The Gift Parent
Category: Life

In my spare time (very rare these days) I work on our genealogy. At one time I gathered all my information together and designed--and embroidered--a family tree, three feet by three feet, all tiny counted cross stitch. At the foot of the tree is a section I call the Gift Parent Garden. That's where all of the step-parents are recognized.

An acquaintance once asked me about that Gift Parent Garden. In my research down various highways and byways, I repeatedly came across step-parents who had raised numerous children not their own. In one case, a young woman of twenty three married a man with seventeen children and raised them plus her own three and then seven more that they had jointly.

Granted, that was in the 1870s and things are slightly different now, because in this day and age, there are many, many step-parents due to divorce rather than death. Nevertheless, that doesn't mean that they are less important or less valued.

My mother died when I was ten. I was the oldest of the four children she left behind. About a year later my father presented us with a "new" mother. I'll freely admit that we were a handful. Any woman who would take on the wild bunch and turn us into a reasonably civilized group of young adults had to have a strong will, infinite patience, and eventually an overflowing well of love.

Last Tuesday my stepmother turned seventy-nine. She and my father have been married forty-six years. She's the only grandmother my children have known. My grandchildren call me Nanna and they call her GrandNanna.

I called her on her birthday and we talked for a while. We live far apart but our hearts are close. The memories flow over us, memories of other times and other places. Before I go to bed at night I thank God for the woman he sent to us--our Gift Parent.

Anny

Don't forget to drop by Amarinda's Blog and Kelly's Place and the OhGetAGrip.

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Nutty Behavior

I haven't quite figured out why people behave so strangely when they are away from home. What possesses them to do things that they would never think of doing when they're home? Do they think that no one is watching? That no one will know?

Wake up, people! This is the era of the Internet. Nothing is secret. Five minutes after the indiscretion, it will be posted on Youtube for the international audience to salivate over. Unless you're behind a closed door--alone--then your actions can possibly be posted for public consumption.

My philosophy is simple. When I walk out my door I'm "on". At any moment I could possibly meet a future reader or an unknown fan. At a convention, this is true--only more so. There you could meet an editor or future publisher or reviewer.

I'll be blunt. If I observe someone behaving badly, I won't be doing business with them. They could be berating a wait-person or groping a model or cussing at a maid...doesn't matter what the behavior is. It it's wrong, it's wrong. If they're an author I won't be buying their book. If it's a publisher or editor, I won't be sending them my manuscript. Their public behavior is a measure of their work ethic and their personal ethic. I don't want to have a working relationship with a person who has poor ethics.

I both observed and heard about some really questionable behavior. Of course, I heard. You know that it really is NOT true that what happens in Pittsburgh, stays in Pittsburgh. Really. Before most of us had wended our way home, numerous reports of bad behavior had hit the airwaves. Some of the reports were accompanied by pictures. See pics at eleven!

It's a shame that professional behavior is not the standard at conventions. There are enough nuts in the world already.

anny

Drop by Amarinda's Place for the latest on her refrigerater at www.amarindajones.blogspot.com and then stop by Kelly's Blog to find out where she's moving to... I'll never tell! www.kkirch.blogspot.com and finally, Blessings on your day!

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Face of a Friend

Funny. When you make a friend over the internet, you have an image in your mind of the way they look. Your image is based on those little hints of their personality that they allow to enter their posts or e-mails. Are they perky? Are they cranky? Do they snap or crackle or pop with impatience? Are they so vague you want to scream in frustration?

And then you meet them. It's amazing how quickly you assimilate their true image and meld the two together. Suddenly there is a complete person there when you read their posts and e-mails. That vague impression is swept away forever and the real person is set in it's place.

In the past week I've met many of my internet friends. There was a whirling rush of impressions--laughter, annoyance, anger, excitement, hope, worry--all swirling around in dizzying speed. There are snapshots in my mind that are more vivid than the sharpest photograph. Cindy in her dragon's wings. Bronwyn in her beautiful gown for the vampire ball. Brynn walking across the stage on the arm of a hunk. Judith glowing with accomplishment after her interview with K. Duffy.

A little over a year ago we were all strangers, slowly revealing ourselves as we grew more comfortable with each other, hesitantly sharing secrets as we built shaky bridges of trust. It has been a process of two steps forward and one step back. There are uncomfortable moments when we step off the path of good taste or too much information because without facial cues, it's sometimes difficult to know where the boundaries are.

