PROTECT YOUR VOICE

I'd like to offer a few thoughts about voice and editing.

There are times for rules and times for forgetting the rules.  Craft is always something to master, even if only to ignore.

Despite my repeated warnings about adhering too obsessively to “rules,” it’s still true that some of my editing clients have craft trip-ups that make for tough reading.  I see clumsy grammar gremlins, over qualifying, unnecessary attribution to POV characters, cart-before-the-horse descriptions, etc. They can be distracting and thus detracting. 

None-the-less, your voice might lead you to break rules,

In my opinion, great voice walks right up to the edge of troubled writing… That cliff and its risk make up the writing sweet spot.

Write brave but keep clarity in mind.  And always be careful to protect your voice.

Remember: It may not be perfect, but it may be right.

Write well.  All best from the Inkpot.

So Many Memories

So many memories.... Sisters of the Quill... Love this photo!

Friends of the CU Libraries, Just Desserts presents Shannon Baker!

There was fun to be done!

“Oh, the places you'll go!
There is fun to be done!

There are points to be scored.
There are games to be won.”
― Dr. Seuss, Oh, The Places You’ll Go!

Oh, the places we went! (The Bookbar on March 29th for a fabulous book launch by Becky Clark, Peg Brantley, and Shannon Baker.)

There was fun to be done!  (With this trio?  Surely you jest!)

Yes, games were won!  (Wine, anyone?  Or would you prefer the excellent hot chocolate?)

Oh, the places you'll go in their new books! 

And links to their websites!

Becky Clark

Peg Brantley

Shannon Baker

Location, Location, Location

by Nib

I’m a sandwich generation. In my case, it means I was raised by parents who had no love for the outdoors, preferred to watch television most evenings, and had it not been for their individual recliners, would have been the original couch potatoes. Somehow, I raised two daughters who, despite all my efforts to the contrary, can watch TV for long consecutive hours and have great tolerances for sedentary behavior.

I have some kind of mutant outdoors genes. From my earliest memories I was outside running, roller skating, riding my bike, all accompanied by skinning my knees, falling from trees and knocking the wind out of my lungs, smashing my tailbone on hidden concrete abutments when jumping into a roaring irrigation ditch.

When I married young and moved to the Nebraska Sandhills, I jogged on county roads or pedaled my mountain bike through isolated sandy pastures. Folks in my community thought I was nuts and couldn’t understand why I just didn’t plant more fence posts or throw more hay bales if I needed to exercise. One old geezer loved to pull up beside me in his rusty sky-blue Dodge pickup while I was jogging and lean out his window. “If you’re not in a hurry, I’ll give you a ride into town.”

When I escaped from Nebraska, I finally felt free to indulge my passion. I moved to Boulder, CO and immediately began hiking and mountain biking. I bought a road bike and enjoyed days of pedaling the foothills trails and roads. I took up snow shoeing, SCUBA and kayaking, cross country skiing, week-long backpack trips in the wilderness.

Then I ended up in Flagstaff, AZ, gateway to the Grand Canyon and Sedona, Lake Powell and desert, mountains, prairies. After a lifetime of being considered a freak for wanting to play outside, I was living the dream.

I’ve accidently plopped back down in Nebraska, temporarily. (Only 89 more days of our year and a half sentence) but even here I manage to ride my bike, walk and jog. Again, I’m sort of a freak but not as bad as it was fifteen years ago.

When I left Nebraska I vowed I’d never live anywhere icky again. (So much for vows.) Life doesn’t always work out the way we plan. But here’s the deal about writing fiction: we can always make it work out our way.

That’s why Nora, the protagonist of the Nora Abbott Mysteries, gets to live in really great places. She doesn’t have to face the cloying humidity of southwest Nebraska summers or day after day of milky skies all winter or the raw wind of March on the prairie.

In Tainted Mountain, Nora started out in Flagstaff, on a ski mountain in June. Spicy pines, flashing Indian paintbrush and fiery penstemmon amid the green grass of the slopes. Sunshine and blue skies with mountain air so fresh you’d need to slap it.

In Broken Trust, Nora got to move to Boulder, CO, my heart home. In October, with the oak flashing its red leaves, young people surging on the Pearl Street Mall as another semester at CU is underway. The majestic Rocky Mountains held back by the famous Flatirons and everywhere the beauty and quirkiness that makes Boulder so special.

