Still There

 Even though I haven't been writing full time lately, that doesn't mean my characters aren't in my head at all. Every once in a while, one of them wanders in to say hello. Here's one of them:

Reggie Hawkins decided that if he kept his head down, he didn’t have to acknowledge that he was alone. He studied the label on his beer, which hadn’t changed since the last time he studied it, and took another drink. It didn’t taste any better than the solitude.

He finally shifted his gaze down the long wooden bar to where the bartender was wiping the same glass he’d been wiping for the past half hour. It must be hard to look busy when there was no one around. Maybe he was just waiting for Hawkins to leave so he could drop the pretense.

Hawkins had thought that some of his crewmates might come down, but it was getting late and that looked unlikely. He really ought to return to his room, but it wasn’t any better than this place, although the bed was probably a little more comfortable than the bar stool.

He took another drink, unsure why he’d come down here in the first place. Maybe he’d thought there’d be people here and he could find something in their chatter that didn’t exist on the television or his phone. It was a good thing the ship was scheduled to leave the next morning or who knows what he would have tried next.

He picked at the label, which really wasn’t a label since they’d gone to etching to save on paper. The trees were probably happy, except that they were no doubt used for something worse, like toilet paper. He bet they’d rather be beer labels.

Hawkins sighed. The truth was that he missed Nick Bartucci. He had no shortage of friends—on and off the ship—but no two friends are alike and he missed the one who was Nick.

The memory made him realize there were two things he needed to do: decide if he’d have trouble being aboard Penumbra when Nick wasn’t there … and get over it.

It still took him by surprise when some random thought pierced his brain and he was brought up short, as if walking into a wall that he hadn’t seen there. It made him shake his head, wondering why the memories wouldn’t leave him alone. They could be caused by anything, really: a laugh, something irritating, a baseball cap he spotted on a passerby. It didn’t seem to matter. Each time, he felt a sharp dig in his midsection, followed by shortness of breath and sometimes a coughing fit. A few seconds later, all seemed normal.

Sometimes Hawkins recalled a memory on purpose, just to avoid the surprise, but it still affected him the same way. And this had been going on for a few months. It was time to get past the whole thing.

He just didn’t know how to do that.

Hawkins turned his head. The bartender had set down the glass and stood at attention, gazing at the front of the bar as if he’d seen a miracle. Seconds later, the sound of voices told Hawkins what had caused the reaction. Three young people, two men and a woman, sailed into the room and docked at the bar, where they placed cheerful orders and carried on a lively conversation. Drinks in hand, they barely considered their options before selecting a booth a few meters from Hawkins, apparently unaware of him or the bartender smiling at them.

Hawkins offered his own smile at the beer bottle as he listened to the animated chatter, punctuated by laughter and occasional mock outrage. His muscles relaxed and his spine straightened a bit. After a while, he was ready to go upstairs and try to sleep.

“Hey,” he said as he reached for his phone.

The bartender gave him grudging attention.

“Put their first round on mine,” Hawkins said.

The bartender nodded and poked a few buttons on his monitor.

Hawkins saw the balance change on the little screen built into the bar next to his bottle. He tapped some information into his phone to increase the balance to include a hefty tip. Then he tapped the phone against the screen and put it away, which he also did with the last of the beer.

Then he headed to get some sleep before the next day's flight.

Cat

      I don’t quite know how to begin this, except with tears in my eyes.

A few years ago, we started to see a black and white cat in our neighborhood. He was rather large, with poofy fur and a rather arrogant gaze. He didn’t have a collar or tag, so we never knew whose cat he was. He never seemed afraid or happy or much besides regal. He seemed to believe he owned the neighborhood, posing like a statue in various front yards.

Our yard was one of the yards he chose. I don’t know why. I wasn’t particularly welcoming, especially whenever I caught him anywhere near my birdfeeders in the back yard. He would position himself there as if waiting for a snack. I would chase him away. For a large cat, he got over the six-foot fence in a flash, each time with a rather accusing glare.

I decided to follow my usual rule, though: cats are not allowed in the back yard, but I will not disturb them if they’re in the front. He didn’t seem to understand about the back yard, but he certainly took advantage of the front yard, posing on the front sidewalk as if challenging me. Several times he took a nap between the front bushes, a curled-up ball of fur among a bed of leaves. Those were the only times he looked happy.

He also liked to position himself on the front splash block (I had to look that up), at the base of a gutter downspout on the garage, looking like the sphinx as he surveyed the surroundings. He’d be there when I came home, watching me as I pulled the car into the driveway, eyeing the garage door as it swung upward. I was always worried that he’d try to get into the garage, but he never did. The first time it happened, he was startled by the garage door’s sudden movement, but after that first time, he didn’t react at all, as if to show me how enlightened he was.

If we came home from the store and he was anywhere near the car, he’d watch me as I got out. His eyes would narrow, but he wouldn’t move. It was as if he knew I could be mean, but somehow I wasn’t going to be at that particular time.

If only he and I had known …

I came home from work at 5:00 on Friday. The forecast said it would be cold overnight so I went outside to put down some bird seed. When I got out there, I saw the cat under the birdfeeder again. It had been a long, hard week at work (which isn’t an excuse), so I overreacted. I tried to shoo him but he just looked at me with his narrow eyes. I thought he’d finally decided to challenge me, so I grabbed the hose. Of course the hose wouldn’t work, which only enraged me more. I ran inside, filled a milk jug with water and ran outside to splash him with it.

