The Wrong Turn

There may be a GPS in my future. I have been fighting getting one. But today made me think strongly it is time. With Amazon Prime it will be here in two days. Once again, I got lost on my way to someplace really great. I did MapQuest the directions. I don't know if it is just my experience, or a flaw in MapQuest. There is always one missing street, the essential street that gets me on the final leg of the journey. The street that is on my printed instructions, is nowhere to be found on a sign on the road.

And when that happens, I panic. All common sense is gone. My vision blurs. I get a headache. I know I will never get to my destination. But some little voice says maybe. So I drive in any direction my lack of direction takes me. If I am in town it is unpleasant, but eventually I will find my way. Driving in the country (rural farm land) is a totally different experience. If I get lost, even AAA won't find me.

Perhaps my first error today had to do with the fact I avoid getting on major expressways if there is another kinder, gentler way to go. I might have found the coffee house on the east side of Athens had I taken a more direct route, using a highway.  Instead I took the road less traveled. Winding country roads where for miles I only saw farmhouses tucked far back from the road, surrounded by acres of land, and white fences. Or expanses of nothing except pastures. I passed towns I had wanted to visit when I still lived in metro Atlanta and dreamed of moving to a rural area. Good Hope, Bishop, North High Shoals, but not necessarily in that order (after all, I had no idea where I was). I landed in Watkinsville just as my instructions told me. If I could have patted myself on the back, I would have. But one hand was on the steering wheel, the other holding the printed words, my lifeline to the writing group. Almost there with thirty minutes to spare I felt secure I had made the right decision with the route I chose.

I drove past the delightful main street reminding myself I should come back when I could stay. Before I realized I was through town and heading on an expressway to Athens, yes, but not the side of Athens where I needed to be, and certainly not any place on my sheet of streets to follow.  So, I decided to turn around and go back to Watkinsville. How hard could it be to find the street, just before the church, to point me in the right direction? Not hard. Impossible. The street on the paper did not have a sign on the road.  I did what any idiot in a panic would do. I turned onto a street by a church thinking it might work. After all, a church was on my directions from MapQuest. Ten miles later on another country road I saw a sign for the Athens airport. This could not be right, I told myself, and turned around, backtracking back to Watkinsville. In my case today, I could honestly say all roads lead to Watkinsville.

I did what every man I ever knew when I was younger did. Refused to stop for directions. I saw several places I could have, should have, but did not pull in to ask for help. Back before there was the GPS and in the dark ages when there were paper maps, my husband would get lost and ask me to check the map. I was the designated navigator (by him, not by choice). "I don't read maps," I had to remind him. "Why don't you stop at that gas station and ask directions?" We were at an impasse. I would not read the map, he would not stop for help. Once the conversation got so heated, I jumped out of the car, and he drove off, leaving me stranded on the road. No cell phone, and at the time, I was an inside the perimeter gal. None of my friends would have come outside I-285 (the beltway around Atlanta) to pick me up. He came back within minutes. My hot temper cooled. We had a laugh and somehow got to our destination. I did learn never to jump out of a moving car again, unless I knew where I landed.

My answer to today's situation was simple. I grabbed my cell, pulled up the meet-up group web page, and left an apology in the comment section of the days event I would not be there. I was lost. Then I circled around Watkinsville one last time, heading in the direction I knew would get me home.

I did make a stop at a charming antique/junk shop that sprawled along the country road, a sign "painted furniture" drew me in. My head ached from the stress of driving and worry I might never be found if I got too deeply embedded on one of those long winding roads with nary a sign of humanity.

As soon as I walked in the door all tension left my body. So much stuff to look at. I spent the next hour talking to the owner, shifting through piles of books, china, quilts, and artwork.

Shopping. Antiques. The cure for what ails me. An unexpected adventure, just the kind I can handle. I left with two books, and original drawing of a lady sitting at a café in Paris (not that you can tell, she is a large scribble, but so whimsical I had to have her) and a set of hobnail glasses. I made a new friend with the owner. She will see me again of that I am certain. After all, the writing group meets again next month, and I will pass by on my way to Athens, my new GPS leading me in the right direction.

Or Not.

If I procrastinate like I usually do, I won't have a GPS. But you can bet, I will find my way next time.

 

Ready, Set, Go

    

Yes, please. I'm ready.

 

 

    My mantra for the coming year is Ready, Set, Go. It took an Oracle Card reading to prove to me good things are on the way, especially if I work hard. This year has been a difficult one, and frankly, I have dwelled and talked about it too much. I am lucky to have such wonderful friends that listen and don't remind me how much I repeat myself.

