There are far too many dance styles to mention, but a few that come to mind are the Twist, the Waltz, and the sexy Salsa dance…but I think the most important dance we can learn is Life’s Little Dance. It carries the most steps and is the hardest to figure out. As I write my autobiography (no release date at this time) I find my steps were a combination of missteps, trying new steps, easy steps, and clumsy steps. Some of them actually landed me on my bum…but if I’ve learned anything it is how to get back up and try again.
Raising kids, definitely, has a tune all its own I like to call Crazy Train…it holds the fast movement of the Swing with the grace of a ballet as we kiss their sweet faces at the end of a long day. Add full-time jobs as most parents have (insert: single moms get a special shout out) and you’ve got yourself a combo of many steps…likely adding the “two left feet” theory to a lot of those days.
And let’s not forget the Dance of Marriage. I’ve had my share of missteps in this dance routine, but age and experience paid off…finally. Sure we have a misstep here and there…in fact, some days we are so out of sync we need a break from the music altogether. But we start over the next morning by pushing the reset button to the music…and suddenly we could be on Dancing with the Stars. Except when we can’t hear each other…then the Dance of Miscommunication starts playing in the background. Here is an example, and one we laugh about often. We were driving on I-70 in Colorado. It’s a four lane highway but is split so the west bound is higher than the east bound in this particular spot. We are east bound. Construction was in full swing taking advantage of the dry and sunny days. I asked Dan, “Do you think rock slides cause the damage?” – dead silence filled the truck for a few minutes. I waited…and waited…and waited for an answer, but the one I received still makes me laugh. He said, “I suppose peroxide could cause damage.” I responded with a “What?!?!” and then the laughing started…but not for him until I told him I said “ROCK SLIDE, NOT PEROXIDE” loud enough for him to hear me clearly. He had been picturing a truck hauling peroxide tipping over and was analyzing what damage it could possibly cause, and thinking hey, anything is possible. Not every miscommunication is as funny as we have found this one to be over the years, but they still happen. Getting older has its advantages to knowing dance steps better since we’ve had plenty of time to learn them, but we still misstep, too.
To sum it up…no matter what your abilities to dance are, even if you fall flat on your face, remember ‘Life’s Little Dance’ is a dance you can continue to learn, so, turn up the music my friends and dance.
It was just over four years ago I began a personal project and successfully brought it to fruition. With every word typed I pondered over what it might mean to others. I questioned how they would connect, or how they might view the project. But I forged forward, and when the last word was written, I knew the real work was about to take place…editing.
It’s one thing to write the words while feeling the emotions, the experience, the moments…it’s another thing to read them over and over again. However, editing is part of any writer’s life, so the process continued.
Somewhere along the line, nervously I might add, I decided to get an outside opinion. With shaky fingers, I searched for a critique group and found Critique Circle on the Internet.
I thought about this option for many days, wondering how others would receive a snippet of my story. It is, after all, what the website is about – helping writer’s hone their craft. Joining the website and exposing my heart to strangers is never an easy decision.
This story, buried in my heart, was to give my deceased son a voice. He was an infant when he died, and never had a chance to share his view on life, love, or his experiences thus far. When the idea to write our story came to me, it was because I realized how easily the comfort of animals goes dismissed because they cannot express their needs. If that was true for them, how could it not be true for my son or any child who died in infancy? Because of this thought process, I began the journey of bringing Brook’s voice to life. Also, hoping my words could help another parent feel less alone in the brutal pain the loss of a child leaves behind.
When I submitted the first few pages of my story to the critique group, I shut the website down and began waiting anxiously for a response from someone. It was a few days before my first critique was done. When I saw there was a message, I moved my mouse over the link, then off, then on, then off again. It was hours before I could bring myself to read it, but finally, after a few deep breaths, I opened the message.
What I found was words of encouragement and understanding. Yes, there were small suggestions, but minor grammar issues. All good ideas, but the most important was the positive response to my story. I received multiple critiques, and as I read each one, their advice was great, but most importantly they brought validation.
Since taking that huge step and obtaining the opinion of strangers, I was able to complete my project. I have published this reality/fiction novella and couldn’t be more proud of my finished book. With it also came healing, which is a wonderful result of telling a personal story.
My normal genre of writing is suspense. I have a stand-alone suspense novel, and recently finished my fourth novel for my Sara Series (expected to be published the end of June 2017). I was also hired last year to write the memoirs for a business owner.
But Watching Over Her 
will always mean the most, maybe because it is personal, or perhaps because of the healing that took place. I’m so happy I completed the journey of writing it, and will always be proud of it.
If, after reading this blog, you are interested in reading my book, you can pick up a copy in paper or eBook on Amazon, or Smashwords. If perhaps, you are a member of the Critique Circle and joined in the critique of my book snippet, a special thank you for taking the time out to help me push forward to travel a successful journey. Thanks to everyone that takes the time to read my blogs and novels. I appreciate your encouragement and positive reviews.