This time he tried to get away. It was with a jolt of horror that I saw him pulling himself forward with his front paws, while his back legs dragged uselessly behind him. Something terrible had happened and he was badly hurt.

I dropped the jug, knelt down and said, “Oh, sweetie! I’m so sorry. It’s going to be okay.”

He nestled into the leaves and gave one soft meow, which even now breaks my heart into little shards of glass.

I bolted into the house and there followed a series of frantic phone calls. The one veterinary office still open didn’t have anyone available other than a sympathetic receptionist. The other clinics were closed. The police said they couldn’t do anything for a cat. The humane society was closed. Etc.

Finally, my husband called our next-door neighbor, who owns cats. He came over, assessed the situation and went to get a cat carrier. I got thick gloves because I’ve handled an injured pet before, but the neighbor was able to crawl into the bushes and simply lift the cat up, depositing it gently in the carrier. I was amazed that the cat was so calm. I wanted to do something more, but there wasn’t anything I could do as he took the carrier back to his house.

Later we received an email: the cat was so badly injured that they had to put him down. We’d thought he had been hit by a car, but he apparently had a BB pellet near his spine. Surgery would have been difficult and expensive.

And now I’m crying again.

Much of it is guilt: I splashed water on the poor animal! Much of it is rage that a cat would have to suffer so much. And perhaps most of it is grief. I’d started to like the cat, despite my grumbling about him, despite my chasing him from the back yard to protect the birds. I remember him sleeping peacefully in the bushes. I remember him almost seeming to wait for me to get home. I remember how beautiful his fur was. I remember his soft meow, which I now interpret not as a warning or rebuke, but more a sigh, a comment that he was tired and hurting and he just couldn’t do what I wanted.

I’m sorry, cat. I should have done better. I should have let you know that not all people are horrible, but I only reinforced it instead. I don’t feel I have the right to ask for your forgiveness.

At least now you don’t have to feel it anymore.

Please, please rest in peace.

Parting Shot Copyright

 I just reread my last blog. (Wow! 8 months ago! Sorry about that.) Some of my questions have been answered and some have not. It's hard to believe we're descending into a similar situation as the delta variant spreads. (No matter what I said in December, I'm tired of wearing a mask.)

I still want to stay out of the political arena, but it boggles my mind that some people think they can tell health departments, school districts and government entities that they can't create rules to keep everyone safe. Banning mask mandates seems like the height of arrogance to me; it's more important to show you're right (or more stubborn) than to protect other people?? I don't get that at all.

One of the results of the pandemic is that a lot of offices in Washington, D.C., closed. That includes the Copyright Office. Oops. And guess who filed for copyright protection last August? Yep, that would be me. (So THAT's why you shouldn't publish during a pandemic!) I've learned my lesson a little late, it seems.

The big problem is that they closed the warehouse where they keep the physical copies of submitted works. They sort of filed everything in that warehouse in order received, but no one could touch it until recently. If you remember the gigantic warehouse at the end of "Raiders of the Lost Ark," that's probably what it looked like while all those works piled up. (I guess I wasn't the only one who didn't realize what a problem it would be.)

I knew there would be a delay, but here we are, a year later, and my case is still open. I even submitted the file electronically last month in the hopes that it would help my case. The Copyright Office acknowledged that they received it ... and then nothing.

They do say on their site that they're processing claims from October 2020, which is after my submission date of August 2020, so I'm hopeful that I'll hear something soon. There's no precedent for this, though, so I have no idea.

I guess one of these days I'll get a nice little surprise when my copyright registration appears in the mail without warning! That will be nice.

Meanwhile, I hope we can all get a handle on the delta variant and once again start to feel safe again. We're all in it together, so we all have to do what we can to keep each other safe.

P.S. If you expect me to comment on the Cubs' fire sale, it's still too soon and I just can't. Sorry.

What a Year

 Amazingly enough, it looks like we're about to make it through 2020. Sadly, a lot of people didn't, so I must mention them as a matter of respect. I'm very sorry to their families and friends in what has been such a difficult year.

Right now, we're just starting to hear about the new vaccine and it's starting to be administered to health-care workers in this country. I'm so glad those heroes will now be protected! It is unimaginable to me what their year has been like and I'm glad to see an end in sight for their hard work and anguish.

Now we're faced with the possible end of the pandemic. We've had to get used to it for about nine months and now we'll have to get used to life without it. I know the part about "life without the pandemic" will be easy, but what about the rest of it? I find myself a little concerned about what has changed permanently. How many bricks-and-mortar stores will never come back? Will we be able to sit down in a restaurant? Is it true what I've read, that theatres are a thing of the past? (I doubt it, but I don't know.) Will there be a DH in the NL? What else will be different that I haven't even considered?

I'm silly enough that I'll partially miss wearing a mask sometimes. It sure keeps my face warm on these cold mornings, but more than that, it gives me a barrier against the world. Remember: I'm an introvert. Sometimes I want to retreat, and the mask makes it easier to do that in some situations. Besides, if I want to make a face but don't want anyone to see it, the mask helps!

I think sometimes about last year and how ignorant I was. I had no idea that such a thing as a global epidemic was possible in these modern times. It's yet another example of Mother Nature, or whatever/whoever you believe, giving us a reminder that we aren't omnipotent or omniscient. We've made great strides as a species, but we're still vulnerable.