 

     In a nutshell, which does not in any way minimalize the emotional aspect of everything, this is what happened. I went in for hip replacement surgery in April. The surgery went badly. Somehow, my femur fractured after I was back in my room. Two days later, and many pain meds to help pass the time, the hip replacement surgery was done again and the femur stabilized. I now have a cadaver bone bracing the femur and three pints of blood from goodness knows who. Just as I was beginning to relax, an infection set in and I had to have a third surgery to clean the wound. (Sounds terrible, doesn’t it?) Three surgeries in thirty days, an infectious disease doctor, twenty plus days at a terrible nursing home rehab, and seven weeks away from my home. While it seemed never ending, I am wrapping up outpatient physical therapy now and feeling pretty good. Not 100 percent, but darn close.

    During this same creepy year, my mother had horrible health issues, and thanks to my horrible hip issues, I could not be with her. We talked daily. She went into the hospital about the same time I did and had the same amount of time away from home with her physical therapy. Sadly, things did not go as well for her. My sister moved mother closer to her , into a lovely assisted living home. But mother’s health plummeted and she went into hospice mid-August. We lost her two days later.

     Mother was my champion. She taught me you could be whatever you want at any age. She was a shining example having redefined herself several times after my Dad died and encouraged all my craziness to find myself when I became a widow at sixty. My six dogs never worried her, while many of my friends questioned my sanity on those numbers. At eighty-four, Mother got back to her writing roots and published many romantic novellas. We could talk ‘shop’ at night on our calls. We had a mutual admiration society. While she is gone, she lives on every time I sit down to write.

     And that brings me to my goals and my Oracle Card reading. My friend whipped out her cards and ordered I needed a reading. She prefers Oracle Cards because they are more uplifting than Tarot Cards.

    “The Magical Mermaids and Dolphins Oracle Cards are specifically designed to help you manifest your goals, life purpose, and divinely inspired dreams,” she told me as she opened the box and handed a beautiful deck of cards to me. I shuffled the cards, placed the deck in my left hand, put my right hand on top, and picked a card. I picked three cards and the meaning of each showed me I was ready to do something grand.

     I’ll buy that. It’s time for me to find my place again. Ready, set, go. I can’t think of a better mantra to move ahead. To be honest, I had figured that out before the reading, but a tad of mystical power is always a lovely ingredient.

    My head is spinning with new things to write. I’ve started my dog memoir and a fictional book about a widow who has to restart her life at sixty-five. My platform is always so obvious, widows, dogs, and old houses. Things I understand. Throw in the occasional chapter on antiquing, and you have the story of my life, in memoir, in fiction, and perhaps, in poetry soon. A few years ago, I published a Kindle Christmas anthology with thirty other authors. In the works is a book on writers and their dogs. Appropriate for the gal who named herself “Writer With Dogs” after adopting my bunch of rescue hounds.

     Whatever I write this year, I will honor my mother with my words. She will be by my side encouraging me as I remember all the late night conversations we had about life and the stories we hoped to put on paper. The gift of writing is one that pulled me through when I lost my husband eight years ago and will keep my mother close as I pursue my upcoming goals. You can be anything at any age . . .   her words fill my heart with hope.

 

 

 

It has been my pleasure to be part of Julie Valerie's Fiction Writer's Blog Hop this year. So many great writers sharing their thoughts. You rock, Julie.

And thanks to all who have read this post. You can return to the hop by clicking below.

 

                                                                        

Thanks for reading! To return to the FICTION WRITERS BLOG HOP on Julie Valerie’s website, click here: http://www.julievalerie.com/fiction-writers-blog-hop-oct-2016

You Can't Judge A Book By Its Cover . . .

What makes you buy a book?

You Can't Judge A Book By Its Cover. But the cover can certainly make you buy the book. At least for me, the cover is what draws me to a book in the first place. I am a visual person, my senses enhanced by what I see. My urge to spend money also ignited by something that is colorful, pretty, whimsical. I have bought books because of the cover, books I never planned to read, but loved the artwork.

     Perhaps it goes back to my career with the federal government. A great job, but for one that wanted to be surrounded by beauty, a government office is a dreary setting. I used to joke, “If only I could have a wicker chair and a hooked rug in my little nook.” I could keep books tucked around my desk, tiny pieces of art that made me smile as I went about my work.

     The words on the back cover play a huge role, too, on my purchasing the book. If the cover has pulled me in, made me hold the book in my hands, or enlarge the photo on my computer, I want to read what it is about. That small space where the author leaves a blurb is as important to me as an elevator pitch to an agent. Make me want to read you.  My attention span is short and you need to grab me.

