I wrote this a week ago and have been sitting on it, unsure whether I should share it or not. My husband has convinced me I should. Turns out, I'm not the only one feeling this way.

2020: 

A retrospective, although why anyone would want to look back and reflect on this year is…confusing.

A year of extremes. From the wildfires in Australia in January to the wildfires on the west coast of the US in August and September. A hurricane season that ran out of names and had to go to the Greek alphabet. Social uprising long overdue, a virus that defied analysis, a divided political system that then divided the country – if I believed in a vengeful God, I’d think he had it out for the human race.

Except that the human race is stupid enough, self-centered enough, and just plain stubborn enough to make its own set of trouble. No need to blame it on God. We did this to ourselves.

I used to be an optimist. Still am, at the core. We will get through this time of trouble just as we (i.e. the human race) have gotten through tough times before. It might take a few years, but we usually come out having learned something and progressed as a society. I believe we will do the same this time.

But damn, living through the mess is hard. Steven and I have it easy right now. We have money coming in via my pension and our teaching. Going online to teach, while a little stressful, isn’t all that bad, especially because everyone’s thinking this is temporary. Buckle up and teach/take the courses this way for now and in a year we’ll be back to in-person, on-campus classes.

We also have a house that’s paid for, so our bills are low. I have good health insurance (that will change in a year when I have to go on Medicare – one bridge at a time, thank you very much). We are not sick and have begun to carefully open our social circle (not something I’m keen to do, honestly. I kinda like the solitude. A chance to read!).

And still, I find my jaw clenching for no reason. I broke a tooth – probably from grinding my teeth. I’ve gained weight because I tend to eat my anxieties. And every day there’s a new idiocy from the White House or at the Walmart. I look around and wonder, “Is this how it happens? We fall as a nation, as a society, as a people, because people truly just don’t care about each other?”

In the old days (last year – heck, last February), one didn’t know who you met on the street was stupid and who was a brainiac. It didn’t matter. You saw a stranger and smiled politely, nodded, perhaps exchanged a pleasant greeting, and moved on. No judgment, no negativity. Simplicity.

Now, however, there is a visible sign of not only their lack of understanding, but increasingly, of their political affiliation and, by extension, their morality. You see a stranger and he/she/they is not wearing a mask as you approach. I immediately know they don’t care about me – or anyone, really. They care only about their own comfort/beliefs/ideology. The rest of us can die. Literally.

And that’s the heart of 2020. What Mother Nature is throwing at us (murder hornets? Really, Mother?) is to be expected after years of ignoring warnings about the damage we’re doing to the climate. No, Mother Nature is pissed off and I get that.

But I don’t get willful stupidity. And that’s exactly what I see in those who are choosing to say, “Screw you. My rights are more valuable than yours.” I don’t get those who don’t understand there’s a people who have been systematically oppressed for generations and who are mad as hell and aren’t going to take it anymore. I don’t understand those who would rather kill their neighbor than have a conversation that – gasp!- might lead to understanding – on both sides.

So yeah, my optimism has taken a hit this year. I still hold out hope for the future, but if I had a genie and only one wish? I’d wish that I could have a peek at how this all turns out. A little certainty in this uncertain world would set my mind at ease.

Rant

This happened yesterday and I can’t get it out of my head. 

For the past two months I have been staying home, staying safe, and (mostly) not venturing out. Even when we need groceries, I stay in the car while my husband goes inside. We figure we halve our chances of catching anything if only one of us is in the population.

However, on Friday, he had surgery on his heel, so he’s not going anywhere but the front porch for a while. He’s keeping his foot elevated and staying off it. Why? Because the doctors told him to. Just like the doctors are now saying to wear a mask when in public spaces.

To give him a treat, I went to the local ice cream/hamburger stand yesterday because he had a hankering for a burger and onion rings.

We’re doomed.

When I pulled up, there were two women in line, both masked, both standing about eight feet apart. The first woman placed her order as I joined the line, keeping a respectful distance. There are no fewer than four signs that say, “Please wear a mask at window” and the high school girls inside all wore them.

As soon as Woman One finished placing her order, she whipped off the mask and turned to Woman Two. “I hate these things.” They then started a conversation about their inconvenience (although Woman Two kept hers on). When Woman One went back to the window to pick up her sundae, she didn’t bother to put her mask back on. Idiocy #1.

Woman Two ordered, kept her mask on as the two of them continued their conversation, picked up her ice cream, then they went and stood by a car, both now with their masks off, to eat their ice cream and socialize about two feet from each other. Idiocy #2. Yes, I understand it’s hard to eat while wearing something over your mouth and nose, but sit in the car! Don’t expose the rest of us.

I place my order, then retreat to my car, standing outside it with the pager they’d given me (hamburgers and onion rings take longer than an ice cream cone). I’d parked to the side of the lot, so was about twenty feet from the window – and the family that now arrived.

Three of them: a husband, wife and older teen daughter. Only the husband wore a mask. The daughter, upon seeing me waiting – and masked – pulled up her sweater so it covered her nose and mouth. The wife remained with a naked face the entire time.

As they waited for their order (staying close to the window and unconcerned with social distancing), another family got out of a pickup truck: father, mother, two younger teenage daughters. Only the mother wore a mask. She did the ordering while the other three stood in front of the truck, which was pulled up right in front of the window. After a moment, the two teenagers pulled out their phones and went to sit in the truck to wait. I suspect this choice had nothing to do with staying safe and everything to do with being a teenager.

The wife removed her mask as soon as she’d finished ordering, and gave it to her husband, who went to the convenience store beside the ice cream stand. I cut them some slack here, even though two people sharing a mask isn’t the best idea. But I figured, they’re married and her germs are his germs. Not a choice my husband and I would make – see note above about halving our exposure – but maybe he left his mask home (I keep an extra one in my car because putting it on as I leave the house isn’t a habit yet).

But then he came back, not wearing it, and my sympathy turned to appalled as his wife asked, “Why aren’t you wearing the mask?” and he replied, in a tone sounding very much like a twelve-year-old, “Nobody else was wearing one.”

Okay, so you’re wearing a mask mostly to protect others in case you have the virus but don’t know it yet, but also partly to protect yourself from others. Taking your mask off because they’re not wearing one? Idiocy #3 – BIG time.

I posit that the establishment needs to change it's signs and remove the politeness of the word "Please." People are taking that as a request - it should read "YOU MUST wear a mask when approaching the window." Period. Whether ordering or picking up. Wear the mask. Protect those girls inside from your possible contamination.

And why does anyone think they can pick and choose between and among doctor's orders? Doc says, "Stay off your foot for three days," my husband stays off his foot for three days. Doc says, "Wear a mask in public" - as every doctor has been saying for weeks now - then wear the damn mask in public!

T.S. Eliot stated, in the last lines of his poem, “The Hollow Men”, “This is the way the world ends/ Not with a bang but a whimper.”

He was wrong.

It ends with a whine.

Play safe – stay safe – keep me safe – wear a mask!

Diana

PS. 60% off my titles at Smashwords ends Wednesday. Prices go back up to normal on June 1st (they'll be 30% off for the last week and a half of May).

Update - and a prediction

Scene: 1979. My senior year in college. Classroom. 

Class: Teaching Techniques (or some such title - it was a long time ago!)

Characters: Teacher (female, but not sure it matters), mid-thirties

                   myself (an energetic dreamer), 21 years old

                 

Assignment: I don't remember the particulars, but I was doing a presentation on using technology in the classroom focusing on the use of the 1) slide projector, 2) filmstrip projector, 3) 16 mm film projector. And if you remember what any of those are, you're not much younger than I am!