Yet I smile when I remember each of them. Funnily enough, our meeting was one of the first times in my life when I had no responsibility for any individual's behavior except my own. It was a liberating experience to be in a large group of friends without any old memories dragging me down. I was free to form impressions and just enjoy.

There is the tendency in such a group for everyone to feel responsible for everyone else. Are they lonely? Do they need company? Should we ask them to sit at our table? But this was a group of mature adults, each of them capable of taking care of themselves. And so any togetherness was simply for the joy of being together.

Too soon Saturday arrived and the goodbyes began. Too soon. Suddenly, there seems to be so much that we didn't say. So many things we wanted to share. Where did the time go?

Perhaps what we forgot was that the internet with e-mail and posts is still available. Only now we will be comfortable with those messages, tapped out quickly between a mug of coffee and the morning paper. Why? Because now we can see the face of a friend.

Anny

Seems so difficult to get back into the groove, doesn't it? Don't forget to drop by Kelly's Blog and Amarinda's Place... and of course the OhGetAGrip blog where we're still catching up. Blessings on your day.

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Home, Sweet Home
Category: Writing and Poetry

Well, we're home. That pretty much sums it all up. It was quite a week. So here are the highs and lows as I see them.

Highs
Meeting a lot of people I've only known on the internet. It was great to finally have names to put with faces. I especially enjoyed putting faces to authors' names that I've read over the last few years. There were a couple of really big surprises. No, I won't say who, but I'm still reeling from the shocks.

I loved meeting all the frogs. Most of them were pretty close to what I thought they would be like. Of course there were a couple exceptions and no I'm not going to say who they were either. All of them were lovely women and of course, there is that one bull frog who was unfailingly polite and patient with us "wimmin folk".

Personal kick-in-the-pants highs... meeting Morgan Hawke and having a quick chat. Having one of the models ask me if I was the one that wrote those "flower" books. Having a couple of authors in the elevator ask me when the next Valley book would be coming out. Geez, I was so excited that I didn't get their names, but they did ask for my card. And finally, standing shoulder to shoulder with a bunch of frogs so Syneca could take our picture. That was pretty cool.

I attended two fabulous work shops. One, taught by Judy Mays, was on "showing, not telling" and the other was a terrific workshop on writing a synopsis. Right this moment I don't remember the author's last name, but her first name was Sharon. Those two workshops made the trip worthwhile.

Lows
Hotel Hell. It was pretty clear that the powers that be at the hotel had no idea what had hit them. There was a continual round of faux pas and idiotic mistakes. Poor planning, poor judgment and crappy management led to a week culminating in my earnest desire to get the heck out of Pittsburgh. I will say that the staff I dealt with personally were incredibly polite and tried to be helpful, but once the juggernaut was moving, they didn't have a snowball's chance in you know where.

The food management and menu planning were a disaster. Okay, I know that it wasn't their fault that I'm allergic to chicken, but boy howdy! did we have to have chicken at every meal? Could we maybe alternate it with something else? My househunk loves chicken and even he is chickened out.

I have to say that not a single presentation went as planned. Hmmm. How shall I say this? I am a mature woman--a mature professional woman. While I did not expect a polished performance by anyone, I did expect a well organized program. As a retired secretary, I believe that three secretaries and a custodian could have probably done a better job. From the outside looking in (and as a new attendee, I was very much on the outside) I had to wonder how so much could go so wrong.

I could forgive all sorts of things except the stuff that just made us all look silly and incredibly unprofessional. I went to this convention anticipating an event that would make me proud to be an author. I left kind of hoping that readers would have a good attack of amnesia regarding my attendance.

Summing it up:
Back when I was working for a school district we always ended our courses and events with evaluation forms. No, they weren't long. Yes, they were anonymous. And yes, we paid a lot of attention to the information we gathered on those forms. Frequently, changes were instituted based on the feedback we received. I would heartily recommend that process.

I'm not sure if I'll ever go to another one. I suspect that it will take time and distance before I can make that decision. I do know that there was an awful lot of money spent on something that just might not be worthwhile. As much as I delighted in meeting the frogs, I could almost drive around the country meeting them one by one for about the same amount of money. And I likely would be able to spend more individual time visiting with them. Ultimately, the people were the only thing worthwhile. And that saddens me. I wanted more.