I learned a lot about human nature, too. Man, I had no idea that such large groups of people could be so stubborn. I don't want to open up a great debate (which I wouldn't anyway because no one reads this blog), but I was sad to see how many people refused to wear a mask. Obviously, there were those with legitimate health reasons, but I mean the other people. You know who you are. It's not a symbol of oppression; it's a symbol of concern for your fellow human! I see that you have none. Enough said.

And in the middle of this, I published a novel. You might think I'm crazy. You might be right. My thinking was this: I wanted to get it done, no matter when it was. And I did realize that more people were reading, so I thought maybe my novel would have a better chance. That didn't happen (I think I've sold four), but at least I gave it the opportunity.

My fantasy is that one of these days, someone will read one of them and actually like it. Maybe even love it. Then they'll discover that it's a series and read the whole thing. And still like it! And then they'll post a good review somewhere. And then they'll tell their friends. And then a lot of people will read these novels that mean so much to me, and they'll meet my characters, whom I happen to like quite a bit. That would be fun. I've always thought it would be amazing to see a few people debating some small aspect of one of the novels. Or something like that. (I dream small.)

Anyway, I'm mostly just rambling here. It's been such a crazy year and I feel hard-pressed to say anything about it that doesn't sound ridiculous. I keep thinking that I could never write anything as "out-there" as this year has been, so what's worth writing about? I'm sure I'll come up with something someday, perhaps once the oddity of 2020 has started to fade in my memory.

I hope your year has been all right and your friends/family are safe. Here's looking forward to 2021.

Take care.

Finally

You might not believe it, but the fifth novel of the Penumbra series is now out!

Here's a look at the amazing cover by Nicole Smith:

It's now available on Amazon. There were a few glitches getting it there, which is why I didn't post here right away, but I think most of it is fixed. I see that the "Look Inside" feature isn't yet working for the paperback version, but I hope that will be functional soon.

Wow. I hardly know what to say. I'm very excited to finally get this done, but I'm sorry it's in the middle of a pandemic. I don't know if anyone is buying physical books anymore, but maybe the Kindle version will do well. Who knows?

At this point, I can say that this will be my last novel for a while. As sad as that makes me, I have to acknowledge that I don't have anything else written right now and life is so strange that my imagination feels a little insignificant.

I love my characters with all my heart. I know that they'll live on in my head, and maybe someday they'll have another adventure that I think is worth writing. If so, you'll be the first to know! For now, please enjoy the five novels I've released ... and please write a review if you read any of them. Reviews are very important in getting a novel noticed!

I'm going to try to promote this novel and then I'll consider whether I'll continue this blog or not. I suspect that I will because I don't want it to disappear, but I've learned that what I think about the future isn't always the case. 

Thank you so much for reading the blog. I've tried to be honest and not ridiculous, to give some advice and some insights, to share what I've gone through. I've written some posts on my life outside writing, so maybe I'll continue with that. It remains to be seen.

You can always check out my Facebook page for more information: Diane's Facebook Page

Thanks for your support. Stay safe!

Update on Parting Shot

Once again, I'm sorry it has been so long since I last wrote here. Life has an odd way of intruding on my intentions sometimes.

I hope you're doing well amid the chaos of our current lives. I find myself feeling a little like I've stepped into the pages of a novel ... and it's not one of mine! Whose novel is this and how do I get out? We need to have a few words about the writing style, I think.

Anyway, I do have some news! It definitely looks like I'm going to release the fifth novel, Parting Shot, this year.

I know it's hard to believe, since it's been four years since the last one and I've already said there would be a new one this year, followed by mostly silence. I don't blame you for feeling skeptical. I'm trying not to be skeptical.

I really thought it would be sooner, because I had the text ready to go in February, but then the coronavirus decided to get into the act. My artist and I were affected in different ways, but we both got sidetracked and delayed. We did the whole thing remotely, which is a testament to her creativity and patience because I found I don't always excel at describing what I want/expect in an image. We kept working, though, and I think you're going to like the result.

Here's where I am: I have uploaded the whole interior of the novel and the cover image to KDP. Both have been accepted, so I ordered a proof copy. (The Other Side taught me how crucial it is to do that every time.) The proof should get to me in a little over a week (because I'm too cheap to pay to expedite it), so we'll see what happens then. If the proof copy looks good, I'll be able to publish Parting Shot. Sometime in there, I'll also get the Kindle version available.

The end is in sight! I will keep you updated, I promise.

Thank you for your patience. Stay safe.

Descent

A few weeks ago, I went to Wilderness Park, where I walked a familiar path until it led me to a strip pit, surrounded by steep slopes and dense trees.

There were trails here that I’d never explored, mostly because they weren’t labeled and seemed little more than wildlife trails, narrow and not clearly defined. I’d debated whether I should take one, but there no signs to forbid it and I was in a mood for something different.

The path I chose was steep at first, as if to test me. I clambered up the slope and found myself on a narrow ridge, alongside the same strip pit, a dark spot on that cloudy day.

I pressed on, fighting off tree branches that tried to tear at my face, my hat, my jacket. The path had obviously not been traversed by a tall person recently, so I had to push my way through. I kept going, bending the branches aside, peering ahead to see where the path would take me. I wasn’t sure where I was or where I was going, but I consoled myself with the thought that I need only turn around to find my way back.