ME (finishing my presentation with a flourish!): And the last piece of technology isn't in the classroom here in New York yet, but it is in California. (Holds up the very first Apple magazine.) This is a brand-new technology called a "Personal Computer". They are already being used for teaching basic concepts and I predict that, in the future, every student will have one and I will teach to a room full of students using them. Thank you. (ends presentation)

TEACHER: Well, this was a very good presentation, if we remove the last minute. You were supposed to only deal with reality, not fantasy.

ME: It isn't fantasy. It's already in the classrooms of California. Mark my words: someday these will be in every classroom.

TEACHER: Next presentation, please.

(Note: I got a "C" on my project because I was "too fanciful" and "not realistic")

Flash forward 35 years:

Scene: a classroom in 2014. Class of 20-some students are all busily doing research on their laptops and posting their essays to a wiki to be peer-reviewed by others in the room. A few have logged into the class discussion board where there is a vigorous debate about what happened to the Ents in the Lord of the Rings and where the Entwives might have gone. They add their two cents to the conversation and start a new one on whether Merry and Pippin were braver than Frodo and Sam. The teacher (ME) wanders the room answering questions and generally staying out of the way of students learning on their own.

* * * * *

So yeah, my prediction came true - in spades. My vindication was complete when I looked around the room and realized I was teaching to a room full of computers - and the students running them.

Why is that important? Because I'm going to make another technological prediction, based on what I see happening in my own household. To wit:

* * * * *

Scene: the living room where my husband had raised his laptop with the aid of several boxes, making it eye height so people won't be looking up his nose. There is a pole lamp to his right and his left, a hanging light to his right and a fresnel-type decorative lamp he's positioned right in front of him.

DAUGHTER: What you need is a bounce screen so you don't have that harsh light right on your face. You come in too hot.

HUSBAND: I just can't figure out how to mount one in here. Need to work on that.

* * *

Scene: My husband's studio (he's a painter). He and Daughter are setting up a 3-camera system so he can teach his painting classes online.

ME: Too much in the background here. Maybe hang a sheet? - and that one camera is old, so the picture's a little fuzzy. Maybe use that for the palate rather than the painting.

HUSBAND: And I need better lighting. It's good when the sun is shining, but if it's a cloudy day, there's a glare on the canvas from my overhead lights.

DAUGHTER: You need another bounce board. And will you only teach during the day? What about night classes?

* * *

Scene: Son's room. He's a gamer. Already has most of what he needs. Except bandwidth. We're running out of that.

***

Scene: My study. Conversation between my daughter, my husband, my son, and me.

ME: I didn't need video this past semester because I used a discussion board and a wiki to finish off my classes when we moved online. But we didn't use the wiki well because I couldn't teach them how in such a short time frame. Next fall, if we're still online, I need to do videos. And I don't have a camera.

HUSBAND: We can buy a new one, although I could use another for my painting classes. Maybe we should buy two, just in case. Or three - because one of mine is old and gives a fuzzy picture.

SON: I'm fine. Just up the bandwidth to the house or none of us are doing anything.

DAUGHTER: I can teach you both how to use the programs. Buy bounce boards.

* * * * *

My prediction: 

In the future, every home will have a "broadcasting" station: a place where Zoom calls are made and live videos uploaded. Classes will be taken and taught from this location and conversations will be held with people across the street and across the world. They (both the place from which we broadcast and the quality of the broadcast) will look professional and smooth because we bought packages (or bought the house with the room already created).

The physical space will be comfortable for the user with backgrounds pleasing to the viewer (although the ACTUAL background will  be a green screen so visual effects are easily added). Just as in the 20th century where the phone was the center of the household, the BA (Broadcast Area - although it might end up being the Z - Zoomer. We do have a tendency to name things via a particular brand, even if we don't use it. I'm looking at you, Kleenex and Xerox) will be the heart of communication in the future.

Of course, it won't remain static for long. Static, as in being in one place. Technology will upgrade quickly and that will only be a passing phase. Eventually, we will carry the technology with us on a wristband or a ring and it will project via the air. But, as my 1979 teacher would say, "too fanciful, not realistic."

Mark my words: In the future, every single one of us will be a performer/broadcaster/creator and we'll do our jobs from professional studios in our own homes.

That's my prediction and I'm sticking to it.

Endnotes:

The conversations above are condensations of actual conversations we have had in this house over the past few weeks. For dramatic purposes, I've re-assigned some parts of the conversation to others in the room at the time. My daughter is a LOT more helpful than just recommending bounce boards (which she actually did only once. Love you, Sweetie!).

And yes, I still have that Apple Magazine from 1979. 

Play safe - and stay safe! and see you in the future!

Diana

 

Check in!

In the immortal words of Joey Tribbiani:

In my last post, I spoke of our new normal – and how it wasn’t even worth putting that word in quotes anymore because, well, this is just how life is now. As we come to accept our current circumstances, we adapt our behavior and life moves on. The sun still rises, the earth still turns, and time still continues its forward march.

The concern, of course, is that we’ll become so acclimated to our social distancing that we won’t go back. Arm-chair psychologists and experts alike have been writing about what life on the other side will look like – and for once those words don’t mean death. Well, they do, but…grrr.

This is the problem when language is slow to catch up to current situations. It’s why we still call them “floppy disks” when they’re encased in hard plastic, it’s why we still call our portable computers “phones” when they do so much more. Usually, “life on the other side” refers to the existence after death. Now we’re using the same words to refer to coming out from the COVID-19 curve – which we have flattened at least a little bit.

As for me, I’ve always been one to take life as it comes. I don’t agonize too much about what’s currently happening – don’t get me wrong, I’m very careful about staying home, staying away from people, about social distancing – but I’m not panicked and I’m not out hoarding supplies, although like every mother, I worry some about my kids and hope that they’re behaving themselves.

So no futuristic predictions from me on what society will look like. Science Fiction is a genre I enjoy reading, but have always been lousy at writing. I love that there are writers who can take a look at the current situation and project it into the future and play the game of “what if?” but it isn’t a talent I have.

Sidenote: Why is it all Science Fiction authors predict a gloomy future for us? I’ve long suspected they’re writing warnings: “Change your behavior or this will happen.” I need to read a rosy futuristic story – where we have a Happily Ever After ending!

Here in the Finger Lakes, the daffodils are up, the sun is shining (today, anyway), the yard work is getting done, the basement is nearly cleaned out, and stories are being written – not all of them fictional. Many of those staying safe at home are journaling their experiences, recording for posterity the details of what it’s like to actually live through a pandemic. We don’t have many of those records from past ones, so we hope our words will give comfort, strength, and understanding to those who go through this in the future.

Because they will. This isn’t the first and it won’t be the last. With any luck, it’ll be the only one in our lifetimes, though. And by recording our precautions, our hopes, our fears, we can tell our descendants that they, too, will adjust to the circumstances and come out on “the other side.”

Leave a comment - for now, for the future -- How're YOU doing?

Stay safe, and play safe!

Diana

DON’T FORGET! All my books are 60% off at Smashwords for the next few weeks. Books are the one thing  it’s okay to hoard – at least, that’s what I’m telling myself every time I add another one to both my virtual and physical shelves. J

I'm not panicked...

To say the last few days have been a whirlwind is to discredit the life-upending capability of a whirlwind. You know that ancient curse? The one that goes, “May you live in interesting times?” Guess what…these days are certainly interesting!

I’m not one to panic. When reports of toilet paper and hand sanitizer shortages hit the airwaves, I was more puzzled than concerned. Until we were down to our last few rolls of toilet paper and I went to the store to buy more. There were fewer than a dozen packages on the shelves. I bought one 12-roll package, knowing it would do us for a few weeks and hoping there will be more when these run out.

The hand sanitizer also puzzles me. Doesn’t that kill bacteria? And COVID-19 is viral. How is that going to help? Seems to me the Clorox wipes are more useful there. And soap. Thankfully, my husband decided to try his hand at making his own soap this past fall, just because he wanted to learn the process. We’re well-stocked as a result.

