Happy Birthday

This is better late than never.

Today (no, last week) our flexible but fragile US Constitution is 231 years old; strong in ill-wind, but vulnerable to evil manipulations. We are strong and a wealthy nation. This equates to power. That power is converted by the greedy. Through decades of bribes, the gerrymandering of our election districts have managed to tilt the scales of our beloved justice and convinced the majority to ignore issues. Many of us, myself included, were not vigilant; did not listen, read, and research.

Now, our faces have been slapped. This behavior is similar to German history in the 1930’s. At this moment I am in a lovely 1931 home and I realized it was built during the world’s great depression by a wealthy family. The home was far and above the average possibilities. Did they manipulate the numbers or were they wisely informed and flexible?

Strange how our 231 years of constitutional living can be read on both sides of our coins.

Now, Hurricane Florence got the better of my internet; hence I’m late. Yet, my thoughts are recorded on my favorite yellow pads and I have managed to start revisions of my first novel, Swamp Run. I am now agent searching. “Just Sayin’ ”


A Warning

For me to switch my reading genre from historical fiction to political non-fiction is shaking my world. I keep a sloppy romance on my phone to grab and re-read if I go into an attack of anxious fits; to escape, quite literally.

I recently read Madelaine Albright’s  Fascism: A Warning because I woke up the day after the last national election in shock.  Yes, I’m slow at reacting. Now, I want to know why. I know why I’m slow, but what happened? Why is the world more anxious than normal? Why are “we” mad at Canada of all places? Why are there border security checks in Maine? Why does this southerner shut her mouth when I want to scream? Why didn’t I see this coming?

Madame Secretary explains fascism through history and how in the past it too surprised the uninformed; the “Oh my God!” types like me. In her last chapter she asked the reader to be aware, to answer a few questions and if the answers were yes then we’re in trouble. Do you look for easy answers even when the problem is serious? Are hoping you will not be asked to give your opinion? Do our leaders value only the strong? Do our leaders claim to speak for everybody?

She pointed out a lesson. President Lincoln never mocked the downtrodden or bragged about his own accomplishments, nor exhibited personal cruelty. He had a “largeness of soul”.



Don’t brag about how busy you are. If busy is a negative, do not read on. My busy is so blooming positive, I’m ready to burst.

A few Friday’s ago I bought an adorable monster house and thoroughly enjoyed a three hour French dinner with dear French friends – the way it is suppose to be. The next day I moved out of one small lake home into the adorable monster. Two days later I flew to Nantucket to eat fresh lobster rolls and reunite with several absolutely perfect relatives – yes, there a few. This holiday concluded with a coffee frappe at an ancestral ice cream shop favorite.

Flew home to my younger daughter’s wedding planning celebration and older granddaughter’s third birthday party. Still writing and packing boxes of books to travel from our normal home – there one? – to our adorable monster.

This time busy is a positive.






“Writers need liability insurance!” I was advised. First I researched the definitions of such a monster gamble, then I researched the possibilities.


For years I paid the piper in the extreme. Good Gravy! I will not disclose the amount I paid per book. Embarrassment hurts.

Anyway, a painful realization of some of the trickery from the insurance industry was switched on by my  family source of all important information, our car repairman. He said my homeowners policy should cover me in the odd event that my historical mysteries would offend so much that someone would sue. It took  nine  phone calls and three office, in-your-face, visits, but yes, my homeowners policy does indeed cover my home office “products” – my six novels.

Yet, from under my creation-station desk appeared a new evil from the state in which I live.  “They” want home product producers to have an LLC (lucky lunatic cuties). “They” want to keep track of me, just in case  (Justin Case – my teddy bear). “They” must be worried that I might make money from writing.

“They said my “company” needed a name.

Eleanortatum.com LLC

Every year since I got a postcard reminder to renew my LLC online. For two years all went well. Then their website changed. Good Gravy, what a mess.

I reverted to snail-mail. My frustration levels matched my embarrassment. My lack of techo-smarts screamed.



Eras of Dreams

It is sad. My Era#1 is suffering a slow death. My publisher is closing and returning the rights to my SIX NOVELS. Amazon is taking her (his?) sweet time to painfully remove them from their pages. By my estimates, (and I am trying to be realistic, not my forte’ – I do write fiction),  Era #2 will last two years. In that time I will meet my goals: revise my SIX NOVELS  (well, maybe three), draft my new mystery, and blog my political venom more bravely.

Yes, there is an Era#3. I hope. Within that third magical span, there might be new mysteries, agents for my revised SIX NOVELS, and some pleased publishers. This blessed grandmother dreams of healthy and safe futures for my Grand Girls. I dream of automatic rifles rusting away in a barn for banned weapons. I dream of a White House filled with compassion and sanity. I dream of clean water everywhere; especially in eastern North Carolina. I also dream of an end to the use of fracking fossil fuels.

Since my age is nearly fossilized – I understand these things.

Therefore, I may dream of several new Eras.


I avoid 4-way stops. I will drive miles to avoid them. They are not good for my health; mental, physical, or spiritual. Most drivers do not know or practice the vague laws concerning those infamous red geometrical meanies…including me. I do not understand “first come, first serve”, even “the driver on the right should go first” is terribly “ify”.

What if four arrive simultaneously?

A. Stay and Stare?

B.Politely wave one of them through? Which one?

C. Play Chicken?

My writing-world is like this DOT* invention. I have arrived at a four-way stop. On the right is a drafted historical murder mystery. Across from me is a continuation of my Gray Lace series and on my left is an opportunity to rewrite my contemporary romances.

Of course I could back up. Turn around and not write.

I gave up ironing for lent. Could I give up writing?

At the moment I am staring at my choices, but I’m beginning to realize I like to play chicken.


*Department of Transportation



Everywhere in central North Carolina has snow today. Not me. My one-quarter Yankee granddaughter and her one-half Yankee mother are making snow angels. Not me. Another daughter texted her Charlotte pics of snow. None here. This Full Yankee is acting like a spoiled child that I truly am. I want snow! It was fake news, that prediction.

However, a few days ago in my swamp, it was 70 and raining, lovely gray “soothingness”.  It was real rain, not digital. In fact, it came with fog. The electricity decided not to work too, so sounds were sharp. The real rain encouraged writing and my procrastinated-proofreading commenced. It comforted and pulled in my developing characters to plot their lives in my mind then they jumped to the paper.

My swamp critters (alligators, turtles, cranes, and ducks) must have hated the seven day below freezing week. Good Grief. My swamp froze! My writing froze. My characters must have been miserable. I haven’t allowed them to progress through their plots. That is totally unfair. There’s too much unfairness in our world. It stops here.

Unfreeze the characters!