After a while, I stopped, faced with a dilemma. The path continued straight ahead of me, but there was another one breaking off to my left. I pondered. If I kept going straight, I would have the same easy solution to find my way back, but I might see something interesting. (It was January, though. There wouldn’t be much.) The other path was a risk, but it did seem to meander back in the general direction of the more familiar part of the park. It had already been over twenty minutes since I’d left the original strip pit, and it would be a walk of about ten or so minutes from there to my car. On such a gray and chilly day, I decided to go back.

The path on the left had several steep descents, testing me again. I had to take care not to twist an ankle on a jutting tree root or wobbly rock, all while still fending off the grasping tree branches. A few times I questioned whether I was still on an actual trail, but there was just enough there for me to believe in it.

After I half-slid down another slope, I found myself in a ravine. For a moment, I stood there and considered the fact that I didn’t think I’d ever been in a ravine before. It seemed odd and exciting, as if I’d found myself in a Bradbury story. As one would expect, it was shady and quiet, a dull brown bowl of dead leaves and slumbering trees.

Once the novelty wore off, I realized that I couldn’t see the path anymore. This caused some concern, but not fear. I knew I’d gone far enough to be close to my destination. It was simply a matter of finding a way to it.

I stepped out farther into the ravine. There were no visible trails. As I looked up the incline on the opposite side, though, I thought something about it seemed familiar. I recalled a trail that leads beside a ravine and I wondered if that might be it. Even if it wasn’t, the higher ground would give me a better vantage point to see where I was.

Getting up was not easy. The leaves wanted to slide underfoot and the ground was just damp enough to offer little purchase. More than once I had to grab at a tree trunk to halt my backward slide back into the ravine. I clambered and grasped, determined to reach the top … and I finally made it.

I stood there, panting and disheveled but smiling. I was on the trail I’d hoped to find and it led straight back to my starting point. I looked down into the ravine, which didn’t seem so forbidding from this height. It was quiet and unbothered by humanity, biding its time until spring would bring it back to life.

     Then I turned away and walked back toward my regular life.

Title for the Fifth Novel

First of all, I must apologize for not writing sooner. I'm not going to make any lame excuses, but I will say it's a little surprising how crazy life gets sometimes.

In between counting birds this weekend for the Great Backyard Bird Count (go to birdcount.org for more information), I'm actually working on my fifth novel.

And believe it or not, I'm finally past the rewriting stage. It took me a lot of time because I sent it off to two very helpful readers, who pointed out a few things that didn't work or just didn't seem quite right. That led to me discovering a few other problems, so I had to put in quite a bit of time to tweak and rewrite. I'm not complaining: I'd rather get it right! Thanks to Bill and Deb for your help.

At some point, however, I realized that I HAD TO STOP REWRITING. That's one of the hardest things for me to do! I keep thinking there's one more error to be caught, and I keep reading it over just in case. I could keep doing that forever, but it's a little hard to get it published that way.

So here I am. I've signed it up at the KDP site and now I'm formatting the whole thing. This involves several steps: adding the front and back pages, setting the margins, justifying the text on all sides, adding drop caps and setting the trim size. After that, I need to scroll through the whole thing page by page, looking for awkward breaks in sentences. For example, I don't want a character's whole quotation and name to be on one page with "said" on the next page. That one little word looks lonely by itself, so I have to tweak things so it can join the rest of the sentence. You might find this surprising: I don't consider this process tedious at all. In fact, I enjoy it. I don't know if it's because I'm crazy or because I realize that I'm actually getting closer to finishing the whole process, but I don't mind spending the time.

The good news for you is that when I signed it up on KDP, I had to submit the title. That's right: there's finally a title ... and here it is!

The fifth novel will be called Parting Shot.

Some of the characters and events in Another Shot are mentioned in Parting Shot, so I like the similarity in titles. I hope it helps tie the whole series together.

You may be wondering if this is the final novel in the Penumbra series. The short answer is that I don't know. I had five novels in mind when I started, and this one sort of ties up a lot of things, but I can't guarantee that I won't find that I want to explore these (and possibly other) characters some more in the future. Or I might start a new series. The only guarantee I can give you is that I won't stop writing. I might not publish again, but I can't promise that either. I'm going to leave that open for now.

I will let you know as I proceed, especially when Parting Shot is available.

Stay tuned!

When to Write (or Not)

You’re sitting at your desk (or in your easy chair or in a coffee house or wherever), staring at a screen (or a typewriter or whatever), and nothing’s coming. You’re blank. Your head is blank. The page is blank. You want to get up and do something else (anything!), but you know that’s no good. The little voice in your head keeps telling you to stick with it, to keep trying until something happens, even if you write trash.

You might be surprised to learn that at this point, I give up and go do something else. Or you might not be too surprised, since I only have four novels out. But I’m a writer, so that’s what I do, isn’t it?

Let’s be honest here. I’m not a full-time writer, no matter how much I like the idea. I have a day job. I have other hobbies and interests. I have family. Writing is only part of my life. It doesn’t rule my waking hours or dictate that I spend a certain amount of time with it. If you want to know what a full-time writer goes through, you’d better ask one of them.

But if you want to know what a part-time writer does, here I am. I’m sure I will disappoint you when I tell you that I only write when I’m feeling it. (Rewriting is a completely different story. If I only did that when I wanted to, I’d never get it done!)

That’s right. All that nonsense you’ve heard about muses and inspiration might be true after all. I don’t think I have a little angel whispering plots in my ear, but my head has to be prepared to come up with something and it can’t do that if I’m overworked, stressed, angry, grief-stricken or just empty-headed. I must have had some quiet time recently to mull things over. I have to feel comfortable with my characters, sure that I know their motivations and personalities.

