I don’t write to be famous, I don’t write to be known, I write because I am and I want to be read. How sad to fill a room with paintings no one sees or play music no one hears. Writing is talking without sound, singing without score and dancing without movement and yet, it is all of them. It is a solitary art conjured from thought and expressed by the need to communicate.

HEAD SLAPS, SPEED BUMPS and LIGHTBULBS, one woman's WTF, oops and ah-ha moments of life.

They were published once, and as every writer knows, once is not enough.




Wednesday, June 22, 2022

Fifty years ago, yes fifty years ago, through no effort of my own I was offered a publishing contract by the President of a small publishing company. That company is one of the BIG GUYS now. For an unknown, back then, I was paid a decent advance. I did not have an agent. I had no guidance

The President of the company said my book would be impactful. It would be the new JONATHAN LIVINGSTON SEAGULL. For those who are old enough to remember, that little book changed publishing. I won’t go into why but my project being compared to Bach’s book was as if I was Popeye's  Olive Oyl being compared to Marilyn Monroe.

It was an out of the blue, heady experience which I let fly the way of unfulfilled dreams. 

I have often thought of how my life would have been different if I had pulled myself together, and delivered the goods the publisher wanted. Those thoughts used to haunt me until I realized that sacrificing what I have today, is far too great a price to pay, for the unknown of yesterday. But still, as the road ahead shortens I wonder – what if. 

 So what is my point? 

When handed a wondrous path, contemplate with great care the crossroad you are offered. Your choice is paved with that which you alone provide, ‘ass’phalt.

Monday, March 1, 2021

My God it’s been a year. Is anybody out there? Does anybody care? Yes, we were locked down. Two weeks, just us and our pain-in-the-ass mini wiener dog who is sweet and quiet only after the sun goes down. (They haven’t found my husband’s body yet.) Actually we did OK. We pretty much stuck close to home. Had food delivered until stores set rules in place and the state set mandates. Even now we do not go often. On-line shopping saved Christmas. Early on not visiting two of our grandchildren was heartbreaking. We got as close as hands against the glass and cried all the way home. Our other Little-One is part of our next-door-nest so we got to spend time with her. We played by the rules, watched the news, and rejoiced when change came in November. We’ve gotten our first shots and are waiting impatiently in line while jittering up and down for our second double dip dish of rocky road. I’m hoping the shots are our get-of-jail-free cards? What a heartbreaking year it has been. When I think of the fear, suffering, and loss that has taken place I am overwhelmed by it all. How can something so minute loom so large while seeking to annihilate our species? Comprehending the immensity of it is like trying to fathom the depth of the universe. It is just too vast. When I think of all the time I’ve had to write, and how I used those endless hours for something else, I feel profoundly guilty. Sustaining focus became impossible, editing became a nightmare, the dream of a title page became a stopped clock. Okay, enough of looking backward. Enough of wondering why, or how, or WTF. So here I am a year later replacing the double A’s, setting the hands, and listening for the heartbeat of the little mantle clock. Its rhythm is the song of my life. The title of the song? Write. Ever vigilant, and thankful, and grateful, and cautious, stay well my writer friends, stay well. 2Ns

Monday, March 2, 2020

Fate in the cards


So…here I am on March 1st sitting at my kitchen table writing. All I can think about is how our world, yup the entire world, has changed regarding the possibility of a pandemic. Some say we’ve already jumped the fence and some say not quite yet.  Where I live we have not been touched just yet but considering how (cliché alert) few and far between my posts have been, by the time I jump on again the world may have gone to a dark and scary place.

Though I am one of those so called high risk mature-types if the monster mounts my porch and slithers under my welcome mat I will deal. If for some reason our little town were to be locked down for two weeks (and staying indoors was the order) the biggest risk (and I can’t understate this) my husband and I would be at each other’s throats by about day 3.

So…here I am on March 2nd sitting at my kitchen table, setting aside the news and working on a family tale-of-truth. This new project chronicles a financial miracle which came down our little country road almost 20 years ago, knocked on our door and changed our lives. It is the stuff of dreams. I AM NOT UNDERSTATING THIS.

Fate plays an amazing game with our lives sometimes. Whether it be a virus the size of a nightmare or an unimagined life changing incident…my advice…never ever discount the possibility that at your darkest hour a wild card may be flipped your way.