Do you read it? I can honestly say it was the last of my priorities when I picked up a book. It was no more important to me than any other “miscellaneous page” that hovered outside the chapters I longed to read. I only wished to be carried away in mystery and suspense.
But that all changed as I prepared my first novel for publication about five years ago. Now, as I work on book six, the thought came to me to write this blog. Why? Because I finally understood myself how important the other pages are to an author. Every page holds special meaning.
Time after time I can’t help but wonder if readers do, in fact, read the acknowledgement page in my books. I know I’m always excited to start a new novel, but what about the before and after pages. If you are reading a book right now, do you remember who it is dedicated to?
Here’s a little background on why I’m asking. I have special people in my life that have brought ideas to light for me. Whether it’s a character name they hope I’ll use, a photograph they are sure should be added, a contribution to the story, a twist to a plot that I in turn loved, or another important piece that became a part of my book.
My dedication page carries a bit of my heart. By reading that small line you might understand who may have inspired the book to begin with, or maybe that person simple encouraged me to push ahead with my dreams.
Either way, those few extra pages are sometimes the foundation of the story held within.
I hope by reading this blog you find yourself a little bit curious to check them out in your current or next read. And if the book is one of mine…even better.
As always, thanks for reading my blog.
Happy reading, happy writing, happy life.
Ahhhh….rain, rain, rain. I am a Pacific Northwest girl…born and raised. I’ve been to many other states, including a four-year stint in Thornton, Colorado. But here in the PNW…I’m home. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been asked by others throughout my travels, “Doesn’t it rain there all the time?” To which I answer “Yes” – my underlining goal is to keep the population down…lol. Sometimes I will end my response by letting the person know it’s more of a drizzle than rain. Either way, I figure most people aren’t into the gray and will think twice about packing up and moving to our mossy green area.
For me the rain is refreshing. It cleans the air and keeps the moisture at a comfortable level. I love the humidity we have, and so does my skin. I don’t snap, crackle, and pop every time I touch a piece of metal…or my husband for that matter. Fortunately, that only happens now and then, since we touch hands every time he walks past me if I’m sitting in my favorite chair. Living in Colorado, I had to use a humidifier because it was so dry. I was worried I was going to destroy my computer every time I used it. Let’s not forget the little fact that the little snap of electricity actually hurts.
Today as I sit here writing this blog the sky is not completely gray. There is a bit of sun trying hard to peak out. The rain from last night all but forgotten as a new day arrives. Will it rain sometime today, probably, but will it bring with it a fresher air…you bet. And let’s not forget that spring is around the corner bringing all those beautiful blossoms. Before we know it there will be an array of flowers, the rain will begin to choose its days a bit more sparsely, and the sun will greet us more often…sometimes for days at a time.
I do get weary of the rain, but that is life in the PNW. When the sun does shine, you will see an extra dose of smiles as you walk through the grocery store, or venture out to a park. No one here takes the sun for granted. But we also do not plan too many birthday parties or other social events outside in case Mother Nature has a surprise up her sleeve. Camping is as popular here as anywhere…and even I shake my head at my own decision to pitch a tent now and then. But we try regardless. Maybe because the fresh air calls us, or perhaps because a few days of the sun shining gave us a false sense of security.
Regardless of our journey in the PNW, we all look forward to the sun while we tough it out through the, what at times feels endless, rain. Why? Because we know it won’t last forever, and the sun will shine again in our Emerald City.
I had planned to blog about writing today but changed my mind…sort of. I am still talking about writing. Just not exclusively mine.
Over the years my mind and heart have started understanding my parents. Both passed away long before I was able to sit down and visit adult to adult. We had a tough childhood, and though I never stopped loving them, I was angry for many years. I wrote my heart out, my anger out, and my pain out. As I got older, I learned to forgive them, but that isn’t where it ends.
One day I received a folder from my sister that contained many of my mother’s poems. I knew my mother wrote poetry but had not seen them until that day. I sat down on the couch and began to read her heart, mind, and soul in those pages. I saw my father as a man my mother loved so deeply.
Through every tear I shed, I began to understand her not as my parent, but as a person. It was if I had stepped outside the box and was watching her life unfold…completely disconnected. With this view, I changed my perspective. I cried for my parents, and for me, but I also learned to love them more. I felt their hearts through my discovery.
I was able to capture who she was through her words. Now looking back at a young woman, divorced, 36 years old with six little girls attached to her…I felt her fear. I was able to see her for the life she had, not the life she should have had…and I felt her broken heart through my discovery.
It is knowing my parent’s story that helped see them as individuals. It was reading my mother’s writings that taught me a part of her I hadn’t been able to see before…I was clouded by my own needs, my own anger, my own sadness.
If nothing else, here is what I hope you get from this blog – to look at your parents. Now step away and really look at them. See them as the person they are, not who they are to you, but who they are to themselves. How did they become the person they are today? If they are no longer living, still do this. Then write about them…write their story.