But the changes have been coming fast and furious. This is my favorite of the memes and feels like my current mode of operation.

To date:

On Wednesday, classes were moved online at Finger Lakes Community College, where I teach. I spent most of the day getting one class discussion up and ready to go when the students return from spring break – which has been stretched to two weeks instead of one. So one less three-hour session in which to get everything across.

Also on Wednesday, I went to do my normal grocery shopping (see “toilet paper” above). Again, not panicked, but because it was my shopping day. Decided it might be wise to get a package of cold medicine, just because we’re out. Bought both the kind I like and the one my husband prefers. One of each. Stocking up, not hoarding.

My husband, who has spent much of his adult life as a theatre director, took some time to tread the boards in a local production for the first time in several years. The play: Metamorphoses (a dramatization of Ovid’s work of the same name), the part: Midas. It’s been cancelled. The cast met together last night (Thursday) for the last time – on the set that had been built yesterday.

My daughter lost her job this afternoon (Friday) She is an assistant stage manager at Geva Theatre in Rochester, NY – and they just cancelled all performances of both stages. She’d already lost a job she was to start in a few weeks because the University of Rochester has shut down. Unemployment, anyone?

Both my Dad and my brother live in assisted living facilities. They’ve shut down and are allowing no visitors other than the one appointed caregiver (me, in both cases). I’ve made sure they have what they need, but won’t be going to visit unless needed as I don’t want to carry anything to them.

Because that’s the kicker. I could be carrying the virus right now and have no idea. THAT’S the real reason for all the cancellations and postponements. The virus may already be here…and may not. There is no way to tell. By the time you have the chills and fever, you’ve already given it to a hundred others.

So I’m staying home, writing, reading, getting a few of my quickies put into a print book format, playing games on my computer, and teaching from my study. Am I a carrier? Probably not. Do I want to risk infecting others? Absolutely not. Staying home helps “flatten the curve” so our health care system doesn’t get overworked and I’m good with that, too.

Here’s hoping our times get just a little less interesting soon!

Play safe, and buy a good book!

Diana

No deaths this week

Nope, in fact, I've SAVED two people. Children, actually. Might be a knee-jerk response to the awful things my country is doing at the moment, but that's a post for a different time. I will go on record and state to the rest of the world: We're working on it. Protesting, getting out the vote, and voting. Still trying to work within the system, but wondering how long we can before holding a referendum and becoming part of Canada. You guys want New York Province, right?

My hubby and I are actually getting ready to visit the Land Up North. We leave in a little over a week for Prince Edward Island by way of Acadia National Park in Maine. I'm going to get to add another state to my list (and another National Park), as well as not one, not two, but THREE Canadian Provinces (and some Canadian National Parks, too!).

Lately my husband has taken up plein air painting. For the past several years, he's painted in several local competitions and sold a number of his paintings that way. Since I've wanted to visit Nova Scotia for years (we've actually planned it twice before and had to cancel because of illnesses/deaths in the family), he decided to check out some plein air festivals there. Making it a working vacation for him means it becomes more affordable for us, since some of the expenses are for his business.

Mine, too, for that matter. While he's busy on painting days, I plan to write. I'm bringing along several projects (The Companion, for one and some curriculum work for a new course I'm teaching in the fall), but will remain open to "painting" the beauty of the two islands in words.

So, a working vacation for both of us, with days in between to sightsee - and eat seafood. I am SO looking forward to that part!

Unfortunately, we're just passing through New Brunswick this time around. He's there right now at a festival in King's Landing but I'll just see what I can from the highway as we drive through. Montague, Prince Edward Island is our first festival, Peggy's Cove is the second, and Lunenburg is the third. We'll be gone nearly the entire month of July.

So, my Canadian readers....what places are must-see in the Maritimes?

Play safe,
Diana

PRE-ORDER available for WINTER'S TALES

Now available for preorder from both Smashwords and Amazon,
Winter's Tales is a bundled collection of three novellas: A Devil in Winter, Winter Break, and 12 Days of Christmas Bondage, all together for the first time. What can I say? I like setting stories around the holidays. :)

Devil in Winter - Kevin doesn't plan to kidnap his ex's younger sister, but when he does, the sparks do fly! This title was previously published by Ellora's Cave.

Winter Break - Dr. Bintner's immersion in her work has left her little time for love - until an old flame shows up and rekindles their relationship.

12 Days of Christmas Bondage - Twelve snippets into bondage through the years - these twelve couples certainly show us how hot the holidays can be! (edited to add:) Each "chapter" is a story in, and of, itself. Together they make a full-length novel.

Print format coming soon so you can get one for a friend for the holidays. Mmm...winter and spice...perfect together!

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: I know most Americans are consumed with the election today and, if you haven't already - GO VOTE! I did. And yes, that's my old jacket - its chilly here in the early morning hours in New York State and I grabbed the comfy, warm jacket over style. Doesn't matter what you look like - just go vote and let your voice be heard.

As always, play safe!

Diana

Whee! Post hits...or not

I generally check traffic stats to this site about once a week, just to see if anyone is out there. When there is no Google Adwords campaign going, I generally get double digit hits each day, making a grand weekly total of three to four hundred hits a week.

So you can imagine my surprise when the blog got 843 hits yesterday. You read that right. Double what I get in a typical week in a single day.

Naturally, I'm curious as to what pages got all those views - and every one of them was from 2013. Hmmm....And where do the viewers come from? This is where it gets interesting.

I stopped running the AdWords campaigns because most of the hits I was getting were from bots - basically unmanned computers trolling for weaknesses they could exploit in a website. The viewed numbers were increasingly skewed by these bots and getting an accurate read nearly impossible. So I cancelled the ads and watched my numbers plummet - to reality.

Most of those bots are located in the countries you'd expect: Russia, Pakistan, China. But yesterday's hits were from Good O'l US of A bots - over a thousand and a half of them in the past week.

Now I'd love to believe that all those views were real people who suddenly got interested in my books/site/life, but then, I'd like to believe in unicorns, too. How do I know they're not real? Because nothing else rose with the increase in views (okay, get your minds out of the gutter!!! :) ). No increase in sales or interest on Smashwords or Amazon, no increase even in looking at the tabs across the top of the site. Only individual hits on very old pages. That says bot, not person.

For those of you who ARE real ... and I know I have a few readers in Russia, Pakistan and China as well as many other countries...The protection against attacks is one of the reasons I stay with Blogger as my website host. It isn't the greatest in form or ease of setting up pages (not WYSIWYG), no way to do direct sales from the site - but also no viruses getting through, no malware or other nasty things that mess up computers and lives.

So thank you to those of you who are real...and pftttt to the bots who aren't!

Play safe,
Diana

Sales slumps

As with any business, sales slumps come with the territory. In publishing, genres seem to come and go in waves of popularity. While Romance as a category always sells well, the divisions within it change. Westerns are popular for a while, then Scottish Highlanders. Erotica will sell, then everyone's writing steamy sex scenes and the backlash goes to sweet romances or shapeshifters. Or paranormal. You get the drift.

My sales numbers have plummeted over the last six months. Partly that's because I only had one new title (Winter Break) but even that book hasn't done as well as past titles. It's no secret Ellora's Cave is behind in their royalty payments - I eagerly check each week to see if maybe this will be the week they catch me up, but it hasn't happened yet. Soon, I'm sure. They took a chance on me and gave me my start. It is my fervent wish they find their footing and keep going. But even the royalty statements I have gotten show sales for some titles in the single digits for the first time ever.

I suspect the erotica market is now glutted and finding new readers isn't as easy as it used to be with all the authors now choosing to self-publish. The first titles I released on my own did wonderfully well. The last ones? Not so much.