And in Tattered Legacy, Nora travels to Moab in the spring. The iconic red rocks and hoodoos  (don’t you love that word?) and fins of Arches National Park and the giant spires that march over the desert valleys bring Nora into a landscape so amazing it leaves me nearly speechless.

And I got to go to every one of those places. I got to hang out and be there. So even if I’m spending one last winter in the gray gloom of the Nebraska prairie, I can keep the beauty of the outdoors with me.

What is your favorite place, your heart home?

BTW-- Tattered Legacy is available for pre-order now and will officiall launch March 8. Signed copies are available now from The Plains Trading Company Booksellers. 

A sweetheart of a day!

What could be more fun than Valentine's Day in Heart City? Valentine, Nebraska! The first Tattered Legacy event. What a sweetheart of a day!

My (Not so Secret) Graphic Design for Friends, Part Two

As I mentioned in my October blog, in my past life, when I worked full-time at a day job, I enjoyed graphic design, so I splurged a number of years ago and purchased Photoshop. Since then I've created graphics for my own books and short stories, including business cards, postcards, book trailers, posters, and ebook covers.

I've also enjoyed creating images for a few friends, and today I'm sharing more of that work!

Here's my most recent effort, a bookmark for Shannon Baker featuring the three books in her Nora Abbott mystery series!

Shannon Baker offers readers a deft mix of both important contemporary issues and the 

timeless spiritual traditions of the Hopi.  For those of us who hunger for the kind of novel 

Tony Hillerman used to write so well, this promising new series may just fill the bill. 

– William Kent Krueger, Bestselling author of the Cork O’Conner Mystery Series

Then there's Paul Flanders and his novel, Aspire.  Here's the full jacket for the paperback version.

On the earth plane Ernie Colstad, a high school English teacher, is grief stricken 

when his favorite student commits suicide. On the spiritual plane, his two guardian 

angels try to help Ernie find the fortitude to deal with the crisis and conflicts with 

the school administration in order to improve his chances to transcend to their tier.

And here's one of Paul's short stories, Learning to Lead.

Oh, how I love books!

~ Janet Fogg

www.janetfogg.com

Old Dog

By Nib

I miss my daughter. She’s all grown up and living hundreds of miles away from me. This is the kid who always makes me laugh. She often gives wise counsel well beyond her years. She’s smart and interesting. But what I’m missing most about her today is her youth.

Because simply by being young, she understands technical things is a way I fear I never will. I remember a time when I could keep up. I actually could program my VCR. I was a fairly early adopter of computer technology, researching online when we had dial-up connections. I had one of the first bag phones. But somewhere along the line, technology overtook me, ran me down and crushed me under its boots.

It worked out fine, though, since my daughter lived with me. She could teach me how to use the remote and DVR shows. She synced my iPod and programed the heater. But she moved on several years ago and I have lapsed into laziness, falling ever further behind. I quit using my iPod and since we moved to rural Nebraska and don’t have fancy TV service that would allow me to record shows, I settle for Netflix and Amazon (only doable because my daughter bought me a Roku device and my super-smart husband set it up).

But things are fixing to change around here. It all started a few months ago. A friend published an audio book and asked me to give it a listen. So I had to figure out how to download audio books onto my phone. Man, that opened up a whole new world for me. I had used books on tape and CD forever, but now I could listen to books anywhere!

Then my good friend and fellow Midnight Inker, Mark Stevens, kept talking about podcasts writers would find interesting. He started a new column in the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers newsletter and his first recommendation is Reading and Writing Podcasts.

 I’d been listening to a few podcasts from NPR for a couple of years so I figured I could do this, too. Mark explained the podcasts were an easy download from iTunes and free.

Okay, first step: download an ap on my phone since I have an Android, not iPhone. Except the aps won’t download. On the website, it tells me it’s installed but on my phone, it’s in perpetual downloading mode. For hours and hours. Two different aps, same result. Several attempts (that old definition of insanity: doing the same thing and expecting different results) and nothing. Next step: find old iPod. How many times have we moved since I last used that thing? Too long.

Third step: borrow husband’s shuffle. Plug it into my computer, download the podcasts onto my computer and sync shuffle to iTunes. Except, it won’t sync. Read online guides. See nothing in the instruction illustrations that looks similar to the screens iTunes is showing. Curse like a sailor.

Two hours later, after much frustration, and temptation to start shooting whiskey at 10 A.M., I have a fully loaded shuffle. I have no idea how I did it. I’m pretty sure I can’t replicate the process.

