A Gray Zone review

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The first official book review for Gray Zone just got posted. And the honor goes to…

(drum roll)

…Feathered Quill Book Reviews!

I’m glad, really, since they pride themselves on giving honest reviews and they seem to like the book.

To read the entire review you’ll need to visit it on their site: Gray Zone Book Review.

It ends with:

“There is a great deal to be said for this book. Cyber-bullying has been a topic of conversation and debate for years now, with tragedy being one of the results for many young, talented, but frightened and exhausted teens. The story of Autumn and Sophie Rose is poignant, to say the least. And the writer has done a brilliant job of creating a story that is loving, educational and sorely needed. 
Quill says: An excellent read for both young adults and adults.”

Did anyone else catch the word ‘brilliant’? I think it’s my new favorite word!

To really write

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I haven’t been able to write since the whole demented leprechaun incident happened.

Oh, I don’t mean this kind of writing, a blog.

I mean the throw-yourself-into-another-world-so-deep-that-phones-don’t-ring-and-dogs-don’t-bark kind of writing. The kind where you nearly drown in an ocean of imagination, and it’s only after a massive struggle that you manage to break through the surface into reality, gasping for air.

The kind of writing that is an adventure all by itself. The type that revives the soul and rekindles that spark that so often bursts into spontaneous laughter.

I miss it, desperately. But there is simply too much clutter in my brain and too many items on my “To Do” list.

I can buckle down and clear off my “To Do” list, but the clutter in my brain is another story. My head simply does not like to be swept!

So I guess my dive into the ocean of imagination needs to wait just a bit longer. But only a bit!

 

A plan

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We now have a plan of action. We’re selling our house and moving.

I can hear your cries of, “What! You’re gonna let ‘those neighbors’ run you out of your home!”

I understand why you might think that. But although we’re leaving we’re not running. The actions of “those neighbors” forced us to take a step back and look at what we really want.

What we really want is a house with a much bigger yard. Something that is impossible in our current location.

Sure, we probably would have stuck around in this house for a few more years if the demented leprechaun hadn’t moved in. It’s a comfortable house, filled with a lot of good memories. And for years we’ve put off moving for a while, and then a little longer.

But now we have a wonderful reason to take action and put our house on the market. Because really, why would we want to stay in the same neighborhood as a demented leprechaun and a secretive, creepy, chicken-hearted bully?

Unfortunately, that means we’re going to be very, very busy finishing up all those projects we’ve begun over the years. Until I looked around the house with new eyes I’d forgotten how many projects we’d left at the 90% completion mark.

I guess we can’t be lazy now!

 

Next steps

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Remember the neighbor I wrote about just this morning? The one who threatened me?

I’ve come to think of him as the demented leprechaun, but let’s call him WR for short. Just to simplify things.
Well, let me tell you, no grass grows under WR’s feet!

As I sit here listening to the sound of a basketball slamming against the fence that’s three feet from my living room window I have to wonder if WR has gone totally insane.
I came home from the store this afternoon to find a note on my other car informing me that I will no longer be able to park in front of my own house. (?)
Just to be clear, I have no driveway in which I can park.
So I went into the house. When my husband went to the car to retrieve a few things, WR waylaid him  so he could spout his views about what a horrible person I am.
Then, after letting loose with all kinds of right-in-the-face vitriol, including claims that all the neighbors hate us, he informed my husband that he plans to bankrupt us with lawsuits.
He ended with the words “It’s on”.
Shortly after that WR walked over to our car and kicked it. Which makes no sense, since our poor car has never done a thing to him.
So it looks like WR has plans for a long campaign of harassment.
I really feel sorry for his kids.

The bully’s mistake

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“I can do whatever I want in your yard,” he growled as he picked up a large piece of firewood and slammed it toward face. My eyes crossed as I stared at the log that had halted a mere inch from my nose. “Go about your business and leave me alone.”

Many thoughts flashed through my mind as I stood there nose to wood. Probably the most important was that I knew something he did not. He had made a mistake.

I mean other than losing control of his bullying tendencies and threatening me with bodily harm in my own yard. (Unprovoked, I might add. He had detonated faster than dynamite on a bonfire. Except with less reason.)

The mistake he made was in not understanding that a person can be both nice and strong. He thought I wouldn’t fight back, that I was a shrinking violet who would run and cower at the first sign of confrontation.

He thought wrong. My mama didn’t raise a doormat. Or a fool.

I turned and walked away, allowing him to make a further mistake. He thought his bullying tactics had won the day.

Yes, I’m sure he gloated, right up to the moment the police arrived.

As I said, my mama didn’t raise a fool. I know when it’s time to call in the cavalry. A threat of violence is a threat of violence, after all. If he’s nuts enough to shove a log in my face who knows what else he might do.

It was the first time I’d ever called the police on anyone. But if there are any more threats, I won’t hesitate to call again.

One good thing came out of it. As I mulled over everything a new plot popped into my head.

I love being a writer!

The whisper

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Have you ever had something wake you up in the middle of the night, but you don’t know what it was?

It happened to me last night, or I guess I should say in the wee hours of the morning. I was pulled out of a deep sleep by a noise, but what the noise was I have no clue. I only had an impression of the noise, not a memory of it.