To be honest, I'm starting to grow a bit bored writing erotica, myself. I had a lot of fun with it and am happy to have written as many books in the genre as I did. But it isn't only the marketplace's tastes that change - writer's appetites do, too.

To that end, I've been challenging myself lately, writing in several styles, just for fun. I've written a short story in the Action/adventure genre, several non-fiction travel pieces, and an epic fantasy (that's currently taking up much of my time!).

This isn't to say there won't be more Diana Hunter stories. Hot sex is still fun to write on occasion but honestly? Mystic Shade outsells Diana. You're more likely to see more stories from Mystic than Diana, especially after the egg laid by Winter Break (still don't know if people who bought it liked it or not. Please leave reviews!!!! Good or bad, it's the only way we writers get feedback).

Sales are in a slump and the way out for me is to keep writing. Even one book sold is one more reader touched by the story I've written and that doesn't suck. Reading back on this, it sounds pretty depressing and I don't mean it to be. Waves happen in business. The trick it to keep going. If I stop writing all together? Then I'll never find that next wave to ride, and I'd hate to miss the fun. So don't worry - there will be more books, more stories, more genre to choose from.

In the meantime, play safe - and leave a review!!! :)

Diana

A few more changes

The Purchasing Info page is now up-to-date. It had a few books that are currently not available (took those down) and one that  wasn't listed (I'm looking at you, New York Moment!). I've tried to change the font color of two books in the text listing but that change hasn't stuck. Will keep trying on that.

I also changed the donation link on the homepage because of a post made by one of my former students. For years now, I have encouraged my readers to donate to the Red Cross because that group does such good work when emergencies strike, but have known for a while that the monetary distribution was uneven. Not that their CEO doesn't deserve competitive pay - he/she does. It's hard to attract excellent CEO's without it. Why work for the Red Cross when I can work for a corporation for a whole lot more money? It's the same problem when hiring a new Superintendent of Schools. You have to pay competitive rates or you don't get the cream of the crop applicants.

So I get that a huge chunk of their donation money goes to staff. We live in a capitalistic society and why should they be paid less to perform humanitarian aid than those who do the same jobs in hospitals around the country? The answer? They shouldn't. They are still a deserving group who needs donations in order to do their work.

But I changed to St. Jude Research Hospital anyway. Why? Because these are kids. They got stuck with a raw deal and this is an organization that makes an attempt to help. Recently I’ve been involved in the health care system of the United States and let me tell you, it’s a rabbit warren filled with Pass the Buck, self-interest (read: greed), and more gobbledygook and misinformation than I ever thought possible. Any organization that helps families through it when their minds are filled with more important things (like the fact that their child is dying) deserves my support.

Really, though, who you choose to donate to is up to you. As long as you help those in need, there are a lot of places who need your help. Feel free to post links in the comments of groups who could use a lift.

Play safe,

Diana

Happy New Year!

This post has been a long time coming. It’s taken me a while to not only figure out what to say, but to gain enough distance to say it.

On November 9th, an aneurysm burst in my brother’s brain. Sixty percent of the time, that’s instantly fatal. My brother had a headache.

It was a bad headache – so much so that he doesn’t remember much of the next twenty-four hours. But he got home from work and slept for much of that time and, once he woke up on Tuesday night, he called his workplace and they told him he’d refused to go in the ambulance (he vaguely remembered sitting on a guerney) and that, despite their best efforts, he insisted on driving himself home (my brother is a big man—I understand their reluctance to forcibly taking the keys from him).

When he emailed the family Tuesday night (the 10th), my sister and I both strongly encouraged him to go to the doctor Wednesday morning. Okay, we yelled at him to do so.

Long story short, he ended up in the emergency room of the local hospital, the staff of which knew immediately what had happened. They didn’t have the facilities to deal with an aneurysm that was now bleeding into the brain and had been for nearly thirty-six hours. By ambulance they sent him to a larger hospital where, after getting his blood pressure under control, they inserted a platinum coil into the aneurysm (going in through the groin) and plugged it.

That procedure was a success. Unfortunately, he had a hemorrhagic stroke a half an hour after he came out of recovery. Those types of strokes are also usually fatal—immediately. The brain swelled, they rushed him into surgery again and, the upshot was, they removed a large (nearly a third) of his skull in order to 1) drain the blood and 2) allow the brain room.

Yes, he survived the stroke as well. He’s batting two for two. I didn’t need to look far for a Christmas Miracle this year.

In those early days, traveling down to see him, to consult with nurses and doctors, I didn’t have much time to think. My brother isn’t married and has no children. He lives alone and his circle of friends are mostly his co-workers. He lives two and a half hours away from me, three and a half hours from my parents. Close enough to make the round trip in a single day. I drove it once a week (sometimes twice) and made decisions as his health care proxy—decisions that often needed to be made in moments with little time to think.

Some decisions I made with my parents’ input, but many I made on my own. I signed the paper that let them take his skull off. I signed the paper that let them put it back once the swelling went down. I signed the paper that put a tracheostomy in his throat and the paper that moved him from the hospital to an acute rehab facility. I signed them all.

I hold my brother’s life in my hands. I have avoided thinking about the responsibility, but responsibility has a way of lurking in the background, waiting for a crack, a small vulnerability it can exploit. Once that crack forms, all the guilt, second-guessing, and endless replaying of events pours into one’s soul and burdens one’s shoulders.

For me, that crack formed a week and a half before Christmas. There was no bed for him in any facility anywhere in New York State. He had to be transferred to a facility in Scranton, Pennsylvania – a full hour further away. I hung up the phone after giving permission and cried for over an hour. I told my husband I thought I needed therapy because I was losing my grip. His solution? He called a friend of mine who didn’t even think twice. She took the next day off from work and came over to help me bake Christmas cookies. We had a great day talking things out and she helped me gain perspective again, reordering some of my priorities and helping me to see I wasn’t a bad sister for making the decisions I had.

Is it any wonder I love the man? He’s been my rock, in more ways than I can count.

Now here I stand, on the first day of the New Year, with many more decisions to be made. My brother never made out a will, never appointed anyone to act as Power of Attorney should he need one. If you’re reading this and you haven’t? MAKE THAT YOUR PRIMARY NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTION. Because his cognitive functions are impaired, his neurologist has declared him unable to sign such documents now. That means we have to get a court-appointed guardian for him so we can do simple things, like pay his bills.

And yes, my husband and I worked with an attorney last year and filed our wills. The lawyer also strongly suggested designating POA’s and Health Care Proxies at the same time. We took his advice. If both of us are incapacitated, there are those with the power to take over our financials. I also made up a “Where Things Are” list and gave copies to all the parties involved. Our bank accounts, our credit cards, our debts and our savings are all listed so they don’t have to dig and do too much in the way of financial forensics. MAKE A LIST LIKE THAT AS YOUR SECOND NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTION. The peace of mind is worth it.

My brother had neither of those. The stress and amount of work we’re doing to handle this is overwhelming at times. DETERMINING A SUPPORT SYSTEM FOR YOURSELF SHOULD BE YOUR THIRD RESOLUTION. I’m still finding mine. My husband is first, my girlfriend and her husband are my backups. I’m working on expanding that circle this year (sharing breakdowns isn’t easy for me. I’m the one everyone vents to – I don’t do the venting).

The snow has finally arrived this winter. Right now we’re getting that big, fluffy Christmas snow that turns the world into a beautiful wonderland of white. I am grateful it held off as long as it did – it made the traveling I had to do in December that much safer by its absence. Today I will enjoy it – for that’s my biggest New Year’s Resolution: Enjoy the moments, big or small, because you never know when an aneurysm is going to burst in your brother’s brain and change your life completely.

Play safe,

Diana

NaNoWriMo in less than a month -- already?