Anny

Kelly's home safely with family visiting her, but perhaps she'll have time to blog at www.kkirch.blogspot.com and Amarinda has been holding down the home fort at www.amarindajones.blogspot.com Blessings on your day.

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The Interview
Category: Life

Most people suffer a variety of insecurities in their lives. It might be the usual--"Does this make me look fat?" or something really obscure--"What if they don’t like my voice?" "What if no one likes my book?" "What if no one talks to me?"

There are few situations that are as stressful as interviewing for a new job, especially if you’ve been out of the job market for a long time. The year before I turned forty, my company shut down and moved to another state, callously tossing me out into a closed job market along with seven hundred and seventy other unemployed workers. Ours was a small county with few jobs and our old company was one of the major employers in the region.

After assessing my chances of getting a job in a different field, I opted to go back to school. For some reason, waving a piece of parchment under an employer’s nose is more impressive than just knowing how to do the job. So I took my unemployment check (one third of my old salary) and went to school everyday. The check was totally dependent on attendance at school. And if we were more than twenty minutes late, that automatically counted as an absence.

Things at my house were kind of grim. The househunk had fallen from a scaffold at work so he was on disability. My two sons were laid off the same time I was, but because they were still in high school they didn’t qualify for unemployment. So my disability check was very important.

I started school in October. By January I was finished with the course, but with no job in sight I made sure that I kept attending school so that I received my check. One day the househunk and I spent the morning hours under our mobile home repairing a broken pipe. Time slipped away and before I realized it, I was late for school. There was no time to change clothes. I brushed the mud from my sweat pants, threw on a jacket and took off.

That afternoon, our instructor came in very excited and as soon as class was started, she took me to the side and told me all about a job that was available right downstairs in one of the offices at the school. She urged me to go down and ask for an application so I did. It was long, so I took it back upstairs and filled it out. Then, wanting to impress them with my business like behavior, I went back downstairs, turned it in, and asked for an appointment for an interview.

I’ll never forget the expression on the secretary’s face. She took my application, holding it by the corner between two fingers as though she was going to catch something from me and carried it into the Director’s office. There was the buzz of conversation. Then the secretary came out and announced, "She’ll see you now."

"But I’m not dressed for an interview!" I protested.

"Yeah, she knows." From her smirk, it was obvious that she’d given the Director a pretty clear description.

Now, I was positive that I wasn’t going to get this job so I decided to make the best of things and use it for interview practice. I followed her into the office. The Director took my jacket which led to the mortifying discovery that my t-shirt had a hole in the shoulder seam. Obviously, I wasn’t going to impress the woman except in a bad way!

We had a very nice chat. She was gracious and polite and listened intently when I talked. After the interview she mentioned that she would let me know if two days what her decision was as she had two more people to interview. I went back upstairs and thought no more about it.

The next day as I was walking upstairs to go to my class, I heard a woman calling my name. I turned around and it was the Director. "Do you want the job?"

"Of course!"

"Well, then come into my office!"

I went back down those stairs so fast I was in danger of tripping. We had another chat. I filled out more paperwork. And she arranged an interview with the Asst. District Superintendent. That was Thursday. On Monday, I started work as the Director’s secretary. And that secretary that was so snotty? I was her new supervisor.

I was there thirteen years. About five years after that interview, my boss and I were having a discussion about that interview. She told me why she hired me. "I figured if you could gracefully survive an interview under those conditions, you could handle anything that happened in this office."

So why did I tell you my little story, you ask. Well, I learned something then. I learned that it’s not how we handle life when we’re prepared; it’s how we handle the things that hurtle out of the darkness in left field when we’re totally unprepared that counts in the long run. That’s what demonstrates what we’re made of. We can collapse into a quivering heap and whimper that we’re not ready. Or we can face the challenge head on and stare it down into submission. And when we win, we can walk away with our head held high.

Anny

Want a blog or three to start your day right? Try Amarinda, Kelly, or OhGetaGrip! Or any from the list on the right! Blessings on your day.