I have a plan, though. When I finish listening to the podcasts, I’m going to buy my daughter a plane ticket to see me.

Five Things or You Can Do It

by Nib

I’m on the downhill side of the Colorado Gold conference. If you’ve never been, you don’t know what you’re missing. A weekend full of writing, writing, writing. Not physical sitting down, fingers to keyboard, but learning, talking, immersing in craft and the business. I attended my first conference in 1994 and haven’t missed one since.

Every year I grab hold of some vital information or inspiration to boost me along my writing path. Last year I got all excited about writing new adult contemporary romance and self-pubbing on Amazon. I tried it. After one and three-quarters books, I decided it wasn’t the path for me. I don’t regret the experiment… much. I wrote a lot of words in a short amount of time, so that is always good.

This year, I focused on my biggest weakness in my writing career. Marketing. To show you how bad I am at this, I had forgotten to take business cards to the Colorado Gold conference. With three books out, I didn’t have one stick of promotional material to place on the freebie table.

I have a natural aversion to promoting my books. I don’t know why. Maybe I fear other people won’t like them. It’s hard for me to remember that professionals in the publishing industry liked my writing enough to invest in it. It also seems that marketing is such an overwhelming maze, with no one knowing what works, that I tend to throw up my hands and retreat.

But no more. I refuse to remain a marketing weenie. Led on by Guerilla Marketer, Julie Kazimer, author of the The Deadly After Ever series with the latest book, The Fairyland Murders coming out in December, I am determined to conquer this fear of marketing.

Julie says to break it down. She suggests we do five things for marketing every day. It can be big things, like calling books stores to set up signings or setting up blog tours. It can be small things, like working social marketing sites or commenting on blogs. She says you can even count leaving your business card with your payment at a restaurant. (Of course, you’d have to remember to have cards with you.)

It’s only been a week since I committed to this. On the very first day, after a business meeting, I pulled out a couple of cards promoting my books. I was very excited when the woman I’d met with emailed me later that day and said she’d bought my book. It’s one sale that won’t make a big difference in my income. But it was the validation I needed.

My next book launches in March. It’s not too soon to start setting up a blog tour and book signings. Because of Julie’s urges, I’ve started putting those events in motion. Five things. Every day.

I work out almost every day. I clean my house, pay bills, all manner of grown up things that require discipline, organization and planning. I worked hard to learn to write well enough to get published. Surely, I can figure out this marketing thing.

I’m jumping back on Twitter. I’m at http://www.twitter.com/sbakerwriter. I think they also say @sbakerwriter, but that will be a lesson for another day. I’m really bad at Twitter. But if all these other people can figure it out, I can, too. So, here’s what, I’ve created my first hashtag #5things. Help me out and if you tweet, send me a message.

I remember when I didn’t know what POV meant. Someone had to teach me about passive language. I can be taught. I can learn how to market my books.

Five things every day.

Who’s in?

Have You Got It?

by Nib

I researched flights for Bouchercon. I checked my email and had an on-line conversation with my daughter. I wandered over to Facebook and blew an hour. After that, I messed around with some hot tub maintenance. Then it seemed like time for coffee so I brewed a pot and read a few articles in The Week.

I dug into the file cabinet looking for an obscure bill from last year to compare with this year. Checked my emails again and answered some questions. Then back to Facebook. And out to check on the garden….

All of this while carrying around a fifty-pound sandbag of guilt, knowing I have a big word count I set for today. I can’t seem to force myself to BICHOK this morning. (Butt In Chair, Hands on Keys) Now it’s nearly noon and I’m still in high-speed avoidance behavior. To break the seal and get the words “flowing,” I’ve finally settled into writing this blog.

I finished the draft of a novel and sent it off to an editor three weeks ago and I’m going crazy waiting to hear what she thinks. I know there will be suggestions, dear lord there are always suggestions. But I don’t know what those will be and how much work it’s going to take to make my little snot-nosed manuscript presentable. Still, I finished a book and have a great beginning on the next one.

And that’s my problem. I’m battling that “Hey, you rock” attitude with the “Don’t quit ‘til you’re done” guilt. I spent a lot of years as a Lutheran and I am from Nebraska, so you can see where the work ethic/guilt part might be pretty ingrained. Seriously, though, what would be so wrong with taking one day off? Sure, I know Stephen King never takes a day off, but I’m no Stephen King.

