Failing the Clucking Test

Who hasn’t dreamed of being back in a classroom and finding oneself completely unprepared for a test? For years I had those kinds of dreams fairly often, but it had been a long time and I guess I thought I was finished with them. I guessed wrong.

Last night I dreamt that I was in a class for sports broadcasters and the final test consisted of doing the play-by-play for a major league baseball game. In the dream I watched my fellow students step up to the microphone, and with varying degrees of success, put their own special spin on the broadcast. I wasn’t worried even a little bit. Then it came my turn.

First. I lost the microphone. It was right there, and then, poof! Gone. I searched and searched, all while the instructor tapped his foot and looked pointedly at his watch. Finally I found it—under my shirt of all places. I plugged the mic in and began my broadcast, only now there weren’t baseball players on the field, there were chickens.

I looked helplessly at the instructor. He just said, “Banter and schtick!” Or maybe he said “banter and chick.”

So I launched into a weather report interspersed with a great many “ums” and “uhs.” The chickens were running about cackling and clucking as chickens do, and the instructor made a slashing motion across his throat. “Cut!”

I’d failed.

I curled up on the baseball field in the fetal position and cried.

Now, it doesn’t take a genius (thank goodness) to interpret this dream. Having just launched my second book—and my first attempt at a romance novel—I’d had a failure dream. One could say my field of dreams was a massive cluck-up.

The book’s doing okay, though. I’m anxious about first reviews, but hopeful, too. Mainly I hope the chickens don’t come home to roost again tonight.

Peace, and sweet dreams, people.

It’s a Bouncing Baby… Book!

There’s nothing quite like holding one’s newborn baby in one’s arms. But holding one’s book comes kind of close. And to be honest, the book won’t keep me up all night or need to be fed on a regular basis and poop its diaper multiple times a day. But a book can’t hug you or snuggle with you, so I guess there’s really no contest. But that pooping thing is almost a deal breaker…

Unfortunately I don’t get to keep this book. It’s earmarked for my editor. I just didn’t have time to put it in the mail today. My copy won’t arrive for a few weeks. So until I send this copy off to its new home I’m going to pinch its little cheeks and play peek-a-boo. Kootchy-kootchy-koo!

My baby—you can find it on Amazon and Kindle. Just be gentle with it.

Peace, people.

The Spam Is Strong

I received the message shown above yesterday in my Facebook messages. So intriguing. Fourteen years smaller.

Here’s the dilemma—14 years ago I weighed more than I do now, but I had way fewer wrinkles. So, do I buy her elder-sister’s (sic) lotion or not? Decisions, decisions!

Peace. People!

Publishing Angst and the Lack Thereof

I’m a reader. From the time my mom taught five-year-old me to discern between the “snake” words venomous and nonvenomous I’ve had a lust for reading. Reading is power, and I wanted it. Bwahaha!

In the first few days of first grade I told my teacher I could already read—because I knew the snake words. In truth, those were the only two I had in my repertoire. I remember feeling humiliated when she asked me to read a book to the class. Neither of my words were in that book, so I just made up a story to go with each picture. My secret was out.

But Mrs. Stewart was a great teacher and soon I was reading as well as the kids who truly did already know how to read. I practiced my new skill constantly. If I didn’t have a book, I’d read cereal boxes and coffee cans, billboards and newspapers. Anything with words.

Nothing has changed in the intervening years. I still love words. Reading remains my favorite pastime. And I’m an equal opportunity reader. On my shelves there are classics and poetry, biographies and histories, romances and humor, sci-fi and fantasy. I read traditionally published authors and those, like me, who’ve self-published.

On one Facebook authors’ site I read posts from authors who look at self-publishing as something only losers do—and many of these folks would rather submit their manuscripts to publishers a hundred, nay, a thousand times and receive a thousand rejection letters than self-publish. I find that sad.

I honestly believe my first novel Mayhem at the Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort had a decent chance of being traditionally published, but I’m 64 years old. The thought of dealing with submissions and rejection letters was depressing as hell. And I had a story to tell. Lots of stories to tell. And while my stories may never make the best seller’s list, they are worthwhile or fun or goofy or sobering. I have something to offer.

So, if you’re a writer wrestling with the thought of self-publishing weigh your options. Maybe you’re young and time is on your side. Maybe you’re older, like me, and just have an overwhelming need to see your stories in print. There are beautiful options these days, unlike the times when self-publishing cost an arm and a leg. To borrow a phrase from Nike—Just do it.

Peace, people.

The Cowboy and the Executive

Hot off the presses, my first romance novel, The Cowboy and the Executive, is now officially available in paperback form from Amazon and as an e-book on Kindle.

The Cowboy and the Executive: A West Texas Romance https://www.amazon.com/dp/B095BVSF3L/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_api_glt_SM2687C0004EDM6KPG00

Nice horse, am I right?