Hard to believe NaNoWriMo will so soon be upon us. Seems like just yesterday we were furiously writing novels, grabbing every spare minute to write another section, another paragraph, another sentence. Anything to advance our word counts and get to the finish line: 50,000 words in a month.

NaNoWriMo is good because it forces one to take time and do what writer's do: write. As a retiree, it's all too easy to slip into lazy practices - I'll do one more load of laundry...dust the dining room...read this book - any excuse to avoid the BIC step (Butt In Chair). An event such as NaNoWriMo reminds us, if you want to write a book? You have to sit down and write a book.

Last year I worked on THE REVOLUTION OF CLARA SIMPSON, an historical romance. I'd started the research earlier and had some of it written before November. During NaNoWriMo, however, I added 52K to the story. When I finished it a few weeks later, the story ended up around 75K total. But for the November push, it would've taken a whole lot longer for me to get that puppy finished.

What happened to that manuscript, you ask? Let me tell you...

The book sprang from a conversation I'd had with C. J. Hollenbach, one of EC's original cover models. He's a sweetheart and, at the Romanticon convention, I remarked that he'd never graced the cover of any of my books. I told him I'd write one specifically for him, a book that would cry out for him as the cover model.

At one point, he was the model for Karen Hawkins' Her Master and Commander and I loved that picture of him. Dashing, handsome, romantic...yeah. I wanted to write that C.J., so I did. The Revolution of Clara Simpson.

But it didn't turn out to be an erotic romance. Historical romance, yes. Sweet romance, yes. Erotic romance? No so much.

That meant Ellora's Cave wasn't the right place for it. I could self-pub it (and still might!), but thought this might be the book to bring in a wider audience. So I sent it off to Carina Press.

Who promptly rejected it.

I sent it to Harlequin next. But, three months later, I contacted them again (since I hadn't heard from them aside from the initial auto-response) and asked if they were still interested. I got a very nice note in reply from Dieidra McCluskey, an Editorial Assistant, stating that their response time of 12 weeks is approximate and that my manuscript was being reviewed by their Historical Romance response team.

I haven't heard from them since. I suppose I'll send another email at the six-month period to see if I can goose it along, one way or the other. It's hard, having written a book that I know is good, to wait on others for a yay or nay, especially in this time of self-publishing when I could've had it out there already (let's face it, Mystic Shade wrote, edited and published two more books and I've written a Christmas story that's currently in edits in the time Harlequin has taken to decide!).

So I'll give them a courtesy email in another week, upon the six-month anniversary of my submitting it. I would very much like them to publish it, even though it means a smaller royalty for me (compared to self-publishing) because it means a wider distribution. More eyes on the book - and that's worth the trade-off. Why? Because that book will lead new readers to say, "I liked this. What else has she written?" And my entire backlist will get a boost.

So what's up for this year's NaNoWriMo? What book will I work on? Not sure yet. I have that fantasy I keep talking about and would love to get a chunk more written. But there is also a follow-up story to Clara Simpson's and I'm thinking I might like to give that a run. I have a few weeks yet to make my decision, thank goodness!

NaNoWriMo in less than a month - already. Have any ideas about what project you're going to work on?

Play safe,
Diana

Don't rely on the Muse

A few days ago, I made a Facebook post about writing 4000+ words in just a few hours and made the off-hand comment that my Muse was with me. A former student wrote to say she hadn't seen her Muse in quite some time. We had a good conversation and I sincerely hope she can get her story moving again.

We writers are an independent lot. We write where we will, when we will, how we will. No one tells novelists what story they should write--it all comes out of our own imaginations. Yes, we get inspired by others' artworks,  music, even their stories. But our own creations are exactly that: our own creations to the point where writers compare themselves to God (don't believe me? Type "writer as god" into Google and you'll get 168 BILLION hits, give or take a few).

But there's a problem with being god-like: we don't have anyone else to blame when we can't be creative. "You're the god of your story! What do you mean, you don't know what happens next? Make it up!" We've all heard that well-meant advice from non-writers who don't understand the creative process. They don't understand that, sometimes, the ideas just aren't there.

Of course, sometimes writers don't understand that either.

And, because of our fierce independence, we don't realize that other writers have the same problem.

We've come up with ways to lay the blame, of course. Because, Heaven forbid it should be our fault. We'd lose our god-hood if we couldn't write, couldn't control the actions of our fictitious characters, characters who, in our minds, are real people. If it were our fault that we couldn't figure out what happened next or our fault that the words were clumsy and didn't say what we really meant--that would be a personal failure.

And no one likes to fail.

So we blame others. We say we have "writer's block" as if someone else built a wall between us and our imagination. Or we say the Muse has left us, as if our creativity lived outside us and had moved to someone else's house. We feel washed-up, weary, wrung out with worry--and sure that we never will write another word.

But writing is work. And all work is sometimes easy, sometimes hard. When I say hard, I'm not talking about all the procrastination tools we have to keep us from staring at that darn story that just won't move, I'm talking about the willpower to sit there and stare that page down and write something. Anything. You can cut it out later, but putting the butt in chair and forcing the fingers to type words isn't easy.

That's one way to get over the hump (another way of saying, "Not my fault. Someone put a speedbump in front of my creativity!"). Another is to walk away for a day or two. No longer! We set patterns in our lives, routines that keep us sane. Sitting down to write is part of a routine. Walk away from it for more than a few days and the routine is disrupted.

But that disruption can help. "Sharpen the saw" Steven Covey says. Go do something else and when you come back, you do so with a fresh mind. In that Facebook conversation, I suggested reading a book, doing crossword puzzles--keeping the mind engaged in some manner, but allowing the story to simmer on the back burner for a few days.

Both these methods work.

What doesn't work is throwing up your hands and saying, "My Muse has left me" and then doing nothing about it.

We are writers. We write. Period.

Play safe,
Diana

On Being Dyslexic

Preface: I teach Freshman Composition at Finger Lakes Community College. The first term paper the students do is a reflection on an issue. In the course of our discussion on Tuesday, I mentioned my dyslexia and the resulting coping strategies I've developed over the years. One of my students asked if I had ever written about my experiences and I realized, I never had. Not sure why I haven't, but she got me to thinking and I decided to do the assignment right along with them. 

I wrote the below as a blog post, since that's the form most of my essays take these days. I then did a "Save As" and made a formal term paper out of it to show the differences in formatting. It was a fun exercise. :)

So here is my essay, On Being Dyslexic. Enjoy!

I’ve always had trouble with phone numbers. People would tell me their number, I’d write it down, and invariably, get it wrong. Repeating the number back to them until I’d memorized it seemed a safer venture, but mostly, all I got out of this was a fear of dialing numbers.

Seriously. I hate making phone calls. Even in this age of digital everything, if I have to key in a number, I have tremendous anxiety issues. Will I get the person I actually meant to dial? Have I keyed the number correctly? What if it’s a wrong number? I have to psych myself up just to dial the phone.

Today we’d call it a “learning disability” but back then (the 60’s and 70’s), you were just quirky. And no one caught on. Why? Because spelling was easy – I had no trouble with letters except for words that contained both a “b” and a “p”. If I had to write the words “but put” in the same sentence, invariably I got them wrong the first time and had to erase or cross out and rewrite them. Which I did, so no one noticed a problem. In math, it was only 9’s and 6’s that gave my any trouble and again, I could usually spot the mistake quickly and fix it before it got to being graded by the teacher.

There was one trait, however, that often frustrated me: I’d say “spring” when I meant “fall” or “winter” when I meant “summer.” For some odd reason, I’d say “purple” when it was clearly “orange”. “Hot/cold”, “up/down” and “right/left” were other mix-ups that made no sense to me. I clearly could see that fruit was orange, so why would the word “purple” come out of my mouth? My parents would always just look at me funny and correct me. It seemed to be a problem to no one but me, so I just accepted it as part of my nature and moved on.