Here’s the thing: write when you feel like it. If that’s two hours a day, do it. If that’s an hour every other day, do it. If it’s every other Tuesday, do that. If you don’t like writing, you shouldn’t be doing it.

     And that’s why I never force myself. Writing is one of those things that gives my life more meaning. I’d be lost without it, so I’m not going to turn it into a chore. It’s a joy, and I plan to keep it that way.


P.S. The fifth novel is a work in progress. Stay tuned!

Farewell to Google Plus

When I published my first novel, I read a lot of advice online about the best way to publicize it. Several people/sites said it was imperative for me to put myself out there on social media so that any potential reader could find out more about me and might be inspired to buy my novels.

As a result, I opened accounts with Facebook, Goodreads, Amazon Author Central, Blogger, iAuthor, Youtube, and Google+. I soon realized that each of these needed to be somewhat different since no one wants to read the same information over and over.

I decided that Blogger would have snippets of my fiction, in addition to actual updates and my thoughts on the world, while Facebook would be more about the novels and general space news.

iAuthor, Goodreads and Youtube are sites where I mostly posted items (names & information about the novels, videos about the novels) and then left them alone. Amazon Author Central was the place to post general information about me as an author, with a picture or two.

Then there was Google+. I wasn’t sure what to do with it at first. All of my blogs automatically show up there, but that seemed a little boring. I did some exploring and found out that a lot of people use Google+ for photos, especially collections of photos, so I decided to do the same. At first, I simply shared photos from others that I thought were noteworthy. After a while, though, I posted a few of my own photos. Eventually I posted a few collections. It was always a good place to find amazing photos of birds, wildlife, nature, beautiful things, etc. I liked how easy it was to explore and find others’ collections. And I had around 42 followers!

Now comes the news that Google+ will no longer be available for non-commercial users like me. This makes me sad. It was one place where I could post little items about something cool I’d seen in Wilderness Park or on the flowers out front or while I was traveling. I wasn’t really an author there; I was just one person among many wanting to share some photos.

There weren’t a lot of ads. If I followed someone, I saw ALL of their posts, not just some. If I wanted to explore, it was simple. If I wanted to share my photos with someone, that was simple, too. Google+ never seemed overbearing or difficult; it just seemed like a nice place to hang out once in a while.

I guess those of us hanging out together weren’t generating enough revenue. Also, Google apparently had a data breach and decided it wasn’t worth it to revise Google+ for added security. Whatever the reason, they’ve decided to end the Google+ product, except for business owners.

I’m not the only one who will miss Google+. I’ve read several posts there as people try to figure out where to move their photos and how to notify their followers (sometimes numbering in the tens of thousands). They’re scattering to the wind; I guess it’s a lot like when you leave high school or college in the “real world”: you realize you won’t be with that particular set of people anymore and won’t see some of them ever again.

I suppose it’s for the best. I’ve met a lot of good people since college. I’m sure I’ll find somewhere else to share and enjoy photos.

But I’ll miss this one. Goodbye, Google+.

Mountains in the Rearview

I recently returned from a trip to Colorado, and ever since then, I've noticed something different. Mostly about myself: I'm calmer. I'm not so scattered or anxious. Why is this?

First of all, let me highly recommend a trip to Colorado whenever you get a chance. There is so much variety in that state, there are so many things to do, that you will always find something there to enjoy.

My personal favorite is Rocky Mountain National Park. You start with sweeping meadows ringed by pine trees. Then you drive up Trail Ridge Road along switchbacks and past craggy rocks. Finally you emerge above the treeline to another world: the alpine world. Here everything is short and tough, designed to withstand the high winds and cold temperatures. And the views are breath-taking, everywhere you look. "Purple mountains' majesty" starts to make sense.

Throughout the park, there is abundant wildlife to be seen: elk, moose, deer, marmots, chipmunks, ground squirrels, untold species of birds, and much more.

Among all of this, however, I have found one thing that I enjoy more than anything else: the mountain stream.

When I was a child, I loved to throw rocks or sticks into the stream: rocks for the satisfying 'sploosh' and sticks because I could run alongside and track where the current took them.

Now, however, I'm content to sit beside the stream and listen to what it has to tell me.

Then something happens: when I listen to the stream, my head goes silent. All those random thoughts, all those worries, all the planning and plotting that fills my head—it all goes away. I'm left with only the sound of water tumbling over rocks ... and a peace that is rare for me.

I sat beside such streams several times during my trip. Each time, there was only the stream and nothing else mattered. It was the ultimate form of meditation.

Don't get me wrong: I drank in the mountain views, the wildlife and the wildflowers, which were everywhere. I cried when I had to leave ... and I stared at the rearview mirror for as long as the mountains were visible there.

But now I feel a stillness that I couldn't achieve before this trip.

I don't know how long it will last, but for now I'm holding onto it. I like the calmness, the peace, the feeling that things will be all right.

I'm trying to keep the mountain stream in my heart.

Stream at Hidden Valley, Rocky Mountain National Park

Trust Your Readers

Part of your job as a writer is to set the scene, to explain to the reader what is happening, but you need to be careful: unnecessary information can be distracting … and sometimes annoying!

For example, if I wrote that Hawkins went to the starboard side of Penumbra and then I added an explanation that the starboard side is the right side of the ship, my readers would roll their eyes and sigh. Yes, Diane, we already know that. If they didn’t know that, I apologize, but they can certainly look it up. That’s what Google is for, right?