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Week of Release
Category: Writing and Poetry

Time stops for the author in the week that their book is scheduled for release. There are a million things to do and all of them are spelled P-R-O-M-O! If you look in the upper right hand corner of this blog you’ll see a list of chats.

What is a chat you may ask? Well, most of them are sites located on Yahoo where people can exchange information, ideas, or just about anything else that they want to exchange. The sites listed are specifically designed for authors and readers to meet and talk. During a scheduled chat, the author may post excerpts from her books (or his books!), run a contest, pose questions, answer questions, or just about anything else they can think of to promo their books.

You may notice that I have several chats lined up. I invite you to drop by and check it out! Daffodil will be released March 28. So no telling what I might get up to in the name of promo.

Other things that may happen in that last week include FLEs, blogging about the new book, or changing the website to promote the new book. Thankfully my FLEs were done last week. FLEs are the final line edits that must be done before the book is released. So YAY, my FLEs are done!

As for changing the website, I did a little sprucing up earlier in the week. Made sure that things were up-to-date. And now, except for small changes this month, I’m done with that. I enjoy messing around with my webpages so I like to keep them current. Strangely, that’s a task that I don’t find difficult.

So that leads us to blogging...

Daffodil coming out March 28! Here’s a small snippet!

Timmy grabbed a hot yeasty roll from the bread basket, tore it apart and dunked it in the smoking stew. Lifting the dripping bread to his mouth, he took a hearty bite and sighed with relief. It was delicious. The cook was probably a troll, he speculated. They were the best cooks in the kingdom. Without further hesitation, he dug in. He had polished off the stew and was nearly finished with the chicken pot pie when he heard the name "Sidney" from the booth behind him.

Pausing in his eating he listened intently.

"Oh please! What kind of idiot keeps a pet rock?" A male with a whiney light tenor voice exclaimed.

"When you’re the king you can have any kind of pet you want—even a rock," A deeper voice replied and with horror, Timmy recognized Florian LeFleur was the speaker.

Tenor voice laughed heartily. "That’s exactly why we need a new ruler. Tomorrow morning I’ll take Sidney to the blacksmith and borrow his anvil and sledge hammer. When I finish, Sidney will just be a pile of marbles."

Florian growled. "Don’t be stupid, Nigel. All that will do is make the king angry. You’ll screw the plan and your mother will lock you away with the pixies. Quit screwing around with the damned pet rock. Everything is under control. Our spies have informed me that my ex-butler, Raulf has talked that idiot Gareth into giving Daffodil to him. It should be very easy to snatch her right from under his nose."

"The butler did it, huh?" Nigel chortled in glee. "I always wanted to say that."

Timmy heard Florian sigh gustily. "I cannot believe Morgana is your mother. She must be tearing her hair out. No wonder she suffers from PMS. I would have drowned you at birth. Get me the damned pet rock so I can return it to the king. We don’t want him to suspect a thing. Then go to the turkey races like you said you were going to."

"What? I don’t want to go to the turkey races! I decided to go visit the ladies at the Triple T," Nigel declared petulantly.

"No. Do as you’re told. If Nathan’s spies can’t find you where you’re supposed to be, it will mess up the plan." Timmy felt the seat shake when Florian shifted impatiently. "Do it tonight because I have to meet Ninian at the Hieney Estate tomorrow."

Want more? Only five more days...

Anny

Drop by Amarinda’s Place at www.amarindajones.blogspot.com to check out what she’s up to. Then pop over to Kelly’s Blog at www.kkirch.blogspot.com to find out if she’s still chasing UFOs. Today I launch a new group blog at www.ohgetagrip.blogspot.com where the subject is Wonder Woman all week long. Drop by to find out what my view of Wonder Woman is...

Blessings on your day!

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To Blog or Not...

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Easter Sunday Quote
Category: Religion and Philosophy

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Daffodil... again.
Category: Writing and Poetry

Thought I would offer one more teaser this week from Daffodil, coming March 28 from Ellora’s Cave!

Raulf made the turn onto Sher Wood Road well after the sun rose flashing across the sky. Far off to the left light glittered on the sea that separated Avalon from Chrystal Isle. Seagulls screamed above the cliffs that bordered the sea as they dipped and dived for the scraps on the narrow rocky beach below.