Until I saw a TV program about a boy who told the cops he was 81, when he was 18. He often got opposites mixed up and couldn’t read or write well. The actor who played the role was Kurt Russell and I was madly in love with him (still am!), which is probably why we were watching the show in the first place. The Storefront Lawyers ran only a single season and played opposite The Courtship of Eddie’s Father, which we watched all the time.

(NOTE: It took me a LOT of web-searching to find that information out. All I could remember was Kurt Russell playing the part of a dyslexic teenager. Two hours later, I found the obscure show listings that match my memory. You can find the TV listing for Wednesday, November 18, 1970 here, and a longer description of the series here.)

Anyway, in that episode, Russell plays Jerry, a kid the cops think is being disrespectful. The lawyers realize he’s dyslexic. I’d never heard the word before. But the character of Jerry and the resultant description of dyslexia fit me perfectly. I wasn’t quirky – I was dyslexic!

And I wasn’t alone.

It wasn’t just me, this switching of words and having troubles with certain letters.

Not that it changed much. Special Education at that time didn’t exist in the way it does now. No one diagnosed me and life continued much as it had. The only difference was my own attitude about myself. I wasn’t alone. There were others like me. There was no “cure” but I could adapt. That last part I figured out on my own.

By the time I got to college in the late 70’s, a great deal of work had been done on learning disabilities, dyslexia among them. Since my degree included certification in English (Theatre Major, Education minor), several of these disabilities were discussed in class – from the viewpoint of a teacher trying to teach material to students who have them. Listening and learning, I applied the coping strategies we were given to teach our students to my own situation.

Later, as a teacher, I recognized my own dyslexia was mild. I mix up a few words and hate phone numbers. When typing, I have a few words that will always come out wrong (“studnets” instead of “students” is my particular burden to bear), but I have had kids in my classroom who cannot read at all because the letters dance about on the page for them. They look once and the letters are in one order, they look again, the letters are now arranged differently in the word.

Those are the kids I feel the most for and it puts my own quirkiness into perspective. I never felt I had a disability, only a difficulty. While I was thrilled beyond measure to discover I wasn’t alone, I obviously didn’t need resource time or any test modifications. I used my coping strategies (a term I picked up in my first years of teaching, by the way) and got on with life.

And it was that attitude I tried to impart to my students. Just accept it and move on. Having a learning problem doesn’t mean you’re a failure, it just means you have to find the way around or through it. For me, that meant going public. I mixed up letters on the board on occasion and rather than get flustered by it, I confessed my slight dyslexia to my students (all of whom knew what that meant by the 80’s). I told them they were my coping strategy. I counted on them to point out a mistake like that so I could correct it. I also tried to impart to them that a learning disability shouldn’t hold them back.

I have dyslexia. I’m also a writer. I’m an English teacher, a blogger and a writer of essays. I like words. My vocabulary is extensive because I read as much as I can as often as I can. I drive my husband and kids crazy because I still grab the opposite word from the one I want but it’s okay. They’ve learned to just translate in their heads. My future daughters-in-law are learning the same thing.

Several years ago, a counselor confronted me and told me to stop telling my students I was dyslexic when I clearly wasn’t. I was a teacher, for crying out loud. Teachers didn’t have learning disabilities. She asked me who made my diagnosis. I couldn’t very well say, “A TV series”, so I brushed off her question. I wish I could remember the rest of the conversation so I could tell you I took her to task for her biased statements, but I probably didn’t. I was still a young teacher then and a little afraid of those in power. The incident, however, made me realize all the more how important it was for kids to see a person who had become successful despite having a learning disability. In her attempt to get me to stop, that counselor did all my students a favor – I became even more of a champion of their successes.

So don’t ask me to make phone calls, and if you hear me grab the opposite word from the one that makes sense, don’t panic. Correct me in your head or correct me out loud, it doesn’t matter. I know my dyslexia and I’m fine with it.

A little learning is a dangerous thing...

I need to share something I’ve learned in my research about the American Revolution that absolutely has me stunned. Because my story focuses on the British occupation of New York, I’ve had to delve deep into the Loyalist position.

Now understand this…I have always seen myself as a patriot. I’ve visited Boston and walked the Freedom Trail, I’ve gone to Philadelphia and put my hand in the crack of the Liberty Bell. I’ve watched 1776 more times than I can count and I’ve gone to Valley Forge, Monticello and Mount Vernon…some of them more than once. I like Benjamin Franklin and Jefferson, would probably fight with John Adams and be a little bit shy of George Washington. If you asked me the woman from history I’d most like to meet? Hands down, no contest…Abigail Adams. I have so many questions I’d love to ask her!

Because I so closely identify with the side of the rebellion here, I have never really understood the Tory side. Those who called themselves “Loyalists” always seemed blind to me. How could they want to remain with the oppressor unless they were 1) evil or 2) stupid?

Well, of course, they weren’t the first. With the exception of a few who advocated for what today we call a “scorched earth” policy (New York’s own Governor Tryon among the worst of that lot!), most of the British officers felt they were in the right to punish malcontents who disrupted the peace. And make no mistake…the rebels had their share of nasty characters. Tarring and feathering is painful – and often deadly.

And my research is showing me the Loyalists weren’t stupid, either. Most shared the rebel’s opinions concerning the wrongness of the taxes, the abandonment of civil rule for martial law, and the quartering of British soldiers in their homes. That is what has stunned me. Loyalists felt the same way as the patriots did.

So why didn’t they join the rebellion? That had me stumped for quite a while, but I get it now. The key lies in the phrase “Unnatural rebellion.” There’s a book by that title that provides a wonderful, balanced presentation of opinions by Ruma Chopra and I highly recommend it. She’s not the only one to explain it, but she’s the one who helped me understand it the most.

To the patriots, separation from the Mother Country was the only logical step left for them. They’d tried all the legal means and Parliament and the King refused to acknowledge the depth of their grievances. The men of the Second Continental Congress understood and were grateful for all the help England had given the colonies over the years, but the reality was, we needed to grow and they didn’t understand that. Separation was the only alternative.

But to the Loyalists, separation was anathema. It wasn’t legal. It could never be right. Yes, Parliament didn’t understand the needs of the colonies, but they only needed the right words, the right speaker and they would understand. The British military forces were the greatest in the world—why would one not want to be a part of that? Oaths of loyalty had been taken to King and Country – those were not to be broken.

So even though New York was under martial law starting the day after the Howe brothers sailed into the harbor, Loyalists flocked to the city from all over the colonies not because they felt the British were in the right, but because they felt the Patriots were in the wrong.

It’s really an Erasmus/Martin Luther situation. Those two were great friends, both of whom chafed under what they saw as corruption and wrongdoing in the church they served as priests just a century and a half before the Revolution. Erasmus counseled for change within the system. Martin Luther felt a more radical approach was needed, finally listing the ninety-five things that needed addressing and going very public with them.

We know the upshot of that little list. Because Martin Luther wouldn’t back down, despite his friend’s pleas to stay with in the church and work with the other priests, he was tossed out and his followers started a new church.

Of course, this led to others taking that step as well and the single church now became many. Those who stayed the course needed a name for their religion to distinguish it from all the others and chose the word “catholic” – a word that means “universal.” Those who left were “protest-ants” because they were protesting the wrongs within the church. Hence, they became the “Protestants.”*

I’m sure there are many more examples throughout history, but the point is, I’m getting it now. When people are stomped on and their rights taken away, when they are not paid a living wage and are starving and hungry, some will go outside the law and rebel and others will work within the law to change the situation.

I just realized something else. Tomorrow Americans head to the polls to vote for Governors and state representatives. Some of us also have law proposals on the ballot that we need to make decisions about. It is our chance to work within the law to make changes we feel strongly about.