How many times have you read a story and wondered why the writer insisted on telling you things you already know? It’s simple: the writer doesn’t trust you.

This includes the distracting facts that tell you the writer is simply showing off: how fast light travels, how many bones are in the human body, what the square root of 3,472 is. Most of the time, the reader doesn’t need to know these facts to appreciate the story. Only if it is directly relevant—for example, the forensic scientist found 202 adult bones, so four are missing—should these little tidbits be included. It’s never a bad thing for a writer to know these facts, but it’s in bad form to include them in the story when they’re not needed.

It’s also bad when you tell the reader things that he/she should be able to figure out from what’s happening in the scene.

For example:

    Bobby kicked open the door and hurled his keys across the

room. He muttered under his breath as he slammed the door

shut and flung himself into a chair.

    Katrina appeared in the bedroom doorway. “What—?”

    “Shut up. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Now let me ask you this: what is Bobby’s mood at this point? Do I need to tell you or can you figure it out for yourself?

How about this?

Bobby slammed the door. He was angrier than he’d ever been.

Katrina appeared in the bedroom doorway. “What—?”

“I’m so mad at Joe!” Bobby shouted.

In this case, I’d be a little ticked off myself, mostly because the writer doesn’t trust me enough to figure out Bobby is mad on my own. As a reader, I never appreciate it when the writer decides to spell out the obvious for me.

I admit that it’s a fine line. Sometimes you’ll need to step back and pretend you’ve never seen this scene before; then decide if everything you’ve included needs to be there. You could also have someone else read the scene and tell you what can stay and what should go.

When in doubt, though, trust your readers.

Silence

I'm like the Grinch in one respect. No, I don't hate the Whos. I don't hate Christmas. I don't yell at Max. But I do hate the noise, noise, noise.
Maybe I'm just getting old and cranky. I know that part of it is because I have tinnitus. If you don't know what that is, have you ever had your ears ring after a particularly loud sound or a noisy concert? If you were to have that sound in your ear(s) all the time, without relief, that's tinnitus. It can be different sounds for different people. Mine is a high-pitched shrieking sound, like a tea kettle whistle. Tinnitus is apparently supposed to make a person more sensitive to sound, and I am proof of that.
What I don't understand is that people around me seem to require sound/noise all the time. I listen to the radio, I watch TV, but there are times when I like to sit in relative silence, a thought that would make many of my co-workers recoil in terror. "Silence? How can you stand it??"
When I was growing up, nobody thought silence was bad. As a kid, I played outside without a radio to listen to or videos to watch. My family traveled to the mountains and went on long hikes where all we heard was occasional wind and the birds. I don't remember considering that torture (well, except for the tough hiking part). We might even spend an evening reading, with no sound except pages turning.
Now everybody's got to have ear buds or a radio or a phone or a TV or something. It puzzles me.
People ask me, "How do you come up with all those ideas for your novels?"
Here's the answer: silence. Almost all of my ideas come when I'm walking in nature or staring at a computer monitor, in silence. Silence lets my mind settle down, roam at will and make connections that it could never make with constant outside stimulation. It needs that breathing space to get creative.
I don't hate music or TV or whatever. These things are entertaining and have an important place in anyone's life. But don't let them rule your life.
Give yourself a break once in a while to let your mind wander. You'll be surprised by what you might come up with.

On the Verge

I missed writing a blog in January. Sorry about that! I hope you had a wonderful holiday season. Happy 2018!

My January was full of upheaval, especially at work. A lot of things changed, some for the better and some yet to be seen. We were put into different groups, we were given different supervisors, we were physically moved around the room. It took everyone a while to get used to it.

I was one of them. I don't mind some change, but we got a lot thrown at us all at the same time. My team changed, my original group's title disappeared, I had to get used to a new location with a few challenges. I'll admit that I had a little trouble with it.

I think I'm getting more used to it, though. That's what happens, isn't it? You grumble and complain, you wonder why this had to happen ... and then you turn around and it all seems normal. It's happened before. I'm sure it will happen again.

Nevertheless, I was glad to have a few weekends to process things. It's nice to have some quiet time to put things in perspective.

This weekend was no exception. I'm on the verge of a decision regarding work and I needed some time away to think about it.

So why on earth did I find myself driving to work and parking in the lot on a Saturday?

By now, you should know that I'm a birder, so this next bit won't surprise you.

For several weeks at work, I've been walking in the hallway to get some exercise when something outside caught my eye. I've stopped by windows and doors to squint out at the field north of our building because there was movement in an otherwise empty space. As you might have guessed, it had two wings. It was a Northern Harrier. I wasn't sure at first, but then I glimpsed the white patch at the base of its tail and I knew.

Several times I've stood still to watch its aerial acrobatics as it glides, stoops and banks over the field, searching for some unlucky rodent to make its meal. I've had more than one person ask me what I'm staring at out there. Nobody seems surprised when I saw it's a hawk.

Without binoculars, though, I couldn't see the bird very well. It's a big field and the harrier seemed good at keeping its distance. As a result, I drove over there with binoculars this afternoon to see if I could get a better look.

It was chilly, with a brisk wind, and my heart fell as I pulled into the lot. The field looked empty. I put on some gloves and earmuffs before I stepped out of the car. Still no sign of hawks. Resigned, I decided I might as well walk a little before the drive home.