      Recommendations by other authors? I don’t pay attention to them. It’s nice if you have a novel and a NY Times Best Seller Author has left a kind line on your jacket. It just tells me that person loved the book. But will I? An award-winning book? Perhaps that will get more attention from me.

     My own reading habits and book purchases are questionable at best. Loving  the art on the cover, instead of reading reviews, and buying the book versus  reading a great review and putting the book back on the shelf because I don't like the cover. I always go for the look I love best.
 

     Certain images that pull me in, make me want to see what the book has to offer, go along with my passions in life. As a gardener, antique dealer, dog hoarder, it should come as no surprise I can’t pass up a book with any related image to the above. If there are people on the cover, please don’t show me their faces, or much of their body parts. I like to form my own opinion of what the characters look like. If I don’t like the people pictured on the jacket, well, I won’t like the book. Just telling it as it is for me.
 
     The exception to my rule, memoirs. There, a photo is a must. My stalker self comes out. I want to see who I am reading about. An example below, A Three Dog Life by Abigail Thomas.  The cover hits many of my must-haves. A photo of the author and her dogs. And to contradict my earlier comment about blurbs by other authors, Stephen King says it is the best memoir he's ever read. Okay, I am inconsistent. But that cover, oh my.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I love the cover on The Language of Flowers. Bought the book in 2012,  and haven't read it yet. The image makes me smile and the book is placed where I can see it on my dresser.

 

 

 

Of course, I am crazy about all of Jackie Bouchard's book covers. What dog lover could pass by this cover without taking a peek at the book? And the back blurb, well, guess what the dog ate . . .

 

 

 

 

Then there is whimsy? Below are two covers that made me stop and look on Amazon.

 

Garden illustrations . . . A Sweet Cover

 

 

 

Apprentice to a Garden

 

 

Not only does this cover make me smile, it makes me hungry. So I might buy the book and a cupcake.

 

 

Cappuccinos, Cupcakes, and a Corpse

 

So I read and loved Abigail Thomas' memoir, I own the Language of Flowers, and yes, I might buy the other two books based on the cover art.

 

***********

My memoir cover in 2010 drew some comments on The Book Designer site (link to site but not comments on my cover. That was some time ago.) No one liked that I had so much white in the cover (it did fade as a thumbnail and I had to frame it in black) and men did not understand the image of sunglasses being tossed, thinking I was getting rid of my husband's glasses. A friend, a professional designer, came up with the cover.  Since the essays are of hope, and the memoir a bit quirky, the pink and white seemed to convey more of the nature of my story. Does it draw a buyer in? I haven't a clue. But I hope it lets the reader know the book is more lighthearted in its approach.

 

 

 

***********

I wish I had a more intellectual way of choosing books. For me, my method works. How do you choose what you will read next? And what do you like on a book jacket?

 Thanks for reading! To return to the FICTION WRITERS BLOG HOP on Julie Valerie’s website, click here: 

http://www.julievalerie.com/fiction-writers-blog-hop-july-2016

 

 

The Old New York Bookshop: Treasured Memories

Early photo of Cliff Graubart at The Old New York Bookshop.

(Photo from The Old New York Bookshop Press)

This post is part of Julie Valerie's Fiction Writers Monthly Blog Hop. You can find the link to continue to other sites below.

 

     Quirky, independent bookshops are my favorite. Granted, I fall prey to Barnes & Noble as a great place to hang out on a dateless Saturday night. I can grab a quick snack, read my favorite magazines, and see what is trending on the bestseller list. However, my heart belongs to those small shops where the personality of the owner shines through. EagleEye in Decatur, a few miles from my house, is top on my current list. Tucked in a small strip mall, it is a splendid combination of used and new books, author signings, and other literary events. I met a date (one of those bad dates you meet online) there in 2009 to attend a screen writing class that was taking place. While the writers were mostly zombie fans, and I was in the middle of writing my widow memoir, it was a great fit, although I like to kid my story was the least gory of all.

     The best of the best, however, was The Old New York Bookshop, a haven to up and coming writers (who became famous Southern authors) in the 1970’s when I first moved to Atlanta. Close to where I worked, in the Midtown section of Atlanta, I stumbled upon it by a fortunate accident. Someone had lifted the wheels off my VW bug and I wandered around looking for a phone. I met the owner Cliff and fell in love with the shop, an old Victorian cottage, with lopsided corners and sagging floors. The many rooms, filled with floor to ceiling bookcases of used, vintage, and antiquarian books, rambled on like a maze.

