which to live to be a better version of yourself. I’d never heard of this before and so adopted the idea. 

I thought long and hard for my word, the one word to rule them all *cough*, the word by which I’d live for the entire year. I’m sure I was gung-ho for the first few days or weeks, but much like a January gym membership, gave it up and thought no more about it. I have no idea what word I chose.

I was reminded of the practice at the end of that year and, not to be daunted (my stubbornness is genetic), once again chose my magical word. The word that would change my life (for the better). 

I’ll bet you a slice of my fruitcake that you can guess what happened. *

And so it went. Every year I’d choose a word, a word that would stand for who I would be or what I would accomplish for the next 365 days. And every year, poof, I’d forget all about it. Even if it was on a sticky-note at eye level above my desk where I sat every single bleeding day!!!!

Then two years ago, I had a brainwave. An entire year governed by ONE word? That was ridiculous. 

Now, I’m a follower of the author and planner extraordinaire, Sarra Cannon, and have implemented a good bit of her HB90 system (extremely helpful for me). As the name suggests, HB90 focuses on setting goals and implementing tactics to achieve those goals within 90 days, i.e. a quarter of the year. So, what if I chose one word per quarter? Only 90 days to live under the rule of the one word that would guide me toward achieving my goals. I thought longer and harder and chose four words.

Pfft!

Clearly, I was doing something wrong. And lest you think I chose silly words like millionaire or bestseller (wanting bestseller status is a laudable & achievable goal for some, but for me it would be silly. I still dream of breaking even on publishing costs), my words were FOCUS and ACCOMPLISH. (Great words for the Queen of Procrastination, eh?) 

Last year (a week ago – ha!), the time arrived to choose a word-of-the-year. I sighed. I harrumphed. I procrastinated. Why bother? It doesn’t work. (Imagine voice of whiny brat.) But genetics being what they are, I refused to be defeated. I was stronger than a measly word. I was determined to—

Ah ha!

Could it be?

Why, yes, Virginia, there is a word that best sums up what I hope to achieve this year while, at the same time, making use of one of my better personality traits. (I am NOT stubborn!)

Ladies and gents, I give you my word-of-the-year:  DETERMINATION

Do you ascribe to a word-of-the-year? Would you like to share?

*Gambling prohibited.

Luanna Stewart has been creating adventures for her imaginary friends since childhood. She spends her days writing contemporary romance, romantic suspense, paranormal romance, and historical romance. When not torturing her characters, she’s in her kitchen baking something delicious. She lives in Nova Scotia with her patient husband and five hens.

Website ~ Bookbub ~ Instagram ~ Facebook ~ Goodreads

Door knocker - Photo by Chiara Guercio on Unsplash

Crown - Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash

Cake - Photo by lindsay Cotter on Unsplash

Let Freedom Ring!

 

By: Marcia King-Gamble

www.lovemarcia.com

Freedom means different things to different people. Freedom to me is keeping an open mind to possibilities.  Captivity does not necessarily mean being physically restrained, It means being mentally restrained as well. This condition prevents us from becoming the best that we can be.

Why do I say that?  Because I’m a woman of color who grew up outside of the USA. Some might call me a child of privilege, if privilege means having two working parents who owned a home and were able to afford a gardener and housekeeper (although help was cheap back then.)  I was fortunate enough to attend a prestigious private school, and belong to every club there was. My family gave tea parties because that’s what you did on a small British island.

All of those things changed when my family moved to the United States. The house was replaced by a tiny apartment in Brooklyn New York. Gone was the cook and gardener.  My mother who had earned the equivalent of a masters in the UK, discovered that her degrees wasn't worth much in the United States. She accepted a position as an assistant teacher, working for those  far less educated than she. Eventually, she went back to school to regain the credits she lost. My father, a civil engineer, found it impossible to regain his status. He went to work as a technician for a company providing appliances to major restaurants. A big step down for a man used to running his own show.  

In the USA, we were not living the dream.  I was on  a constant search to find out who I was. Where I came from, I wasn’t a minority, nor was color ever a barrier to getting ahead.  Here I was in a  strange land with a thick accent, and completely lost when it came to American black jargon,   To many I was a “Tom.”  I also didn’t walk around dropping the race card or feeling that every white person was out to get me. I never considered that having nutbrown skin would hold me back.

My parents, despite experiencing a huge financial loss, (three Eastern Caribbean dollars equaled one US dollar) never lost their pride or determination. They were insistent my sister and I continue our education at private schools. I am still grateful for that extra financial effort and that push.