Twenty minutes later as they were passing a surprisingly tidy cluster of cottages, the power bike sputtered once, twice and then died. Raulf had the presence of mind to stop on the first halting cough thereby preventing them from tumbling to the ground but it was clear that the power bike had something seriously wrong with it.

With a disgruntled curse he dismounted and surveyed the tiny village as he yanked the creased map out of the bag hanging from the bike and tried to figure out exactly where they were. If he was reading the map correctly, the village wasn’t even marked on it.
"Why don’t we go ask someone where we are?" Daffodil asked tentatively.

"No! I’ll figure it out in a minute!" Raulf tapped the map with a long impatient finger. "We just passed the lighthouse. And we haven’t reached the fire tower… So we should be right here at this funny squiggle and this village is not supposed to be here!"

"I’ll go ask," Daffodil offered as she prepared to hop off the bike.

"No! Real men don’t ask for directions!"

"If I ask, then it will be all right," Daffodil pointed out in a calm reasonable tone. "Not even the dumbest person could mistake me for a man."

"Maybe if you were alone. But you’re my woman and everyone will know that you’re really asking because I’m lost. No. I’ll take care of everything myself. Stay with the bike."

Raulf stomped off to the nearest cottage where two little tow-headed girls were playing jacks on the stoop. "What’s wrong, mister? Ya lost?" the older one demanded in a high piping voice.

He cringed and replied firmly, "No. I am looking for your blacksmith."

"Don’t have one mister," the other little girl imparted with a gap-toothed smile. "Da says it’s a pain in the ass but no one wants to work in the middle of nowhere."

A stocky woman rushed onto the porch and snatched the girls up, shoving them behind her. "Who are you? What are you doing with my girls? Did he hurt you?" she demanded as she patted them worriedly with one hand.

"First of all, madam, I did nothing to your daughters. Secondly, I’m looking for a blacksmith to repair my power bike so that my mate and I can continue our journey." Harassed and tired, Raulf waggled his index finger at the woman. "And thirdly, I don’t hurt children—boys or girls!"

"Mate, huh?" The woman scrutinized Daffodil, noting the wild golden curls and revealing short skirt and tight blouse. No better than she should be was her assessment. If these two were mated, she was a fricasseed dragon. "Last house on the left is where Vinnie lives. He can call someone to take your bike to Ship Town." She dragged the girls inside and slammed the door shut behind her.

With a shrug Raulf turned away and stalked down to the last house on the left, mounted the steps and pounded on the door. Eventually, a burly bald man with a jagged scar running down the left side of his face opened the door. After Raulf explained his problem, the man opened the door and invited him in. "Probably the best thing would be to have Greenbeard take you over to Ship Town," the man grunted. "I’ll call his communicator and see how far away he is."

Greenbeard agreed to deliver Raulf, Daffodil and the powerbike to Ship Town and confirmed a pickup location with Vinnie. Then Vinnie and Raulf took on the arduous task of carting the bike down the cliff to the beach while Daffodil waited up on top. As Raulf pointed out, he had enough to deal with without worrying about her falling down the cliff too.

Daffodil was tempted to tell him what to do with himself, the cliff and the bike. She refrained mostly because she was well aware that men have no coping mechanisms other than sex to deal with life’s little problems. She was in no mood to accommodate him at the moment. So while Vinnie and Raulf wrestled with the power bike, Daffodil perched uneasily on their baggage at the top of the cliff, keeping an eye out for Greenbeard’s ship.

About the time that Vinnie and Raulf reached the beach, Daffodil spied a ship with green sails off the coast of Chrystal Isle. She heard Raulf shout and then saw Vinnie pointing out to sea. With surprising speed, the ship approached the beach where Vinnie waited while Raulf trudged back up the steep trail, no doubt to retrieve the baggage and herself. Daffodil was ready when he reached the top, baggage neatly stacked at the trailhead except for her own pack which was strapped on her back.

"You’re ready." Raulf’s face, pink with light sunburn and exertion betrayed his surprise. "Great!"

Without a word, Daffodil began the descent, leaving Raulf to deal with the rest of the bags. After all, as he had taken great pains to point out, he was the man and he was in charge. Fine.

Anny

Drop by Amarinda’s Place and Kelly’s Blog to start your day off right at www.kkirch.blogspot.com and www.amarindajones.blogspot.com Blessings on your DAY!

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Daffodil...

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