I'm most recently a writer. In the six plus decades of my life, I've been a wife, mother, grandmother, Jill of all trades though mistress of but a few, and most of the time pretty content with my lot. As a much younger person, I believed I was called to write, but life and living distracted me for most of those decades. An unwilling transplant from the South, twenty years ago I unintentionally landed in the geographical center of the US. Writing came about in part due to the unwillingness, I expect. When caring for family, gardening, and renovating a century-old house failed to provide sufficient creative outlets, I turned to the one thing I always intended to do. Eight titles later, I'm grateful I found myself while Lost in the Plains!
Sunday, November 3, 2013
That Was the Month that Was
First of all, it was the first anniversary of the publication of my series, and I wanted to do some special things to celebrate that. I remember so well saying to John at the end of that first month, when we were feeling pretty darn proud of ourselves, "Let's wait and see where we are a year from now before we do too much celebrating." Well, we may not be rich or famous, but the books are selling and a few very nice people know my name now, so I feel safe in saying we have something to celebrate. So I did some promoting on FB, had a great free promotion for Heart of My Own Heart and on the very last day of the month, watched Hearts Unfold climb an actual Amazon Paid Bestseller list during a 99-cent special sale. All that felt really good, I must say.
And considering the way other things were going during October, I needed a little something to feel good about.
As it turned out, we spent much of the month watching our 19-year-old dachshund, Rudy, ease out of this life and into the next. He went so easily, I shouldn't complain. Always an incredibly healthy little guy, he just ran out of life. There's a lot to be said for dying of old age, if Rudy is any example. But it was still hard. I was there the day he was born, and digging his grave next to his mother's in the flower bed was pretty tough. He left behind a lot of memories for us to enjoy, as soon as we can get past the sorrow of loosing him.
Then there was Neewollah. Again. Okay, I know it's a great thing--the largest annual festival in Kansas and a homecoming so many people from several generations look forward to. But it happens just a few blocks from my house and surrounds the hotel where I work, and this year I just wasn't in the mood. Four nights of music, laughter, lights and chaos in a downtown that's normally quiet as a tomb failed to touch me with the usual magic for some reason. I was frankly glad when it had magically disappeared by Sunday morning. I guess grief and carnivals just don't mix well.
The final thing that happened in October, something you'd think would have me jumping for joy, is that I finished Shannon's Daughter. Oh, John has to do his thing with it now, and I'm sure there will be some minor rewrites. At least I hope they'll be minor! But for all intents and purposes, the book is written. Funny thing about that. You work, worry and wring your hands over the thing, much like you do your children, and then as soon as there's nothing else to be done, you feel perversely let down. Happens every time for me. The only cure is to start another book. Which I will in the next day or so, I think.
November is here, thirty days filled with possibilities. The holidays are upon us, a day to stop and give thanks, then time to prepare to welcome the Christ Child once again. Years come and go too quickly, made up of twelve short months, some of which are like this October just past. Something to celebrate, someone to mourn, work to complete and more to begin. It occurs to me I need to take more than a few random moments to appreciate those things for the gifts they are, and slow down long enough to live each blessed day more fully.