Archive for May, 2016

Thanks Winston

“Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.”  Winston Churchill

 

In the first place, I’ve had some success. When a writer’s depression falls in my lap (or laptop) I remember my list of successes: I have “Been Published”. Thanks to Rebel Ink Press I have now have four novels on Amazon. That’s not too shabby. I feel success when my order of my own paperbacks arrives. In fact, it’s so exciting I dance in the kitchen.

The second part of Winston’s lesson hurts but it has helped as well. Failure. There is the review that brought me to tears. I secretly wished that writer would need several doses of Miralax. My royalty checks from my patient publisher/editor are enough to dine out in a third world country, once a year. Then there’s the typos. I make far too many. My favorite so far is in my fourth novel,Gray Lace. My “shero” eats a bowl of bacon, no she-crab soup, except I wrote she-crap. My book club friends enjoyed a healthy tease.

Ah, courage: Talking myself, quiet pep talks, and commands to produce, all assist me to attend the next book talk, those teasing book clubs (bring my she-crap soup), type new blog posts, and work on my WIP, August Snow.

Promotionals are a different animal, for a different post, on a different day.

Enough!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Plastic Panic

The first national Earth Day occurred during my first year as a public school teacher. Stop counting; I’ll tell you. It was 1970. Yes, I started young.

For forty years I religiously taught the trilogy: Reduce, Reuse, Recycle. I still practice the faith. I bring cloth bags to the market, I turn off lights and I used to have a compost heap. There’s another blog post concerning the “used to”.

Now I’m a grandmother; so grand I allow the gray to show in my crown. The first year of my reign I discovered the joys of Babies and Toys R Us (we need a backward R). No, this is not an advertisement. I marvel at the variety of educational entertainment. My inner child nearly sings as I skip up and down the aisles. I’ve been warned to walk, however.

Then disaster: (drama) I read the price, the directions, the warnings,  and the “Made In”.

Questions: will this gift teach my granddaughter anything worth while? Will she learn to read Latin or calculate angles?  Will my purchase assist my country’s economy or China’s or Ecuador? Most importantly, how many centuries will it sit in a landfill? Everything in that place is plastic! I panic.

She’s eleven months old. The empty cardboard box brought her great joy.

Enough.

 

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