Then I happened along a TED Talk on something called grit. (Yes, I stumbled upon it while browsing in Facebook, why do you ask?) http://tinyurl.com/c2sxaay. According to Angela Lee Duckworth, grit is what causes success. It’s not how smart we are or how talented we are, but it’s the ability to dig in and keep working toward the goal.

Angela Lee Duckworth

I even took the quiz linked to the video. (Well, I was murdering time so why not?) If I answered the questions honestly—and I’m not above lying to myself—it turns out I have quite a bit of grit. I might go ahead and agree with that assessment, though. I’m not the most brilliant bulb in the chandelier, nor am I gifted with great heaps of writing talent. But I’ve been toiling away on writing books for a very long time.

I haven’t achieved success in terms of John Grisham or Nora Roberts but I’m continuing to make progress in my writing career. I’m becoming a better writer with each book I turn out and I’m learning more and more all the time. To stick with this crazy business and challenging career, it takes grit, not to mention a loose grasp on sanity.

So now, duly inspired and my fingers well oiled, I am shutting off Facebook, turning away from email and setting up in the blocks in today’s race for word count.

When you hit a writing funk, what fires up your gritty nature and sends you back to the keyboard?

WRITER OF THE YEAR!

 

Hooray Sister Shannon (AKA Nib)!

 

Shannon won RMFW Writer of the Year! 

 

A good time (and champagne) was had by all Saturday at the comfy BookBar in Denver. 

 

A rowdy crowd of RMFW members were there to celebrate

along with fellow nominees 

Christine Jorgensen (who was also nominated for a Colorado Book Award this year)

and

Terry Wright (a long time contributor to the organization and small publisher) 

Talented writers all! 

Congratulations!

Can't We All Just Get Along?

by Nib

“You’re an idiot!”

Those terrible words slam over my six foot backyard fence. The irate holler is followed by a tone so filled with disgust it singes my skin. “Get your ass over here. Put that down.”

I am paralyzed. The scene I was working on vanishes from my mind’s eye and my breath catches.

“You stupid moron!”

A young voice, that of Aiden, my eight year-old neighbor, whines back in argument and what follows is five minutes of the grandfather and grandson sniping at each other with the “adult” flinging out more name-calling.

This scene plays out roughly once a week. I’ve only lived here for eight months and I’m sure this has been going on for a long time. The conflict isn’t confined to this one relationship. Three generations living next door wage frequent battle where I may not be able to overhear words but the tone is evident.

It stops me dead every time. I have a visceral reaction. My breath stutters, my heart races, my skin grows clammy. I’ve always hated conflict. Even as a kid, while my brother and sister clashed over any number of childhood problems, I’d be in the corner crying.

Why can’t my neighbors be nice to each other? Speak with kindness, encourage each other, especially Aiden?

I won’t guarantee Aiden isn’t an idiot. He might or might not be—he’s climbed our fence and done malicious mischief in our backyard, he dug a hole under a tree in the front, he threw rocks through our neighbor’s garage windows, and flung a case of empty jars against the fence in the alley shattering glass outside our yard. Obviously, he’s a troubled kid with needs I can only guess at. But I can’t imagine telling him that’s he’s a moron or an idiot will improve his IQ or his behavioral problems. I might even go so far as to say that kind of verbal battering might actually be at the root of the problem.

As disturbing as that situation is, and believe me, I am not making light of it, it brought home a powerful personal message to me.

While I was clenching my fists and teeth during one such episode, and thinking that some kindness and gentleness might bring about more cooperation and greater potential, a realization struck me. How often do I treat myself with that same impatience and contempt?

I know, we’re writers and a certain amount of that self-deprecating attitude with a dollop of insecurity goes with the job description. But I’ve been particularly abusive of myself lately. Whatever the details of my shortcomings, it all amounts to me calling myself a stupid moron and telling me to get my ass to my computer and write decent stuff.

Maybe it’s time I treat myself with the same encouragement and pride I wish for Aiden. Instead of tossing aside the colorful crayon picture and focusing on the failing report card, I ought to pin the picture to the refrigerator and shrug over the F, promising that failure isn’t permanent and I will succeed if I keep trying.

Nothing good comes of negative talk, even if it’s only going on between my ears. So I’m making a pledge to start speaking nicer to myself. I’m going to treat me with the same courtesy and respect I try to give to others. It couldn’t hurt. It might help.

What kind of encouraging things do you do for yourself?