I lay there, listening with my eyes closed, waiting for the noise to repeat itself.

That’s when I heard a loud, clear whisper, right beside my ear, that said, “I thought you’d open your eyes.”

My eyes flew open to see…nothing. Absolutely nothing.

So where did the whisper come from?

 

Life is good

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Life is good. Not perfect, mind you, but good. I might even call it great!

Isn’t point of view a wonderful thing? I could choose to focus on the negatives, on all the things, whether big or small, that are less than perfect in my life.

But frankly, I don’t relish the thought of allowing that dark cloud of gloom to hoover over my head.

Especially with sunlight pouring in my living room window like it is today.
And Thanksgiving is just around the corner! The huge dinner with extended family is one of my favorite things of the year.

So I’ll stick to the good stuff, thank you very much!

Honestly, I’ve got a lot of good stuff to be thankful for. In addition to all things family, and my family is pretty close to perfect, there’s my writing career.

  • Gray Zone, my new Young Adult book, will be out soon. (Very exciting!)
  • Stone Woman, my adventure screenplay, is out there ready for the right person to snap it up.
  • Braumaru and Gray Zone have been adapted for the screen and the scripts will be sent out soon.
  • Three of the picture books I’ve written are currently being illustrated.
  • I have the outline of a kid’s book, 15,000 words of a new science fiction novel, and 25,000 of an adventure novel written.

Yes indeed, life is good.

Failure is a friend

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I am proud to say that Failure is a friend of mine.

Oh, I know. Just writing that will make a lot of people think, “What? Who wants to be friends with Failure? That’s just crazy!”

I’ve seen them. They treat Failure like some kind of social pariah and either look away when she’s nearby or run like antelopes from a lion.

I understand. In the beginning I too was afraid of Failure. Even worse, I think I hated her.

Until the day I looked her directly in the eye and discovered goodness there. On that day we became fast friends.

It’s been a fabulous friendship. With the help of Failure I’ve accomplished more than I would ever have thought possible. Failure is a fabulous teacher and every time we meet I can’t help but learn something new.

After we had been friends for several years Failure told me I had earned her trust and she let me in on her little secret. She has a child by the name of Tenacity.

Failure introduced me to Tenacity, and before I knew it we too were good friends.

The years went by and I got married and started a family.
One day I asked my good friend Tenacity to come over for a visit. I wanted Tenacity to meet my kids and get to know them. I felt Tenacity would be a very good friend for my children to have.

“Can’t do it,” Tenacity said with a frown.
“What do you mean you can’t do it?” I asked. “I thought ‘can’t’ wasn’t even a part of your vocabulary.”
“Usually it’s not,” Tenacity said with a shrug. “But rules are rules. I don’t meet ANYONE unless they’ve been approved by my mother.”

I stared at Tenacity for a full minute as the gears in my head did a few hundred turns. Tenacity’s mother is Failure. Friend or not, Failure can be scary. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to add the stress that Failure brings to the lives of my children.

Then I looked at Tenacity’s glowing self-confidence. It was what I wanted for my children. Could I not find a way to introduce my children to Tenacity without introducing them to Failure?

That’s when the truth hit me. Failure is a mom just doing her job as a mom. She’s protective of her child and wants to know the people who hang out with her child.

As a parent, this is something I understand. I brought my children into the world so it’s my responsibility to protect them from the creeps and the crazies. After all, without me my children wouldn’t even be here.

I gave Tenacity a hug and did what any good parent would do.
I helped my kids set challenging goals and introduced them to Failure.

Even though we were friends Failure didn’t cut them any slack. Just as I had done, each of them had to meet Failure individually, on her terms. She tested their strength. Challenged their abilities. Played with their emotions.

In the end it was worth it. They passed the tests and every time one of my daughters sets a goal for herself, Tenacity, complete with that self-confidant glow, is right there by her side cheering her on.

So even though I treasure my friendship with Tenacity, who can make anyone feel that no goal is too lofty or out of reach, I value my friendship with Failure more. Failure has taught me a lot through the years.

Probably the most important lesson I’ve learned is that those who avoid Failure will never know Tenacity.

So my friendship with Failure will continue.
Even though, just between the two of us, I’m still a little afraid of her!

Obamacare stinks

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More than 4,000 books a year. That’s how many it will take before I receive a penny of benefit from Obamacare. (I’m factoring in the monthly cost and the deductible. I’m ignoring copays.)

As an author I am a small business. A very small business. I write books, they get published, and people buy my books. I only receive a small portion of the price of the books, but the theory is that if I can sell lots of books the small portions will bond together to create something that approaches a decent salary.

My royalties are my wages. If no one buys my books, I don’t get paid. End of story.

Yet, whether I sell a single book or not, I’m still expected to purchase health insurance. Even though I’ve only had reason to visit the doctor twice in the last four years. Visits, I might add, that I paid for with cash.

Every book counts. No doubt about it. I rely on those royalties to help me keep writing. They help pay for the electricity that allows my computer to run, the groceries that keep hunger at bay, and all those other little incidentals of daily life that drain the wallet but make life livable (like coffee).

Which explains why the thought of being forced to use the profit from more than 4,000 books just for my healthcare is, frankly, a sickening prospect.

4,000 books a year. Every year. (And that’s with me rounding down.)

That stinks!