Author Archives: Neva

Walk in Their Shoes

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All of us have family, friends, and casual acquaintances who either mean a lot to us or we wish they would disappear. Those people, we love or like, are easier to celebrate. We attend birthday parties, graduations, marriage ceremonies, or lavish gifts on a new baby. Sometimes, these activities are inconvenient, but we go to them.

Then, throughout our histories together the hard times come to everyone including ourselves. What happens when a marriage fails? Do we choose one partner over the other instead of walking in the shoes of both? What do we say to the person whose child died, or their partner? Often we distance ourselves because we don’t know what to say. And yet, a hug is all that’s needed. There are no adequate words of comfort in divorce or death. After the shock has worn off and life must continue as normally as possible, the demand to send a card, invite them for a meal, coffee, or even a trip together is when we begin to understand their pain. Perhaps we’ve experienced the same thing. We can then, say, “I know some of what you feel.”

Sometimes the people we know lose their glow. They hurt us in some way. It can be anything – promise not kept, lies told about us, we disagree with their point of view, they abuse us emotionally or physically, and so on. Do we look into their life and ask them why, or do we ditch them and ask them not to be part of our future? That might be necessary. But on the other hand, do we need to forgive the harmful deed and try to heal the relationship? I can’t answer that question for anyone. Every case is different, and each of us must struggle with those issues individually.

Sometimes it means sacrifice of our time, money, and emotions until they’re back on their feet. Years may go by. We get blisters on our feet, we grow weary of the situation, and we ask, when is it enough? And yet as one human to another, I believe we’re often called to walk in another’s shoes.

 

Writers and Their Helpers

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I’ve learned why authors have an acknowledgement page in their books. We need the expertise and advice of others in order to write effectively. I depend on my husband to encourage me when I feel thwarted by writer’s block or indecision about what topic to tackle next. He believes in my ability to write. That doesn’t mean he thinks every word or sentence is perfect. Yes, I take constructive criticism from him too.

I recently conducted interviews with an art therapist and a music therapist. I was thrilled they were willing to grant me the time and share their knowledge with me. I’m contemplating using both professions in a future book. I didn’t know how to find either kind of therapist, but the universe aligned itself, or something like that. I met a traditional therapist on a boat outing with a group on a river. She was part of the weekend crew. I mentioned I was a writer and thinking ahead to a sequel of my current novel. I asked her if she knew an art therapist. She said she did and would get permission to give me contact information. Help in an unusual place. A friend put me in touch with a music therapist.

Research is an important part of writing. Even if an author knows the subject well, the need for documentation still remains. I endeavor to find reliable sources. I either print the information or store it on my computer for future reference.

There is, of course, the need for a critique group, a professional editor who can look at the novel as a whole and relay in writing what the book needs. The ongoing need for help keeps me humble. I am reminded I don’t write in isolation. I need the help of other professionals.

Female Exams

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Most of the time, I’m quite satisfied to be a woman. But once a year the aggravation of the yearly female exams frustrate me. First, it’s a visit to the gynecologist to be checked that all the parts are functioning properly. The next step is a mammogram. And that wasn’t enough this year. I had a suspicious spot on my breast and had an ultrasound. Thank God, it was only a cyst. It was nerve wracking though. I didn’t want to hear the words, “It looks like cancer.”

The doctor also referred me for a bone density scan. The results were near average for my age. The technician measured my height. I lost three-fourths of an inch in height somewhere along the way. It’s common, I’m told, but it means I need to weigh less due to my diminished spine. Oh, dear. The diet continues.

Her consultation also included a recommendation to speak with a genetic counselor about the colon cancer that occurred in my family. I did that. Now, I have to ask one of my sisters to get medical records of her colon cancer surgery she had at the age of thirty. The geneticist also wants reports of her colonoscopies. Well, we’ll see how all that goes. It could be a time consuming project for my sister. After all that, then the genetic counselor will decide if my sister needs a test for a mutated gene for colon cancer. If she tests positive, then I would also be tested.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad I have good medical care. A lot of people don’t. It’s the hassle of it all that keeps me on edge for three or four weeks. Am I whining? Yes. Don’t want to hear it? I don’t either.

At least this year, I didn’t need a colonoscopy. My brother died of colon cancer and I miss him so much. He didn’t get his screenings. In the time he was diagnosed until he died, he told everyone he met to get a colonoscopy.

Once I get the genetics taken care of I can put aside my worries about these exams for this year. Every woman should have these tests. A friend of mine acquired medical coverage under the Affordable Care Act two months before she was diagnosed with colon cancer. She had a pre-existing condition that had prevented her from obtaining medical insurance. Fortunately, she was stage two and not worse. I hope she will have a long full life thanks to good care. Please, ladies, get your yearly exams. It’s worth it regardless of the inconvenience.