If you’ve got a moment, send a special thought into the universe for Aiden. And even if it’s only for today, be kind to yourself.   

How the Sisters of the Quill came to be

Each Sister of the Quill was pursuing her writing dream independently in 1994 when, suddenly, she discovered kindred spirits walking alongside and linked arms. The group’s name only attached itself after Storm Petrel created an imaginary and tightly knit society of seventeenth-century penmen called the Brothers of the Quill for her current novel.

Storm Petrel struck up a conversation with Ink Pot at a Montessori School Christmas play, and discovered they lived in the same neighborhood. The core of an enduring critique group was born.

That spring, Storm Petrel spotted an unusual “Niwot” listing on Folio’s nametag at a Pikes Peak Writers Conference. They too discovered that they lived in the same neighborhood, and the fledgling critique group enfolded another kindred spirit.

We met Nib at a writing conference when she lived in the Nebraska Sandhills. The resulting e-mail correspondence paved the way for our daily (sometimes multiple daily) e-mail progress reports. Over the years Ink Pot, Nib, and Folio in particular became famous for hosting a party at each conference. Agents, editors, and writers shared the joy of their common obsession and became friends.

Because we were each at a different mile marker along the writer’s journey, we were equipped to help one another in unforeseen ways. Storm Petrel had been multi-published and her wisdom and willingness to share lessons learned has proven invaluable to her sisters. Now, Storm Petrel is not only putting the finishing touches on a carefully wrought, 17th century prequel to her Plumtree mystery series (Unsolicited, Unbound, Unprintable, Untitled, Unsigned, and Uncatalogued), an imaginative world of legendary libraries and nobility of spirit, she mentors high school students through the sometimes daunting and always complicated process of successfully applying to the colleges of their dreams.

Ink Pot was a literary writer who had been published in poetry journals. She apprenticed herself to commercial writing with a vigor that intensified over the years until she was writing a novel and a several screenplays in a single year—this in addition to being Mother of the Year in everybody’s book. She won nearly every prize offered in regional writing contests, and over her long apprenticeship has experienced all the agony and ecstasy an aspiring writer could know. As she acquired more and more expertise in the craft, she began to teach, first her sisters and then at conferences. Now she edits and presents courses regularly. Ink Pot is also known for delivering magical soup and sustenance of all kinds when her sisters hit rough spots along the way.

For more than a decade Folio had been getting up at ungodly hours of the morning to write by the time we met. She would rise daily at three-thirty or four to write for a couple of hours before heading off to run one of Colorado’s hottest architectural firms. Folio already had several works in her drawer, having served a long apprenticeship to fiction writing. She possesses a naturally effortless writing style that everyone just wants to keep reading forever. If you’ve read her first novel, Soliloquy, you understand. Folio is, like Ink Pot, an extremely detail-oriented editor and a topnotch brainstormer, and we relished celebrating publication of Fogg in the Cockpit, a collaborative non-fiction effort between Folio and her husband. Folio came up with the titles for all of Storm Petrel’s books after the first, including the unifying title theme.

Nib was cranking out chapters of an ambitious novel with great determination at the counter of her family’s feed store in Hyannis, Nebraska when we met. She is our action-packed, hot-topic thriller writer and has also served a long and fruitful apprenticeship to the craft. Several eventful years only served to make her more dedicated and prolific, and since publication of Tainted Mountain and Broken Trust she has already submitted the third in that series as well as what we hope will be the first novel in a new, long-lived series. She manages to turn out ideas and pages constantly, a real powerhouse.

Ink Pot, Folio and Nib have volunteered tirelessly at local writers conferences for many years, and are now famous in their own right for the generosity of their service. Storm Petrel’s modesty and gentle tenacity inspires all.

Sisters of the Quill. Sisters of the heart.

It's a Great Life If You Don't Weaken

by Nib

Anticipation 

Spring is here! As soon as the snow melts, anyway. I have to admit it’s been a tough few months for me. I didn’t winter well. I struggled with dreary days in a cold house. But I developed a routine, determined to persevere. I scribbled my way through one completed manuscript, ¾ of the way through another, which will probably remain unfinished. And finally settled in to write the first in a series I’ve been thinking about for a while. The first draft is nearly done on that puppy.

I kept myself to an ambitious daily word count, even if some of those days I resorted to only writing description because I wasn’t sure where the plot was heading. In addition to that, I forced myself to get outside on all but the blizzardiest days for at least an hour. I knew that eventually spring would arrive and I’d finally get to plant my vegetable garden and enjoy the sunshine.