I walked around the building and stopped. There in the EAST field were two harriers! They hopped around, spreading their wings over the ground as if protecting something, although they didn't appear to have caught anything. Then one took flight and soared over to the north field. I followed and was rewarded with twenty minutes of watching a beautiful hawk gliding over a field. Every time the hawk turned, I got a good look at the striking patterns and colors on its chest and tail. Its long yellow legs hung down and then tucked up against its body. The wings were masterful at propelling the hawk through impressive maneuvers. In short, it was breathtaking. I forgot the chill in the air, the craziness at work, pretty much everything as I watched in awe.

Now I'm back at home, where it's warm, but I can still see that hawk. I don't think it ever saw me because it was concentrating on the field. I'm sure it wouldn't have admired me like I admired it!

As usual, Nature provided me with some time to leave behind my cares and worries, to enjoy something with a clear mind and open heart. I think I'm ready to make a decision.

Don't forget the Great Backyard Bird Count this month! Here's where to find more information: http://gbbc.birdcount.org/  I encourage you to give it a try and turn in your counts. You never know what you will see.

Photos of Fall

Back in October, I posted that I was glad it wasn't autumn yet because there was a lot to be seen in Wilderness Park. This month it is definitely autumn, but there's still a lot to be seen. Since the weather is fantastic, I decided to take advantage of it and slung my Canon over my shoulder for a long walk.

True, some of the park looks mostly brown, but it can still be pretty:

  

There were things to see when I looked up:

and when I looked down:

Some things I almost stumbled over or missed, but were worth a second look:

Some of the colors surprised me:

                  

I'm glad I paused on the bridge over the stream.

As I was leaving, a woman asked me, "Did you see anything?" I pondered for a moment, spread my arms and said, "Just general beauty." She smiled and continued on her walk. I hope she saw as much as I did.

Thanks for joining me on a walk through the park!

Reconnecting

I hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving. I made my usual trek up to Nebraska to spend time with my family, which makes this one of my favorite holidays. I love my family and I'm always glad when I get to reconnect with them.

During this time, I was able to ask someone who grew up on a farm about how corn grows. At first I was afraid to look dumb, but then I asked the question anyway ... and I got a useful answer. This might not seem important to you, but it was huge for me: the reason I asked about corn is that I'm trying to write a scene involving some characters running around in a cornfield.

That's right: I'm writing a scene! After over a year, I'm starting to reconnect with my characters. There was a dog named Nick in the National Dog Show and I immediately thought of my pilot. I'm starting to think about asking Reg's advice again. I'm trying to look at problems through Lamont's eyes.

What a relief. There were times I thought this would never happen again. It doesn't mean that I'm going to sit down and write my whole fifth novel next week, but now I really am beginning to believe there's a good chance it will get finished.

To those of you who write, I know you've probably gone through writer's block before. Maybe you're going through it now. Believe me, I know how scary it is when you think you're never going to write anything more than an email again ... but I'm here to tell you this: you will get past it! Just keep trying, just keep hoping, just keep writing (even if the result is awful). Remember what it is about your characters or story that excited you in the first place.

I have to laugh at the timing. I'm ready to get to work again, just as I'm getting hit with holiday decorating, gift-planning, baking, parties, etc. But I don't mind. Writing is a gift and I'm going to take some time to unwrap it again.

Have a magical holiday season.

Not Quite Yet

Autumn might think it's here. The calendar might say it's here. But Wilderness Park says otherwise. No, summer is hanging on.

We only have a few leaves turning color so far in southeast Kansas, although the sumac is pretty.

 

Most of the butterflies and flowers are gone. This means that when I go walking in the park, I have to look more closely for the little bits of color and beauty that try to hide in the greenery.

 

It does make me work a little harder to find tidbits to photograph, but I don't mind. If everything were out in plain sight, I might not enjoy it as much. I might just stride by, nodding my head and thinking, "Oh, there's another colorful leaf," instead of searching each area for something of interest.

I almost stepped on this guy!

I like it that the leaves are still green. They'll be beautiful colors soon enough, but right now they make a nice contrast to the little splashes of color out there.

Autumn can hold off just a little longer. I'm still enjoying the warmer air, the refreshing breezes and the greenery. They'll be gone soon enough, so I'll appreciate them now while I still can.

Have a beautiful autumn, no matter what color it is.

Perspective

First of all, I want to apologize for not posting in August. I think that's the first month I've missed!

I held off for most of August because I thought I was going to have a great post. I thought I was all set to describe with full enthusiasm the total solar eclipse that I'd witnessed.

As so many things in life go, it didn't quite work out that way.

I'd planned ahead. I had the day off from work. I had the official solar eclipse glasses. I had selected my route and I even had a companion for the journey to St. Joseph, Missouri. That was going to be one of the top spots to see the eclipse, so that's where I was going. Never mind that the forecast said it would probably rain.

We drove up there and passed through a very heavy downpour around Kansas City, but it didn't last long and we managed to avoid the crowds to find an ideal spot in the parking lot of an abandoned grocery store. It was partly cloudy, but we could still see the moon starting to cover a little bit of the sun. I'll admit that it was a pretty amazing sight.

Then it clouded over. Then it rained. We couldn't see the sun at all anymore.

As I despaired, my companion reminded me that we would still experience totality: the darkness, not the actual sight of the moon covering the sun. I tried to take some comfort in that, and it was pretty cool when the sky got darker. The temperature fell and everything looked eerie. The horizon turned sunset colors of pink and orange. Those two minutes were unlike anything I'd ever experienced.