D’Aun Gilman is determined to prove she’s worthy of her recent promotion. If she can close a deal to acquire Young and Sons Ranch in the Texas panhandle, her new position as Vice-President of Acquisitions for Cattle King Industries and the corner office that comes with the job will cement her place in the business world. The only thing holding her back is Barton Young, the handsome cowboy who will stop at nothing to obtain his family’s ranch for himself. Between balancing her emotions with her career, D’Aun soon finds her job in jeopardy. Worse yet, she fears her heart might be broken beyond repair. Will fate step in and allow D’Aun to keep her career and her heart’s desire?

This book was so much fun to write. I hope you’ll give it a look!

Peace, people!

Flat Day

Tuesday didn’t start out being flat. I woke up early, fed and played with the cat, then went straight to working on Wedding at the Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort. I’d had a couple of ideas during the night and wanted to get them down before I forgot them.

Once I’d made the additions/changes, I did my 20 minute funky disco dance exercise routine and then took a shower. I had an appointment with a tarot card reader—research for a scene in Wedding, but not until 2 p.m.

I had a lovely lunch at Sweet Pea Cafe in Tallahassee where a young woman, waiting for her name to be called, stepped into the shade of the trees and danced like a fairy princess, totally oblivious to those of us watching.

After lunch it was still too early to drive to my tarot reading, so I went to a consignment shop and wandered about for an hour. When I left there I hadn’t driven but a mile when my car flashed a warning that one of my tires was low. Dangerously low. I pulled into a service station and with the help of a nice man aired it up. There was just one problem—I could see the bolt that I must have run over. It was huge and I knew the tire wouldn’t hold air long.

Now I had a decision to make: Keep the appointment or go directly to a tire shop and have my tire fixed. I called Studly Doright for advice.

“Fix the tire.”

Alrighty then.

The tire pressure dropped two pounds as I was talking to him. I googled the nearest tire shop—three miles away. Slowly I made my way to Mavis Tires. By the time I arrived I was down to twenty-two pounds in the wounded tire.

Mavis Tires took care of me. I was a damsel in distress and they were my knights in shining armor. They patched my tire while I chatted with others in their clean waiting room. I sold at least one copy of Mayhem at the Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort while we waited.

Mavis fixed my tire and didn’t charge me a penny, so my tire might’ve been flat, but the day ended well. Except I still need to have my cards read. Maybe tomorrow will be fluffy instead of flat,

Peace, people!

Cooking the Books

Typically, cooking the books involves manipulating financial data to inflate a company’s revenue, deflate expenses, and pump up profit, but that’s not the kind of book cooking I’m talking about.

With one book, The Cowboy and the Executive, close to publication and a second book, Wedding at the Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort, almost ready for beta readers, I’m down to dealing with details. Formatting one while finessing the other.

I’m not adept at multi-tasking. And compartmentalization isn’t my forte. There are so many ways I could screw up. Thank goodness for Rachel Carrera who keeps a close eye on my writing. I have a feeling she keeps a list of ways to get rid of me by writing me into her next book. Poison? Drowning? Death by chocolate? Whichever, it’s sure to be interesting.

Peace, people!

Toddler Conversation

Studly Doright and I have five beautiful grandchildren—no surprise there, aren’t ALL grandchildren beautiful? The oldest two are seniors in high school and will graduate in a couple of weeks. Born three months apart, Dominique and Garrett turned our lives upside down, in the best possible way. Grandchildren are God’s greatest gift, but that’s just my opinion.

Garrett and Dominique

When they were very small they lived close enough to have almost daily interaction and their conversations were hilarious. Years ago I put a couple of those conversations together for a blog post. It still makes me laugh.

https://nananoyz5formewordpress.wordpress.com/2014/08/30/oh-dear/

Peace, people!

From the Beach

On Sunday afternoon I enjoyed a beach outing with friends I’ve met through MeetUp. A group of us met at the Alligator Point beach house of a member to celebrate the birthday of our de facto leader. It was a great outing with lots of laughter and good food.

That’s me in the striped dress.
From the deck.
Her private little beach—so awesome.

I could get used to the beach life.

Peace, people!

This and That

I spent yesterday poring over my little romance, The Cowboy and the Executive, looking for possible formatting errors and other tidbits that stood out like a gaggle of sore thumbs when viewed in book form. My editor, the wonderful Rachel Carrera, might be cooking up a way to have me beheaded and I’d likely deserve the punishment.

Today I’m going to the beach with friends. Simple sentence, but wow. Let’s unpack it: I have friends—in the real world, mind you, and we’re all fully vaccinated so we’re going to hang out, unmasked, at one of God’s most gorgeous natural wonders—a beach.

As I’m writing this I’m still in bed trying to remember how to pack for a beach day and how to play nice with others. Oh, and wondering where my sunscreen might be. As lily-white as my legs are, they may require an entire bottle to keep them from burning,

Peace, people.