In time, my family bought a house, and a three story one at that. My mother regained her masters and began working toward her PHD. At one point, she became an assistant principal. I went off to college, and shortly after graduation, began a career with a prestigious international airline. My travels took me all over the world and led to an executive status at yet another company.  

English was something I always excelled at, and while I could tell a good story, I never thought of becoming a writer.  Although, that did not stop me from submitting a manuscript when the multicultural market opened. That's where I got my first shot.

 It was an opportunity to be heard, and write stories I cared about. I am so grateful, I did not allow my mind to hold me back.

I share this story to let readers know that the only thing that can stop you from achieving goals is “fear itself.”  Don't allow yourself to become a prisoner to self doubt.  If I had listened to folks (including relatives) who constantly repeated, “people of color don’t do that,” “or you won’t get ahead because you’re black.” These can be self-fulfilling prophecies if you think like that. Free your mind and keep it open to infinite possibilities.

Like the adage says, where there’s a will there’s a way. My way didn’t include handouts, although I did educate myself on any opportunities available.  I refused to hold myself prisoner and believe that my skin color made me a lesser person, and would prevent me from living the dream. I refused to be sucked into that line of thinking because it only breeds negativity and fear.

Think big and let nothing hold you back. Don't imprison yourselves with negative thoughts and allow others to suck you into their vortex of despair.

Black, white, red or yellow, the world is yours for the taking. Don’t let others define who you are and what your life should be.

Act on your dreams and let them come true!

On October 19th Holiday Fake-Out will be released.  I am part of this amazing holiday anthology. you'll get to read from 22  talented authors and all for the bargain price of 99 cents/ You can pre-order using the links below. My story is Kwanzaa 'pon a time. I'd love a review.

Amazon- https://amzn.to/3jUiksR

iTunes- https://tinyurl.com/34rg95rd

KOBO- https://tinyurl.com/yc38tn5w

B&N- https://tinyurl.com/2zh74n2f

 

About Marcia King-Gamble

Romance writer, Marcia King-Gamble originally hails from a sunny Caribbean Island where the sky and ocean are the same mesmerizing shade of blue. This former travel industry executive has spent most of life in the United States. A National Bestselling author, Marcia has penned over 34 books and 8 novellas. She has contributed to Michael Fiore’s DigitalRomanceInc and served as a moderator on the now defunct eHarmony advice boards.  Having witnessed the bad, the ugly, and the not so good in relationships, she still prefers to write about happily ever after. Caring for her animal family keeps her grounded and sane.

Visit Marcia at www.lovemarcia.com or “friend” her on Facebook: http://bit.ly/1MlnrIS

Be sure to join her newsletter mailing list.

Instagram * Amazon * Website * Facebook * Twitter

A Matriarchal Family

When I started writing I was told my female characters were too bitchy. But because I had based them on myself and the women in my life, I couldn’t understand what was bitchy about them. I mean, they were stubborn, determined, strong-willed and didn’t panic under pressure. They took control and didn’t take crap from anyone. Weren’t all women raised like that??

I turned thirteen the day we buried my mother. Although she’d only lived to forty years, she’d had a long life. Married at twenty-two, mother of seven by the time she was thirty and widowed at age thirty-six. My mother was one of nine children and one of the oldest of four girls born before any male siblings came along, so I think it was self-preservation that made her as strong a woman as she was. I don’t really know anything about her childhood, so I don’t know the difficulties she faced as a young Mexican woman in a predominantly white area, but I can imagine. I know one of the reasons she didn’t teach us Spanish is to spare us the prejudices she must have faced. 

Although I wasn’t really close to my mother (I was still a child and the fifth of seven, so it really wasn’t possible, I don’t think) I think I became the stronger side of her. From what I know, we’re both stubborn, strong-willed, determined women. We’re temperamental, we love our family unconditionally and “we don’t let the bastards wear us down” (I saw that on a coffee mug once).

When my dad died, she grieved for a few days then pushed it aside. Because she had no education past high school, she had to work part time as a waitress in her uncle’s restaurant.  When she wasn’t busy working, she’d curl up on her bed with a novel or on the sofa to watch TV.  Every week or so we’d have a big family barbeque at my aunt’s house. I never once saw her complain or crumble under the pressure of having to single-handedly raise seven children under the age of 18. I’m sure she did, but she hid it so well that even now, I’m in awe of her.

After my neice had her son, my sister told her "We're a matriarchal family." I think she said this so her son will see that woman are equal.  I don't think we'd have had that strength had it not been for my mom. I’m more than proud that I became her and that I’m teaching my daughters that same strength and determination. And even more thankful, we don’t clash.