     Cliff, a small, funny, Jewish fellow from New York, was (and is) as sarcastic as they come, but knew how to make you feel at home. Once I found the shop, I stopped by many times a month to visit on my way home from work. There was a rack of mugs for the regulars (yes, I had my own mug with my name on it) and a constant pot of dark black coffee brewing. I’d fill my cup, plop down on one of the comfy, broken-in sofas, and chat about my day. You never knew who would stop by and join in the conversation, but Cliff was entertainment on his own. (If you read this, Cliff, you know you were the funniest guy around and loved by all your friends.)

     The most memorable moments at the shop were the lavish book-signing parties Cliff gave for local authors who were just beginning their careers. Champagne flowed freely and laughter echoed late into the night. If the rooms became too crowded, there was always the front porch to sit and grab a breath of air and another glass of bubbly. To name drop, but I have to so you can see how fabulous these events were, I met the beloved Pat Conroy there along Terry Kay, Anne Rivers Siddons, Stuart Woods, and so many more of the local authors who became Southern legends over the years. The Old New York Bookshop was part of the literary history of Atlanta.

    Cliff still sells books, but mostly at shows and online. The renovated cottage now houses a trendy, upscale restaurant that fits the gentrified neighborhood. Read about the history of the shop in Cliff's own words on the Georgia Antiquarian Booksellers Association website.  Looking for books?  Check in with Cliff by clicking Contact info. 

     From bookshop owner, book seller, to author, in 2012 Mercer University published Cliff’s novel The Curious Vision Of Sammy Levitt And Other Stories. a humorous and touching tale of 1950s Washington Heights Jewish life.

    Visits to The Old New York Bookshop highlight some of my best memories from those early years in Atlanta. When I had a shop of my own in Old Town, Lilburn, Georgia, in 2011 (The Little Shop Of Arts and Antiques) I remembered those book signings of years ago and decided my antique shop should be a place for writers to hang out, mostly new authors that were self-published. For nine-months, we had a grand time with author events most every weekend. Then I moved the shop to the square in Lawrenceville, where we had more book signings and writing classes for another five months. Not a business person I ran out of money and closed the shop. Some day I hope to put those crazy times in a memoir, certainly not a how to book! 

     I pray there will always be book lovers who keep their shops open. Big name book stores  can produce the goods, but only small owner owned independent shops carry the heart and soul of readers.  

*******************

Thanks for reading. To return to the Fiction Writers Blog Hop on Julie Valerie's website click below.   
 

http://www.julievalerie.com/fiction-writers-blog-hop-june-2016/

    

Fantasy to Fiction

I have a house fantasy. I call it The Cottage In My Mind. I even started a blog to write about my dream house and other houses that fascinated me. The blog was not so much to be entertaining, with its lovely photos and work in progress on my own house, a late 1040's rambling ranch, that is a great house, but no matter what I do, it is a ranch, but a way for me to exorcize the demon that entered my brain some years ago, whispering . . . move. . .

The cottage in my mind is a lovely Victorian beach house close to the water, or just a sweet Victorian cottage in a small town an hour or two from Atlanta, and these days, it is a farmhouse on several acres. I can't decide where I want to live and how I want to live. Do I want to be in the middle of all the activities in Decatur (my little town minutes from Atlanta) where development is booming, a Starbucks, Home Goods, and two small shop areas are being built as I type, or a small community where everyone knows your name (the town my version of the bar in Cheers).  Then there is the farm, a small farm with several acres, lots of out buildings, and a few hens and goats. Picture my six dogs in that scenario - not so much a good thing. They love chicken.

In the last two years I've had my house up for sale for thirty days each time. I had developers interested and a few offers that were hard to refuse, but my ongoing hip issues made it impossible for me to get my act together and move a house load of antiques, art, and dogs. So I took the house off the market before I said yes to someone.

I thought common sense prevailed, as I am having my second hip replacement on April 24th, but no, I went to a small town about two hours away and discovered a house I love. All the things I dream about and on one level and several acres of property. The house is dropped in the middle of the charming town on several acres, but not isolated from civilization. Should I? Could I? Would I? Maybe, after my surgery and rehab. I've talked to the realtor. But I am months away from doing anything. And when my hip is fully functioning,  maybe my brain will be, too, and the cottage in my mind will be just a lovely dream. Time will tell.

In the meantime, while I can't move, I can write. This past week I started writing a cozy mystery. Guess where it takes place? A fake town name and location, but the latest fantasy house is the setting for my new book. I am having the time of my life dreaming big of how I would live in such a town and solve a murder! Yes, I am the character in the book, disguised as a thin agile woman, but the six dogs may be a giveaway!