I sought out inspiring messages. I read all those clichés on Facebook about positive thinking and counting blessings. I did my best to create a positive attitude. It didn’t always work but it didn’t hurt.

In a faith-validating way, April swung around and I planted a vegetable garden. And now it’s growing and I’m heaving a huge sigh of relief. I don’t have to put so much effort into feeling happy. Hearing the birds sing, waiting for the first burst of color from my peonies, and feeling the sun on my face is all the inspiration I need.

Today, I’m going to share one of the bits of inspiration I tacked up last winter to remind myself to buck up. I saw it online someplace and printed it out. It’s from Doe Zantamata.

We believe what we tell ourselves.

Tell Yourself:

Everything will work out.

Things will get better.

You are important.

You are worthy of great things.

You are loveable.

The time is now.

This too, shall pass.

You can be who you really are.

The best is yet to come.

You are strong.

You can do this.  

My father-in-law used to have a saying I love: It’s a great life if you don’t weaken.

I often resort to one of my favorite lines I first saw on a greeting card: It’ll all be okay in the end. If it’s not okay, it’s not the end.

Look at their sweet newborn selves!

Now as I happily trip through the sunshiny spring and summer of growth and delight, I’ll shed the heaviness of winter. Not to get too maudlin, but life and the seasons cycle around. Maybe the dreariness of winter won’t hit me like a sledgehammer next year. But eventually, I’ll run into another rough patch and I’ll need to circle my emotional wagons again.

As an aside, the Hopi tribe, featured in my mysteries, believe that planting seeds and growning things is essential to maintaining not only the Earth's balance but our own personal balance. 

What about you? What tricks, methods, exercises do you engage when you need to pull yourself from the depths?

Don't Weaken

by Nib

Is it me, or has it been a long, cold, gray winter? I’m ashamed to say I sort of lost my grip during this last season. I’ve been fortunate that either by nurture or nature, I normally maintain a cautiously upbeat outlook on life in general. To augment that, I’m like the Thought Traffic Cop, directing them from the dangerous road of negativity to the more positive lane.

Something twisted in my head last fall, though, and my determined optimism faded. I opened my mind to a dribble of fear and soon, I was flooded with it. I turned in the last book of a three-book series and my new proposal hadn’t been accepted. I started writing in a new genre, experimenting with alternative publishing methods. I moved from my supportive writing network to the boonies. And I started to fret.

What if I was all washed up? What if my book sales tanked? What if no one ever wanted the new mystery series I wanted to write? What if these new books wouldn’t be successful?

I kept up a respectable daily word count but writing became a sentence, not fun. (Okay, let’s be truthful, writing for me in rarely fun, but I often feel satisfied.) My view of myself as a big fat loser grew to US dietary proportions. I literally saw my world in black and white. (I mean that literally, as in the movie Nebraska.)

I’m not sure what caused the turning point but one day it hit me. I had nothing to moan about. My goodness (truth is I probably didn’t say “my goodness” or "moan."), I had a three-book deal with a decent publishing house! How long had I worked toward that goal? I reminded myself that not long ago I’d said, “If I could have three books published, I might give up writing and become a full-time reader.” Somewhere along the line, though, I’d raised the bar on myself. Suddenly three books weren’t enough. And I wallowed in self-pity that my sales didn’t rival more successful writers.

The truth is, I may never get another publishing contract. This is what I’ve got right now: two books released, one due out next year. I had darned-well better enjoy this ride. If it’s the last time I go round, I’ll kick myself if I spend the whole time worrying about what’s next.

I also decided to stop writing the books that weren’t feeding me and start to have fun (again, a relative term). Just like the pall of winter lifting for spring, my gloom lightened. Negative self-talk that had become habit required conscious thought to change. But it’s so worth the effort.

Instead of thinking, “oh no, how will lightening ever strike me twice?” I’m feeling gratitude for the shock of the first time. I’m infused with new energy and determination to get going. No one may want to publish this next series but it’s the book I want to write. Thinking of it makes me happy. So that’s what I’m going to work on.

Maybe my new-found optimism is more a product of the coming spring than it is my ability to direct my own thinking. But it snowed yesterday and there’s a definite dreariness in the sky today. And yet, I threw myself into my new project with enthusiasm.

As my dear father-in-law used to say: It’s a great life if you don’t weaken.