Am I still a patriot? Yes. Breaking with the rulers who didn’t understand was the right thing to do then. Am I a rebel today? Less so. I feel my vote counts and am willing to stay within the system to make a change. Does that make me a Loyalist? I’m beginning to wonder…

Play safe, VOTE, and thanks for listening :)

Diana

*A simplistic telling of events, but you get my point. I hope.

On Retirement

July 1st, I became my own woman. I no longer “owe my soul to the company store” and I couldn’t be happier. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoyed my time as a high school English teacher. Not every day and not every class, but that’s true with any job. There are always good days and bad and as long as there are more of the former than the latter, everything’s fine.

The list of positives for leaving that life, however, is long. No more getting up at 5:45, leaving the house at 6:25 A.M. for a forty-minute commute on sunny mornings, a hour and a half on snowy ones. In fact, no more driving through snowstorms to reach the only open district in two counties! I won’t have to step between two teenagers, each bent on knocking the socks of the other. No more papers to grade, egos to soothe (mostly those of the parents), or state hoops to jump through.

There are some pieces of the job, however, that I will miss. The metaphorical talk around the watercooler – the interaction with my colleagues that might, or might not, have anything to do with school. The serendipitous meeting in the hallway, the social conversations...catching up on everyone's outside life as well as venting about the latest State Ed. regulation. Being home now, I won’t have anyone other than family and the occasional bumping into someone in the grocery store. I begin to understand why my mother would end up talking with her former co-workers for an hour when those random meetings occurred. Not only lots to catch up on, but a hunger for conversation with someone other than family.

Believe it or not, I’ll actually miss the ride to and from school. Yes, it was long, but I did a lot of thinking during that time. On my way up, I often planned out lessons, rehearsed questions and tried to think of all the answers students might come up with during discussion so I would be ready with follow-ups. On the way home, my thoughts often shifted to my current work-in-progress and I’d spend the time drafting a scene, playing around with a plot point or even coming up with brand new stories. So I will miss the thinking time the drive gave me.

And I will miss the kids. Don’t tell them that, but I will. They kept me young. I know the latest crazes, the current heartthrobs, the best video games on the market, because of the conversations we had before class started and in those one or two minutes at the end before the bell rang (which didn’t happen often, but I took full advantage when it did). They kept me on my feet (often literally) and my brain active. Who will keep me young now? I’m not ready to grow old and out of touch.

People keep asking me if I miss school yet. I don’t. For one, I’ve only been retired for a week. For another, this is still just summer vacation to me. Of course, it’s a summer vacation without lesson plans to write, books to read for class, or workshops to attend (all the normal activities I do every summer). In that sense, things feel a little weird. I’ll see an article online or in the newspaper and think, “That’ll be a good one to use in my English 11 class when we read The Crucible” and then remember, I’ll never teach The Crucible and all the issues that surround it, again. And it doesn’t feel sad and I don’t rejoice. It just feels...odd.

Other teachers, those who have retired from the stress of the classroom, tell me I won’t really feel the oddity until September. When everyone else goes back to school – and I don’t. My husband’s already warned me not to get in the way of his September routine. He’s an instructor at Finger Lakes Community College. He also directs several high school shows throughout the school year (three of them – two straight shows and a musical). AND he paints – his art is currently in several galleries around western New York. This is the reverse of the stereotypical male now being home and getting in the wife’s way. :)

Of course, for me, the word “retirement”  is a misnomer. I won’t be teaching in the New York State public education system, true. But I’ll be writing full-time and that’s very exciting to me. Figuring out my new schedule – one I’ve been dreaming about for years now – is an entirely new adventure. Where other people see this rite of passage as an ending of a career, I see it more as the beginning of a new one. Or rather, the logical extension of a part-time career into the full-time arena.

The past six months have been full. Closing up three established homes and dealing with the remains, closing up a classroom and saying goodbye to a life that I’ve lead for thirty-three years...to suddenly be unfettered and free? I cannot describe the exhilaration, the joy, the sense of relief.

So look for more writing from me, both non-fic and fiction. I hope to become prolific as my schedule settles out and routine kicks in. I might even write a few more books under my own name (C.F. Duprey) as well as more by Diana Hunter, Mystic Shade and Diana Allandale. I want to redesign my website, develop more writing workshops, and be more active in writing communities. And I’ll have the time!

Play safe, everyone!

The newly-retired, much more relaxed,

Diana

moving on...

It's been two and a half weeks since my mother-in-laws' passing and life is slowly moving towards a new normal. Sometimes it feels as if her funeral was months ago, sometimes as if it were yesterday. Such is the nature of time and healing, I suppose.

I've had this past week off from school and planned to get so much writing done! But we're tasked now with dealing with her house and I have an uncle for whom I've become caregiver and of course, the garden needed cleaning off and we have sixteen people coming for Easter dinner on Sunday and...

You get the picture.

It's been a while since I have taken time to myself to write something new. And the writing workshops? Sorry, they haven't even been on my radar. Looking at the calendar today, however, gave me a bit of a shock. The last time I sat down to write on my current work in progress was February 20th. Nearly two months ago.

That brought me up short. No matter what else is going on in my life, I always have time to write. I have to. It's what keeps me sane. In the past ten years, the longest I've gone before this was two weeks and I was nearly a basket case by the end, wanting to get back to my characters. What was different this time?

This time it was the number of directions in which I was pulled. I wanted to spend time with my mother-in-law, knowing there wasn't much more time to spend with her. Instead of writing, I'd go visit her. I needed to spend time with my elderly uncle, playing financial forensics with his accounts and helping to move him into an assisted living facility (we're almost there!). My son and daughter have both gotten engaged and I wanted to spend time with them and their significant others. I had to spend time at my day job if I wanted to continue to eat and pay the mortgage. Something had to give and that something was writing.

It was a choice, make no mistake about that. I'm not regretting my choice at all. Just offering explanations as to why I made it. Family comes first. Always. Your families should come before all else in your lives, too. My hope for all of you is that they do.

So no regrets.

Today I had an afternoon to myself and thought about writing but realized I'd need to start at the beginning and re-read the book to remind myself of what it was all about, and I just didn't have the energy. The characters, understanding their place in my life, have graciously moved to the wings and are patiently waiting for me to call them back to the stage, but I just couldn't do it. Not yet. I want to give them the full attention they deserve.

So what did I do instead? The next best thing. I lost myself in a book. At the Big Book Getaway, I bought a copy of Debbie Macomber's new book, Rose Harbor in Bloom and waited in line to have her sign it for my mom (Mrs. Macomber is my mother's favorite author, bar none). Mom read it and let me borrow it earlier this week. Debbie's books are easy reads. There isn't a lot of heavy philosophy. No long passages of description. The characters are likable and you feel like they could be your neighbors. In other words, a perfect book for an afternoon's escape.

I will get back to writing. Soon. You can count on it. The itch is already starting between my shoulder blades. Another week or two and I think I'll be ready to be creative again. In the meantime,

Play safe and hug someone you love!
Diana

The Sandwich Generation

Last year at this time I wrote a post about how I tend to write non-fiction when life gets in my way. There must be something about the month of March because I find myself in a similar place today.

Google images

I called this post "The Sandwich Generation" but I have to admit, I didn't truly understand that term until recently. A relatively new term, it refers to those who are both raising children and taking care of elderly parents. When life expectancies were short, this situation didn't arise very often. Today, with the wonders of modern medicine, people live longer, more active lives.

And this has led to the sandwich. My parents moved to a senior citizen apartment complex in December (read a little about the move here) and that brought stresses that now, for the most part, are gone as they've settled in and found new routines. At the same time, my adult children were making decisions about their own futures and needed advice and nurturing. Who comes first, the parents who raised me? Or the children I am raising? 