The last time I fell in love with a house that I could not buy, back in 2011, I penned my little sexy thriller, Danger In Her Words. The setting was the house close to Athens, Georgia I loved so dearly. Making it the scene of my book helped heal the wound I could not buy it. I fall in love deeply with houses but once I've had my way with them in my writing, well, I am on to the next one.

Luckily for my husband when he was alive I was not so fickle with our true love!  This latest house is my dream. No telling where that dream will take me. If I get a fun cozy mystery out of my latest passion I can't ask for anything more.

Unless, this is the one. Then it will be a different story.

Which makes me wonder, what fuels your passion for your stories' settings?

Note: Thanks for reading. This post is part of Julie Valerie's FICTION WRITERS BLOG HOP. To return to the blog hop and find some great posts just  go to  http://www.julievalerie.com/fiction-writers-blog-hop-mar-2016

Remembering To Count The Dogs

 

 

There are many quotes about counting;  counting your blessings, counting sheep to sleep at night, counting days or hours until . . . whatever that is you are waiting for happens, counting money, counting the stars at night, counting the words you are writing for your novel, especially if you are participating in NaNoWriMo this month! There are many more fine examples, but in counting my brain cells this evening, they seem fewer than normal, so I'll stop with this list above.

 

I have a special count I make each time I let my dogs into the yard. I count them as they come back in. Each body that wiggles or races or drags through my kitchen door is numbered. One, two, three, four, five, six! Once I have reached six  I can close the door and go about my business. Sometimes, I forget to count and just assume six dogs have come back in. Especially challenging, when only half the pack goes out, trying to count who is still in and who is reentering.  Sometimes I mess up. A dog gets left outdoors. While most dogs love to be out, my pack loves to be in. When a dog is left unaccounted for, well, there is a price for me to pay. No dog wants to be outside alone. Not in the heat of a summer day, certainly not in a rain storm, but as I found out a few minutes ago, not in the dark of night.

 

Four hours ago I fed the hounds. I opened the back door to my large fenced yard, well lit by lights around the premises, and dogs ran, in many directions. Dogs ran into the yard, dogs ran into the sunroom, and dogs ran into the living room. I assume they had a game afoot, romping and playing with each other. Of course, the purpose of the open door was for the dogs to go out for their last evening run to pee. All the dogs came safely back to the sunroom and settled in, or so I thought. I'd forgotten to count.

 

Pounding away on my keyboard (sounds like I am really knocking out my NaNoWriMo novel, doesn't it?) I heard a howl from my back yard. A high pitched howl that seemed to come from the far side so I had to think, is this my dog or a neighbors? The howl came again and I knew who it was. (don't you know the sound each of your pups makes? an individual sound like no other dog, the dog's voice as I like to call it) and swung around. Five dogs were sound asleep. Rascal was missing.

 

I looked at the clock at the bottom of my monitor screen. Holy cripes, it was almost eleven-thirty. And my dog was outside making a hideous sound, one my closest neighbor on the other side of the stone wall, would most likely hear. We have a truce - I keep the hounds quiet after ten.

 

Barefoot and in my PJs, I dashed to the kitchen and ran out. Loudly, but quietly as I could, I called out into the night, "Rascal".  What a perfect name for a little thirty-five pound butterball of a dog who gets in trouble more often than not! I called again, my voice a little louder, "Rascal!"

 

Across the yard, from the far corner by the right-of-way, my butterball came running. She sprung into the kitchen and came to a sliding halt. Then she looked at me with a bit of disdain. If I could have read her mind, she might have been saying, you left me outside for four hours!

 

I looked at her and wondered what she had been up to for that time. Her howls only surfaced in the last few minutes. There was a smudge of dirt over her brow, or was that one of her markings? She is a colorful gal. All pinky white, one blue-eye and one brown. Her back looks like a brindle sweater, and her tummy is full of polka dots. My little clown dog. I grabbed a few biscuits and fed her. Smiling, happy she was back inside, although honestly, I had no clue she was missing. Safe in the yard, but missing from her usual spot on the couch.

 

Yes, I count my blessings. And among my blessings are six dogs that make me happy to be a member of the pack. Just shame on me! I must remember to count my dogs when I close my doors. One, two, three, four, five, six. Oh good, now I can relax.

 

 

It's exhausting having an adventure!

 

Percocet and Peaches

Last spring when I had my hip replacement surgery I was dosed up on pain meds. From the first IV drip to the final prescription for pills as I was wheeled out the front door of the hospital to head home, I was told, keep the pain from getting out of control so you can do your physical therapy.

Being a smart ass, I told my nurses and therapists I would throw a twelve-step party when I felt better. I dreamed of writing a Southern Gothic novel called Percocet and Peaches (if you steal my title, remember I know where you are!)

