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.

Thursday, June 29, 2023


Well boys and girls I finally did it. I published a book. 


Rather than rue the truth of age bias in traditional publishing (ya can’t fight big business common sense) I decided to embrace my age as a huge positive. Can’t write most of the stuff I write and not have history, experience, and wisdom. Life is not made up, it’s real.


For thirty-five years I’ve been casting my words upon the waters. For the last couple I’ve put together what I think best communicates what I am about and what I feel best describes what life is about, with humor and a few tears. I’ve been told this book is for all women…almost, and for writers, for sure. It’s an honest book. Not all I have communicated soothes my writer’s soul. Some foolish and even heartless pieces have changed me. I do not have a problem admitting when I am wrong. I was wrong. But being on the mark makes me soar.


I’ve learned a lot about self-publishing in the past few months. Asking for help, accepting that I don’t know everything and being patient says it all. Side note: Because you don’t know how or where you are going is not a reason to hand in your ticket and get off the train. Find a travel agent and a conductor who have taken the trip before.


Not to bite the hand that doles out snacks along the ride, I learned that the behemoth of book sellers (who offers everything else too) is a difficult and not always best track. Barnes and Noble and sites less known have offered wonderful opportunities. I’ve learned that word-of-mouth from old friends and new readers is a strong and steady route. I’ve also come to recognize when it’s time to shut up and listen.


It’s been a long time since posting here. It’s great to be back among old friends in a place that has always felt like home.

Friday, July 29, 2022

Remember Cher in Moonstruck , kicking the can down the road. That's me. Well not actually. I'm not Cher, and no where near looking as good as Cher on her worst day but I'm still kicking, that can, down the road.

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