 

 

 

 

A Small Gift for the Homeless

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On Facebook recently, someone posted an idea to help the homeless. I decided to incorporate it into my life. I went to Family dollar and purchased a toothbrush, toothpaste, comb, bar soap, liquid soap, deodorant and granola bars. I put the items in a gallon size Zip Lock bag; and I plan to give the bag to the next homeless person who stands on street corner or highway asking for a handout. I want to do this on a weekly basis.

I imagine I’m like most people who don’t want to give money. The question I always ask myself is, “Where would he/she spend the money?” Yet, my heart hurts for those whose lives went wrong.

A relative, a Vietnam veteran, became homeless at one point in his life. His marriage had fallen apart and he was fired from his job for alcoholism. He hid in the window wells at public buildings at night to sleep and protect himself from the cold as much as possible. He walked the streets, his self-esteem gone. Yes, he had PTSD, yes, he was an alcoholic, but he couldn’t find peace in his heart or the world.

We took him in for seven months and insisted he go to AA. He did, but it took a relapse and, again, our insistence that he stay in AA for him to give up alcohol. He got a job at a warehouse even though he was educated for much more. He didn’t think he deserved a well paying job. He was sober thirteen years before he died of liver disease.

Every homeless person has a story. Some tales are not as sad as the one I related. Many lose their jobs and they were only days away from homelessness; because they had no savings or perhaps skills to change directions in their careers. Whatever the reason, I wish for a better life for all of them.

 

The Agony and Ecstasy of Writing

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Oh, the agony and ecstasy of writing. The end of December I completed the third draft of my novel, currently titled, Against the Wall. My critique group had been through three re-writes with me. (Yes, it took me a long time to write the book.) In January I found two beta (test) readers for it, and asked them to give me honest feedback. More changes to the book were required. After completing those, I downloaded a program called NaturalReader. I loaded my novel into it and it read my novel aloud. That was surprisingly beneficial as I listened for the flow and ease of diction. I found a few more corrections. Does it ever end? The changes, I mean. Probably not.

The next step in the revision process is to subject my book to a professional developmental/copy editor. I mailed my manuscript to her the first week of July. Now, it’s pins and needles time while I wait the next two months for her suggestions. She did let me know she had skimmed the first page and thought I had a good beginning. Yay! We writers are dependent on even a little bit of encouragement. It’s an emotional roller coaster at times.

True to the craft of writing, I’m sure my editor will suggest more changes. She has edited some of my work in the past, and I know she won’t berate me. She’ll make constructive comments intended to improve what I’ve already written. Whew! In the meantime, I’m thinking about the theme of my next novel. It’s mainly that dreaded blank page, but little by little ideas are emerging.

 

 

 

Writing Related Opportunities

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Inspiration to write often comes when I am with other writers. This is true whether I am with my critique group, monthly writing club meetings or writing conferences. The camaraderie we share, and the tips we gain are invaluable. I’ve learned to be a better writer.

On April 18, 2015, I attended the day long California Writers’ Club, Tri-valley Branch first writing conference. There were over eighty people and nine presenters. It was well organized and the quality superb. I focused on marketing techniques and e-book publishing since my novel is almost ready to release. It is in the hands of beta readers. Two of them have already responded and there are a couple of issues I need to address in my novel. Both are easy to fix, for which I am thankful. And there was positive feedback as well. I’m looking forward to receiving more comments.

Besides getting my novel ready for publication, I am writing a short story a month about subjects I care about. From these, I will determine what my next novel will be about. Short stories challenge me. They are concise, and the urge to meander is hard to control.

This month I’m submitting a short story to Glimmer Train. This is a top quality anthology published once a quarter. Competition is tough, so if I even received honorable mention I would consider it an honor.

April is a busy month for me. Many writing related activities occur. I’m one of the judges for the Tri-Valley Writers’ high school contest. We received fifty-one entries. The contest last year, which I also judged, had inventive, well written short stories. It will be hard to choose the winners of first, second, third and honorable mention winners.

I continue to believe in the written word. It is a powerful education device, and also a means of escape into the world of interesting characters who have meaningful stories to tell.

 

 

San Francisco Writers Conference

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I enjoy planning ahead and the organizational detail that goes with it. So, when I thought I could have arthroscopic knee surgery a few days before the February, 2015, San Francisco Writers Conference, I had carefully considered my options. Optimism ruled my heart.