The pills worked. No, I am not addicted to pain meds. And no, I am not making light of those that are. I still take hydrocodone daily and I'd like to say the vision above was me - working to a frenzy - writing my next novel or memoir. But the reality is, the meds have slowed me down.

Writer's block. Maybe. Perhaps they have given me, along with my surgery, permission to chill and figure out what's next in my life.

To answer an unasked question - why am I still on pills?  My surgery hip is great - but my other hip may be facing a repeat performance. The pills are for that pain, so I can move around without a walker and regain my life!

I am working to go pill free - and since the only addiction I have is to dogs, books, and antiques, I feel safe I am almost there.

Looking back on my work I realized a health situation spurred me on to produce everything I've written. My widow memoir was penned after my husband's death (a final health issue if there ever was one). My slightly naughty novel was shot up to Amazon three days before my hysterical hysterectomy in 2013, and my dog picture book published a few days before my hip surgery in May. Last December I pulled together a 31 author Christmas anthology (with proceeds going to First Book, a children's literacy charity) while housebound with a pulled muscle in my knee.

This begs me to ask myself - can I write under ordinary circumstances? At least if a reader finds typos in my work, I can play the health card and get out of jail free, for a moment anyway.

My brain stays scrambled with things I want to write - not with the drugs. Surgery has slowed me down on some fronts, but when I look at my author page on Amazon, I realize for every hit I've taken physically I have something to show for it. Not too bad. Although, I am looking for the day I write from pure joy and not from pain! On so many levels!

That said, what makes you sit down and write? We are all challenged by the things life throws at us yet are productive with what is important to us. What triggers your artistic side to come through. . . would love for you to share!

 

******************

This post is part of a blog hop. Want to read more? Not by me, but by other wonderful writers, then join in. To return to the FICTION WRITERS BLOG HOP on Julie Valerie’s Book Blog, click here: http://www.julievalerie.com/fiction-writers-blog-hop-sep-2015

 

How I Chose My Writer's Platform.

 

Writer With Dogs. Every writer needs a brand - so we are told.  My brand is six rescue dogs that rescued me. After the sixth dog came into my life and my house, and friends started to think being a widow had made me crazier than a loon, I needed to find an excuse that made sense to those who decided I'd tipped off the edge. It came to me one night sitting at the computer, scratching what I hoped was a mosquito bite, not a flea bite (With a house full of dogs - mosquitos are more desirable than fleas - right? You can swat a mosquito, with fleas . . . it's never ending, flea meds, pest control, and the most dreaded word of all  . . . infestation.) In the middle of trying to work on my widow memoir (back in the early days of being on my own) it came to me. I was a writer with dogs, too many according to some folks, but for me - a reason to live and love. My six foot seven husband, rest his soul, believed a household should only have one dog. I believe you can't put a limit on dog love. So that year I became Writer With Dogs. I bought the domain name (dot.com and dot.net, can't be too careful) and 500 business cards with my new 'brand'. 

My first card with my dear Foxy Barth in the center, Annabelle in the lower corner, Bray in the top right corner. They looked so cute wanting in the house I photographed them. All three had chapters in my widow memoir.


I took it a step further too. A slogan. I love my Margaritas, but I live with a six-pack at home. I tossed that phrase around as I slurped my salt-rimmed drink at happy-hour.  It made its way to my website too.

Armed and dangerous, I waited for the next new person I met to give me the evil eye when I spoke of my dogs. It happened within a week. It was at a social hour at a local business meeting. People talked about their children, I spoke of my dogs. All went well until I was asked, "How many dogs do you have?"

"Six." I beamed.

That look again. Crazy lady. Not even, Crazy Dog Lady. I was prepared.

I whipped out my business card. Writer With Dogs. I smiled (perhaps a bit of a self- serving smile) and handed out my newly printed works of art.

In that instant it was clear to me, people understood writing about your dogs more than living with that many. The rest was easy-peasy.

Of course, my Margarita slogan was something I had to deal with a few years ago, when it was time for Foxy to move on to doggie heaven. In the middle of my grief I realized my six-pack now only held five dogs. That would not work. I found Bertha Barth on Facebook and quickly dashed to Animal Control to make her mine. I was in sync again.

I also needed a new business card - and went with whimsy this time.  I loved the stock image I found online.

 

I have too many dogs, just as I have too many websites, and too many blogs.  Sometimes I wonder if I should reel it in - one website, one blog, but then I know that's not me. I work best in multiples. Six dogs, four or five web domains, and an embarrassing amount of blogs. Writing blogs, antique blogs, house blogs, and blogs that feature books by other authors. The one commonality - I tweet it all under my twitter name, you guessed it @writerwithdogs.