Then the sun came back out and it was still cloudy. Not only that, traffic was so bad that it took us an extra two hours to get home, after sitting motionless several times in bumper-to-bumper vehicles. Meanwhile, we listened to people on the radio tell us how incredible it was to see the corona.

It took a few days for me to be able to consider the trip without bitterness. It didn't seem fair that so many people got to see the full eclipse and I didn't. It stung when other people gushed about how spectacular it was.

But when I think about it, it was my fault. Weather forecasters aren't perfect, but when they say it's going to be cloudy, all the wishful thinking in the world won't clear the sky. I was stubborn: I had a St. Joseph eclipse T-shirt, so I was going to St. Joseph! Next time I'll listen to the forecasters and try to be more flexible.

I have less than seven years to think about that while I'm planning for the next one.

Me in aforementioned T-shirt August 2017

Wheels Turning

I know someone who's a big bicycling enthusiast, so we recently spent a few weeks watching coverage of the Tour de France. In case, you don't know, it's a bicycle race that involves 21 stages through various mountain ranges in and around France. To call it grueling would be an understatement.

Whenever I hear professional athletes complain about how tough they have it, I try to sympathize. I don't personally go out 162 days a year and try to hit a little white ball somewhere that doesn't have someone trying equally hard to catch it. I don't run a few yards only to be smashed to the ground by a gigantic person who wants that brown object in my hands. I don't slice across the ice on tiny blades while trying to hit a puck without being crushed by another person who can get an awful lot of momentum on that ice.

So I don't feel I can comment on how tough it is to be a professional athlete. They battle tough crowds, injuries, the always-constant possibility of losing their job. I understand that it isn't easy.

But I also want to laugh at most of them. Sure it's tough, but why don't they try this: get on a bicycle, ride 100 miles or so up mountains and across windswept plains, battling hundreds of others, sometimes getting knocked down when someone else loses control but then climbing back on the bike to continue. Do this all day until you can barely breathe or walk. Collapse on the ground or stagger to a trailer. Then get a few hours of sleep and do it again. Repeat every day for three weeks (with only one or two rest days).

Some of those cyclists ride with broken bones. Some of them are bleeding. It's hard to get water or food sometimes. They have to battle through crazy fans who think it's funny to crowd them or try to pat them on the back.

And they choose to do this! There are several races across the world and they show up as often as they can to apparently try to kill themselves so they can be first over that line and bathe in the short-lived glory of victory.

As I learned this year, it's actually a team effort ... but it's still one person on that bike who has to make it through the day. And the next day. And the next.

I hope I'll remember that the next time I think I'm having a hard day at work. I'll look at the cushy desk chair I'm sitting in. I'll feel the air conditioning (or lack of rain on my head). I'll reach for my fruit bar and cup of water. I'll think about the weekend. And maybe I'll realize how relatively lucky I am.

Amazingly enough, though, we have one thing in common: they love cycling, I love writing. They'll keep doing it, I'll keep doing it. That's what we're here to do, in a way.

And that's what it's all about, isn't it?

Shelter

A few days ago, I was sitting in my car, waiting at the stop sign in front of my house, when I spotted something small in the cross street. It looked like a bird, but that didn't make any sense. A big white SUV drove by, making me wince, but its tires straddled the little shape, which was buffeted by its passing. By now I was sure it was a bird. No matter how strange the situation was, it was time for me to do something.

I backed up my car so I could park at the curb and hopped out. There was another car coming, which made my heart beat a little faster, but then it signaled that it would be turning onto my street. Sensing an opportunity, I stepped into the street and found myself standing over a little female sparrow. She was young, but she had feathers so she'd left the nest. How she got into the street was a mystery, but she was obviously in shock because she didn't even try to get away from me.

Another car was coming so I bent down and scooped her up in both hands. Her little body was warm, which was a good sign, and she was very soft. I carried her from the street into our side yard, where I carefully deposited her in a depression under one of our forsythia bushes. She settled in there and didn't move. I wanted to stay, but I knew that would probably traumatize her even more, so I left. The good news is that when I came home for lunch, she was gone. I'm hopeful that she recovered enough to fly away to safety.

I've thought of that a few times since then. The poor little bird must have been overwhelmed, sitting on hard pavement with gigantic beasts rushing over her head. Then two big hands wrapped themselves around her and carried her away. After all that, though, she found herself in cool grass with shade so she could gather her wits.

I think we all need that once in a while. I know I do. Sometimes things just seem to pile up in my life until I feel buffeted and confused, unsure how I got there or what to do. Those of you who see a religious answer to this are certainly welcome to make that connection, but I found a somewhat more secular response.

I was at work a day or so later, feeling a little overwhelmed by several things going on in my life at the same time, when I asked a co-worker about meditation. I know she's interested in that type of thing and I wondered if it might be good for me. Without judging or questioning me, she immediately gave me some advice and found a Youtube video that might be helpful. She also told me I could talk to her about it anytime. I'll admit that I almost cried at her compassion.

Sometimes those hands appear when you need them the most.

My advice is this: if you see an opportunity to be the hands to help someone else, please take it. It might only take a little effort on your part and it might make all the difference to that person. And if you're on the receiving end, show your appreciation if you can and try to carry on in a better state of mind because that's what the owner of those hands was hoping for.

I wish the little sparrow a long, happy life. And I'm giving meditation a try.