I compared this surgery to the same one I’d had years ago on the other knee. I had suffered little pain and walked without aid right away. Not this time. The day after surgery, the pain had intensified and I used crutches to relieve it when I walked. Oh, woe is me, I thought. And the recommended exercises were to start day three – the day the conference started. I questioned my sanity about attending. What had I been thinking to say yes to this surgery? I did have other options. I could have waited until after the conference. But the meniscus had torn in September and I was tired of the pain when I walked and which often kept me awake at night. I had worked it out that I would take a taxi from my hotel to the front door of the Mark Hopkins, the site of the conference.

One of the organizers of the conference sent an email two days before it started saying the area around the hotel would be blocked off (two blocks) around the circumference of the hotel in order to protect the comings and goings of President Barack Obama, who was in town for meetings. My heart plummeted to the floor.

The Hilton hotel I planned to stay in was several blocks away from the Mark Hopkins. Cars and taxis would be barred from coming close, and there were expected traffic delays. Much to my chagrin, I realized I could not attend the conference. My knee would not withstand the pressure of the strenuous climb up or down the hills for three days in order to gain entrance to the hotel. Even people with healthy legs had trouble carting their suitcases up the hill. However, I decided unless the conference would refund my money, I was stuck. I’d attend anyway.

I phoned the event organizer and told him about my problem. I asked if he would refund my money. He said no, but he could carry my registration fee over to the 2016 conference. I’m thankful for the generous gesture. I contacted hotels.com and was able to cancel my room without penalty.

The day the conference opened I thought of my friends attending and fell into a blue funk I enjoy being with other writers and I had been told the presenters gave inspiring classes and were helpful on a personal basis. I had also paid extra money for the privilege of “pitching” my now complete novel to a few literary agents. The advantage of that meant they might say they liked my idea and wanted me to send a query letter via email. Seeing them at this prestigious conference would give precedence to me over non-attendees who submit their books cold to agents.

Well, there’s next year. Often in life, the missed opportunities give way to something better. I don’t know what that is at the moment, but will look for it in my future. In the meantime, I’m excited about next year’s conference. I’m sure another great group of writers, presenters, agents and editors will be present. And I will reserve my room at the Mark Hopkins hotel early.

LIFE IN A REMOTE VILLAGE

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While waiting for our new home to be built, we’re living in our vacation home on the coast of northern California in a remote village called Shelter Cove. The sound of the ocean brings me a sense of peace and solitude I love. If it’s a clear night you can see the Milky Way. It looks close enough to touch. The town is enveloped by the King’s Range to the north and the Sinkyone Wilderness to the south.

The only paved road to Shelter Cove goes west from Garberville which is on highway 101 over a mountainous road with hairpin curves and drops down the canyons. So, you’re either lost if you travel here, or you really want to be here to vacation or fish. The locals, as we call them, drive the Shelter Cove Road as if there were no tomorrow. I can’t bring myself to tackle those curves like a race car driver. Maybe before we leave in about a month to move into our new home, I’ll drive the winding, dangerous road the same way. (Actually, I hope not.)   For now, we look frantically for a turnout whenever someone rides our tail, so we can pull off and let them pass.

Amenities are few in a town this small. There is a deli, one or two restaurants, pizza take out, coffee shop, a small general store and five motels. Two gas pumps, at very high prices, are at the General Store. We drive to Garberville most of the time to shop for groceries and gas. In one month we’ve driven twice to Eureka to shop at COSTCOTM, which is a two hour trip one way. Medical care is either in Redway, Garberville, Eureka, Arcata or McKinleyville. Oh, dear.

I have to say, the quiet is relaxing and I often feel lazy. My eyes close as I sit in my recliner and I drift off into wonderful dreams about the ocean. We often picnic by the water and watch the sunset if there’s no fog, and take in the calming effect of nature.

Deer, jack rabbits and quail grace Shelter Cove. The deer often stand in the street or on the golf course unafraid of humans or cars. Fawns stay close to their mothers and the baby quails graze for food following their moms’ example. Once in a while a bear is sighted.

Small planes fly in and out on the small runway. No room for large planes. It’s fun to watch them take off or land. The flights are only in good weather and during the day. There are no lights to guide them at night. Yes, we live in a rural place.

While it is peaceful and refreshing, I haven’t decided whether or not I’m a country or city girl. My heritage on my dad’s side is rural. From the age of thirteen to nineteen he and his dad tracked and killed deer, rabbits, squirrel and wolves, both for eating and their pelts, which they shipped to St. Louis. They lived in ranching country in a stone house with a well. Plumbing and electricity did not exist in the house. Entertainment consisted of neighbors getting together for music jam sessions. Coffee and popcorn served as snacks.