Six dogs is really not too many. I know people who have more. It is a whopping amount of dogs for a single gal who lives alone.  I don't travel, I rarely have company,  getting sick is a nightmare, and I have yet to find a male who thinks it's great I have a six-pack at home. Beer yes, dogs no.  So for me my dogs are my platform, yes, but they have also defined how I live my life. A trade off I wouldn't trade for any other lifestyle.

Not to try to hog the limelight that I am the only writer with dogs. I am just the one who bought the dot.com. Many other authors have dogs as their platform, or dogs that influence their writing, or just plain like to sit at the computer with friendly Fido close by. I have been blessed to meet so many great writers who are kindred dog spirits.

As my writing contacts grew, so did my big ideas. I decided to take my Writer With Dogs blog and turn it into a forum for writers to talk about their dogs.

Writer With Dogs blog - Share Your Stories

 

 

Of all my blogs, Writer With Dogs is my favorite. It is not about me, it is all about sharing dog stories and meeting new authors. Some of my favorite dog writers have been featured there.  I am always looking for new authors to post, so if you have a dog (sometimes a cat has wormed its way in) and write, you might be perfect for a guest spot.

I love dogs, I love books, I love meeting new authors. My brand covers all the bases for me.  It doesn't get any better than that for a gal who named herself Writer With Dogs as she worked on a widow memoir. One world closed and another opened up.

Contact me if you'd like to share your dog story!



This post is being shared on Julie Valerie's Blog Hop for the week of October 29 - Nov 5. Want to join the party and have some fun, meet new authors. Click on the link below the image and off you go!

Visit Hump Day Blog Hop by clicking here.

 

The Merry Month Of May When The Widow Vs. WonderWoman

Ah, the month of May. I wrote about it in my memoir The Unfaithful Widow. It is a month that brought so much, then took so much, then put me back on my feet. I wondered if I should reminisce here, it is May again, or just stay with the 'new me' that feels more like Wonder Woman these days. But I would not be true to writing about my experiences if I let my thoughts go today. And if you know me, truth sets me free.

This blog started in December 2009 to get ready for the launch of my widow memoir. Everything I read about promotion for books enticed me to start early to have a small platform. This blog featured 'lessons learned' at the end of each post. My widow lessons learned came from lessons learned from my dogs. I loved adopting dogs so much, I now live with a pack of six rescue dogs that rescued me.

The month of May. How many memories can one month hold? It is the turning point for me each year to reflect. I met my husband in May all those many years ago. We married in May and had five years together as husband and wife, which added to the years we lived together, gave us a history of 25 years. He passed away in May 2008. In May 2009, I had a 'coming out' celebration at the house to celebrate my friends and all the love that was shared with me that year. I had just started my dog adoption frenzy, so there was just Foxy, the Grand Dame of small German Shepherds and Bray, my first rescue dog. It was easy to entertain in my house then with only two dogs.

Now, six years and six dogs later, it is harder to have people over, but I am working on it for my dog loving friends who are brave. As a mad collector of things, I kid, I could have a lovely tea party for six, and everyone could have their own Victorian silverplate tea service and a dog for their lap. My kind of tea party would also include a pitcher of Margaritas, so tasty with cheese straws and in tiny cups, so ladylike to keep sipping!

The Unfaithful Widow book launch was in May 2010 with a grand party at a friend's bed and breakfast and was an event/silent auction for Animal Action Rescue. I am still on their website under links we like. A very proud thing for me the crazy dog lady. We made some money for them that night. Every cent went to the folks that brought me Bray, and then some of my other dogs down the road. I had my first blog tour with WOW Women in Writing that month too. This May I am on tour with WOW again to promote my first fiction novel Danger In Her Words.

My wonderful Mother has her birthday on May 22nd. I can't forget that. It is a reminder how lucky I am to have her in my life. She reminds me you can do anything, be anything, at any age. She wrote when we were kids and went back to her writing roots at age 85. She will be turning 86 and has three books on Amazon with a fourth to come. Her website is Audrey Frank Author. She is the inspiration that keeps me moving forward thinking I can conquer the world, make my life what I want it to be, despite all the things that can go wrong, but can work for you if you leave your heart open.

Six years a widow this month. It seems so strange. At first the days seemed endless, how would I survive? Now I look back on all that has happened and wonder where the time has gone. I have the books I've written, my wonderful friends, both from years of knowing each other to new women who have enriched my life. I opened and closed an antique shop, The Little Shop of Arts and Antiques, that became a hub for writers and artists. I started a writers guild that still meets. A Book Talk blog to promote other authors.  I appeared in a snippet of an interview on Lifetime Television's The Balancing Act, a morning show for women. I blogged for them for several years. I sleep with dogs, hmm, not those bad dates I used to write about, but my wagging tail buddies that surround me with love.