Perhaps the sandwich metaphor isn't right. Maybe the fulcrum of a teeter totter is more appropriate. The trick is to balance both sides and not get worn down in the middle.

And now it's two other elderly family members who need our assistance. My husband's mom has taken a turn for the worse lately. Yes, the same mom we thought had only a few months left last year. She's been amazing. Told she had only a few months left, she made plans, threw herself a going away party, and got ready to leave the world. Yet here she is, a year later, defying the odds and baffling the doctors. She's more bed-ridden than not, however, and several falls have taken their toll. She now needs round-the-clock care and the family is trying their best to cover all the hours of the day.

And I have an uncle, who also still lives alone, who is showing some signs of dementia. He never married and has no children of his own, but he was my favorite uncle when I was a kid. Because he physically lives closest to me, his care falls on my shoulders. I don't mind, please don't think this is a complaint. It's the way things are and I'm having fun learning new things about him. He's always loved to tell stories about things he's learned and I love hearing them. I always have.

But I'm definitely feeling stressed. Why? Because in the midst of this, my son has become engaged. I want to give him and his fiancee their time in the sun as well. My daughter is looking to start a new life, too, with a new job and new career path (although she's still in love with stage management, should any of you be looking. She's also an incredibly gifted stage painter). Both my children still live at home and I cherish these last few months as a family of four + two. 

So sandwich or fulcrum...I'm either getting squished or worn down. Both negative metaphors. But I'm not a negative person. I prefer the glass to be half full. I like the sunny side of the situation. I need a new metaphor.

Erwinna Covered Bridge, Bucks Co, PA

A bridge. Bridges are strong and useful. They bring people together and provide opportunities for people on one side to learn and grow from those on the other. They are static, stable and pretty (at least MY bridge is! That's my story and I'm sticking to it.). Some bridges are sleek and new, others are old and traditional.

I think of myself as a covered bridge - a little on the old side, but picturesque and still in use. The roof protects, the planks are sturdy, the way is clear.

Even if I do feel like a covered bridge in a snowstorm right now, the metaphor works. :)

So if my writing on the blog isn't as regular, if you want a reason I haven't sent a newsletter out since October, if you want to know why my next book is delayed... know that I'm busy being a bridge right now. I'll get back to my regular activities soon enough. Perhaps too soon.

Play safe!

And go hug your generations...

Diana

To the bitter end....

My husband and I just went to see The Monuments Men. A good flick, if a little slow in the beginning. But this isn't a critique of the picture, it's more of a commentary on the audience.

Now this one was well-behaved. Mostly older than us (which isn't always a plus. Some old folk need volume control for both their ears and their voices). They watched the movie and chuckled when they were supposed to, tensed when the action got hairy...in general, they acted like well-mannered adults at a movie theater.

And then they left. En masse. The story part of the movie ended, there were a few shots of the real Monuments Men and pictures of the actors alongside their name to help the audience know who played what part. The screen faded to black and the cast list started rolling, white letters on a black background, and the exodus began. Immediately.

I strongly object to this. For two reasons, one practical, one artistic.

The practical: where do you think you're going? The aisle is too narrow to allow everyone to leave at the same time. A line forms and you're going to stand in that aisle until the passage clears. Alternately, you stand in front of your seat waiting for your turn to step into the aisle, which is worse because of reason two:

The artistic. The style of film making today puts all the credits at the end, after the story is complete. Everyone who worked on the film...the extras, the stunt men and women, the grips, the gaffers, even the composer of the music came in this section today. And I wanted to know who wrote the music because I collect soundtracks and can often identify the composer while watching the film (for the record, I was wrong this time...see below).

These people put just as much time and effort into the film as the actors did. Some of them put considerably MORE time in. And yet, people walk out of the movie theater without giving their names a second glance. Audiences don't care about these behind-the-scenes crews.

But I do. I stay every time. The ushers who clean up between showings are often come in and start their job while I'm still sitting there watching names scroll by. One of the ushers today made a snide comment asking if we were staying for the second showing. I ignored him and kept watching the screen as the songs rolled by. There's a song sung in the film and I didn't recognize the voice and wanted to see who it was.

NOTE: There are some films that put a little scene post-movie that they run after the credits. Audiences have learned to stay through the credits for the Marvel movies, for example. They know they'll get a little treat - a sneak peek into an upcoming movie if they stay. While I enjoy these, it's almost like a bribe to get audiences to acknowledge the people who put the movie together whose faces are not on the screen. I know audiences see it as a reward - I stayed, now give my my carrot.

The first movie I saw that put a short scene after the credits was The Mission. I'd taken my mother-in-law to see it and it takes her a while to get moving again after sitting for so long. She was fussing with her coat as the last of the credits rolled and missed it entirely. A very short piece that, for me, changed the meaning of the movie entirely. The cardinal looks into the camera and dares you to disagree with his decision. Very powerful.

And I was the only one to see it at that showing. Everyone else had left and my mother-in-law wasn't paying attention. I stood in total amazement at how such a short piece (less than a minute in length), could flip a film so fast, and then I stood in amazement that those who had left the theater were now discussing it with incomplete information. They hadn't stayed and had missed a wonderful addition.

I stay to the end, until the blue screen comes up and there is no more movie. Why? Part curiosity, part wanting to give those people their due, part stubbornness (okay, there's a lot of stubbornness, especially when ushers get snarky). It's something I feel strongly about (in case you couldn't tell!).

So if you ever come to the movies with me, don't bother to gather your things when the credits start to roll. Stay relaxed, seating in your comfy seat, because there is music playing and names to read. Give those people the honor of reading them.

(note from above concerning the soundtrack: John Williams uses similar orchestrations in all of his films. During one part of the movie I thought the sound very close to the Indiana Jones' theme so I pegged this as a John Williams' soundtrack. It wasn't. I had to nearly lay on my husband's lap in order to see around the woman who'd stood in front of me and blocked my view, but the soundtrack was written by Alexandre Desplat, one of my favorite composers. :) )

Play safe!

Diana
who now climbs down off her soapbox...

Been quiet of late...

The holidays are always special to me and to my family. This year has been difficult for several reasons, chief among them, my parents' move from an established home to an apartment. They lost nearly 1500 square feet and tons more in storage space. That means paring down, handing down, giving away...and many, many moments of anguish as the decision is made for each piece. Who gets it? Who wants it? Is it worth anything? Does it have any use to anyone? Has it become junk?

As of last Friday, the decisions are made, the "old" house formally sold and a new life begun amid unpacked boxes, misplaced papers and missing silverware (which was, thankfully, found!). Christmas decorations are as buried as the silverware was and my very tired parents declared, "No Christmas this year. We just don't have the energy."

But when it comes to Christmas morning, I'm still a child. I'm often the first one up, still (although both my 20-something children woke my husband and I up at 6:00 am last year with the plea, "Please? Maybe Santa came!" And I love it!).

Because of my total enjoyment of the season of giving, today my husband and I took a (very) small pre-decorated (by me) artificial Christmas tree up to them. My mother's eyes lit right up at the thought of having a tree, even a fake white one with red ribbons and silver garland. She's German and, if they hadn't had one, this would have been the first time in 79 years that the holiday would go unremarked. She still tells the stories of going to bed on Christmas Eve and waking in the morning to a fully-decorated tree with the presents scattered under it. Santa Claus brought it all.

(Btw, my dad was appeased when I told him the tree was a loaner. I was coming back in a week to take it back home and put it in the box. He almost hugged me that he didn't have to find a place to store it.).

So I haven't been writing, I haven't been promoting, I haven't done much but spend time with my family. And I wish all of you the same: time with friends and family. Give them hugs, listen to their stories (again!), share a meal or a telephone call. Tell them you love them with your words and your actions and may peace be yours.

Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas!

Diana