The tradition of country living continued with my grandmother’s brother and his wife. They farmed forty acres in southeastern Kansas. My favorite thing to do as a child was to travel from the small town I lived in to their farm. Again, it was as primitive in lifestyle as my Dad’s young life. However, the quiet of the country invaded my soul and peace from the cares of my life went away. The chickens roamed the yard by day and at least two were beheaded by my aunt and uncle for the noon meal of fried chicken. The wood stove fascinated me. Brownies made by my aunt were baked in the oven, which was heated with the wood. I never figured out how she knew what temperature the oven should be. But the baked goods were perfect and delicious.

I have lived in a larger town or city most of my life. The hardships even in this serene village of Shelter Cove don’t compare to that of my relatives. Many retirees live here and delight in maintaining a rural lifestyle.

Our new home is located in a small town, but the drive to a larger city for main shopping is easy, relative to here. I’m looking forward to the tranquility I’ll once again experience, but the question of whether I’m a city or country girl remains to be seen.

CHANGE IS NOT EASY

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I have lived in one home for twenty-three years and thought I’d die there or at least live in it until I had to go to a nursing home. One trip to view a new home in a retirement community changed my mind. The new house has some enticing features – one level, solar panels and drought tolerant landscaping, but they don’t say anything about leaving a familiar environment. The differences of opinion about how to pack the goods we would take with us only underscored the stress of leaving. My husband is an engineer and I’m artistic. I have to say, with my husband packing, I doubt one thing will have been broken. Not so, with me.

The ebb and flow of life in any community revolves around jobs, friends, perhaps church, activities, and medical care. But even this says little about the memories evoked when my husband and I sorted through “stuff” we owned for as long as fifty years. Sometimes our words were, “I don’t remember this. Or in the case of pictures, “Who is this?” We wondered why we held on to some things, which now would go to the trash or garage sale. Embodied in all of this is the realization that the combination of all events made us who we are today.

Good and bad memories reside in the house and the “goods” we called home. I’m not the same person I was twenty-three years ago. I’ve learned how to forgive those wrongs inflicted on me. I’ve learned to laugh more, to love more and embrace the change that inevitably comes to all of us. We’re bombarded with new technology, medical discoveries, religious points of views, and moral and ethical questions.

Change includes the loss of established ways of living and well developed friendships. None of it is easy to absorb, especially if I fear exploration of the new. Parts of me are afraid of change. Other parts say go for it. The challenges of making new friends, new activities, a new town and community lure me, attract me to embrace a new adventure in my life. In order to move, I had to ask myself some questions.  Will I like it? Are good people everywhere? Will I find a writing community as good as my former one? Is there a faith community I will feel comfortable with? Will established circles of friends allow me entrance? Can I find like minded political views with a few people? All of these things challenge my comfort zone.

I can count on being the same person inside. I will establish new, good memories in my home. Though there will be sorrows in one form or another, I will weather the storms of life. I will form friendships of the quality I had before. I will not let go of my friends now separated by fifty miles. Thank goodness for email, Facebook, automobiles and the telephone. I’m thankful for the variety of ways we communicate in this point of time.

I can control my attitude towards change. I can grow with it or refuse to view it as my guide and friend. My life can be better or worse. I can be despondent or hopeful. Will it be easy to embrace the changes? I don’t think so. But I’m looking forward to new challenges and I’m excited about living in a new home. It’s my choice and I choose to be hopeful.

 

Written Across the Genres

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I was privileged to read an excerpt from my novel, My Side of the Wall, at Towne Center Books in Pleasanton, California. It appeared in the anthology, Written Across the Genres, edited by Julaina Kleist- Corwin and is available on Amazon.com.

Julaina wanted to give new writers an opportunity to have their work published. She and Linda Todd worked tirelessly to make it a valuable piece of art. The cover, designed by Julaina, is exquisite – something of which to be proud.

It is this type of opportunity that keeps me working on my novel. My characters are complex, and the drama of their lives leads them to different paths. The theme and plot of the book have developed to the point of near conclusion. I plan to be done with my third rewrite by the end of May. I will then submit copies to several beta readers to read and give comments. Even though my novel critique group gives me important feedback, I need fresh eyes and points of view to enhance the edits already given.

To borrow the title of Hillary Clinton’s book, it takes a village to write a book. Without the input of other writers I’m afraid my novel would not be as well developed as it is. I take courage from the writers who publish their works. We’re a supportive community who understand the complexities of writing, and also, the hard work it entails.

It’s also helpful that family and friends urge me to continue writing. My husband respects the quiet I need to write. All I have to say is, “I’m writing,” and he proceeds to works at his computer or attends meetings of the committees he serves. I appreciate the help of all who have supported me and know that their efforts have helped me bring my work much closer to a quality finished product.