I am in the same house, living a life close to home, that is as rich as any life I could ask for. My fears and loss made me step out of my comfort zone to do things I would never have done in the safety net of my marriage. But my marriage, my husband's constant for all those years, gave me a secure base to start from. It was about creating something good that would make sense of my loss.

Last August I turned sixty-five. I don't feel it. I do feel like an odd bird out some days, at my age there are no children, no grand kids, when most everyone I know, despite their marital status, has them. I wondered how life would be different if I'd had children. Then a new friend said to me she wondered what life would have been like if she didn't have her kids and grandchildren. There was food for thought for both of us. We decided we are happy where we are. Isn't that the best place to be in life? Happy.

Will I find someone again? It is still not my answer - although sometimes I think about it. What I found was me. I feel like Wonder Woman on so many levels.

I am blessed to have happiness. I am blessed to have the month of May to make me remember all that I loved, still love, and all that is yet to come.  A month that full has got to be a merry month!

Traded my widow crown for my Wonder Woman accessories. Wanting to be my own super hero.

 

Speaking Gig at the East Metro Atlanta Christian Writers Group

May 11, 2013: Barbara Barth, “Marketing From My Computer”

 

 

 

I had a wonderful time on Saturday speaking to the East Metro Atlanta Christian Writers Group in Covington, Georgia.  The members made me feel like a star, and I needed it! Shaking in my shoes for my first speaking gig. My subject was close to my heart, online marketing! Could not have met a warmer group.  Thanks to everyone for inviting me!

Almost Two Years, A Personal Reflection On Life

Next month it will be two years that I have been a widow. Because I have been working on my book, I've lost track of time.  I still saw the words, widowed before my sixith birthday as I wrote, then edited my book.  Now I realize I am older. Shocking. As shocking as it is that time has passed. I've been writing for almost as long. At first late at night to clear my head and deal with life and the quiet of my house. Then writing for the pleasure it gave me. Telling my story and living my story as I wrote it. My writing bringing me to the present. From widow to woman (or girl as I still like to be called). My old life as an antique dealer for the most part gone too. I still love a good treasure hunt, but for my house. My tiny booth is for recycling things that I am replacing. I am now a writer. Yes, I am self publishing my book, but that is not what makes me a writer. If I am lucky my book will bring warmth to those who read it. Like chatting with your best friend, telling your secrets, opening your heart. But writing has become a way of life for me now. I can't imagine not writing every day. When I took my screen play writing course, my teacher asked the class. Do you feel you have to write, that you can't escape it, that it is possessing you?  I shook my head and thought, not really. I am writing to heal myself and keep myself busy. Then somewhere it clicked. I must  write. I love to write. I live to write. So that is what makes me a writer. I love to write on this blog, my garden blog and I am writing on The Red Room, Where The Writers Are. My brain is spinning with things I want to put down on paper. I am a happy writer. I may make you cry with me on the way, but you will end up smiling after our visit. I dwell on the positive and want to share that.
Yes, I started dating shortly after my husband died. The Unfaithful Widow. But the reality of everything is that I like people, I like men (and that is sometimes hard with the dates I've met! You'll read about those). But finding my life, my place without my spouse was my answer. Not a replacement beau or husband. Maybe later. I had to do something extraordinary to deal with his death and the change in my life. So my book is that bridge for me. Writing my prince charming.
I write every night and send my heart out into the universe, hoping someone will be touched, someone will hear me. Maybe someone will laugh. Maybe cry. Maybe someone will realize they are not alone when reading my words.
I look at my widow blog and have to laugh. It should be my dog blog. How silly is that? But the inspiration and love I find with dogs is right up there with my writing. Both have rescued me.
Oh my, in August I'll be 62. I've had my broken heart, but I was lucky to have had so much time with my husband. I am lucky again that I have found myself through creativity and the love of dogs. My future, I plan to be surprised. But I am writing every day and there is a new book in the works.
I have a wooden plaque I found at the thrift store. Someone hand painted it. It hangs in my kitchen as a reminder that each day we have is a gift to be treasured.

Yesterday Is History,

Tomorrow Is A Mystery,

Today Is A Gift,

That's Why We Call It the Present.

Enjoy your present that is today. Send enough energy into the universe and let it bring you what you need. Smile and say thanks for this moment.

Those are the thoughts that keep me happy, that and six dogs who make every second a party at this house.