Coming Saturday - Blog Hop - Surprising Secondary Characters

Tired of today’s partisan bickering already? Escape into THE CANDIDATE it’s a campaign rollercoaster you’ll love. In one reviewer's words: "reminiscent of John Grisham."

It’s down to the last two months in a neck-and-neck presidential election race. Matt Steele is trying to run a clean and honest campaign, while not alienating his party base with details of the harsh economic realities he knows he will have to embrace if he wants to restore the American dream. While campaigning, he is slipped an old snapshot by an Amerasian immigrant who claims to be the son of Matt’s closest friend who was killed in Vietnam. Matt’s acceptance of this man and his claim erupts into allegations that the young man is Matt’s illegitimate son, something neither Matt nor his adversaries believe. But the photograph also triggers buried memories, and old guilt about the woman in the picture and the promises Matt made to her after his friend was killed. Rolly Miller, a charismatic man with a reputation for turning his state around is ahead in the polls. He wants to maintain his public image as a grieving widower and keep his long time lover a secret until after he has won the election. Blair Cabot is an outsider who is determined to bury his opponents whatever it takes, including arm-twisting, blackmail, and lies. But Cabot’s past includes some very shady shipping deals and three men who may have died to keep them quiet.

How will the candidates manage to keep their pasts buried as November approaches and the margins in the polls get even narrower? Or will all the ugly secrets get bared and change the outcome of the election?

For Matt Steele, the photo shoved at him during a rally, took him off guard, jerking him back to a time he’d done everything to forget, to emotions he never wanted to relive. In the midst of this hotly contested race for the White House, the photo and the man who brought it to him will challenge everything Matt thought he knew about himself.

Rolly is a decent guy just trying to get past the election before he comes clean about his personal life, but when one of his opponents gets nasty, his lover launches a Twitter campaign filled with half truths and innuendo to bring the other candidate down. The outcome is anyone’s guess, or perhaps one man’s worst nightmare coming true.

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Excerpt:

Twitter: POLBRAT: Col Cabot – What’s w arms smuggling? Isn’t that treason?

TJ barged into Blair Cabot’s private office without knocking. “Who’s Colonel Cabot?”

“Colonel Cabot?” Blair glanced up, a blank look of incomprehension on his face.

“This Colonel Cabot!” TJ slapped a sheaf of computer printouts on Blair’s desk.

Blair shuffled through them, then looked up. His brow still furrowed in confusion. “I don’t know any Colonel Cabot.”

“Well, he appears to be connected with Blair International. And it’s being suggested that he killed your once-upon-a-time chief operating officer. That the death wasn’t a suicide as determined at the time, and that it was a cover-up for some kind of shady arms shipments.”

Blair went suddenly ashen, and TJ felt the shock of that involuntary admission clear down to his toes. He’d been so sure this whole Twitter thing had been a hoax.

“There are no colonels connected with Cabot Industries. And Bill Candace did commit suicide. Blair stood, clearly pulling himself together and trying to get a handle on things.

“Then who the hell are they referring to?”

My mom changed her address to heaven eight years ago this week. In some ways it seems impossible it’s been that long since the day I held her hand and heard her draw her last breath is still so vivid in my mind. But then I think on all the things she’s missed. Among other things, my mom loved babies and there have been five new great grandchildren she would have loved to meet and cuddle. Our annual family vacations at the lake, holidays, weddings, graduations and family celebrations of all sorts. However much my mom has missed, though, we’ve missed her more.

My mom had the biggest heart of anyone I know and she shared her love with everyone her life touched. When I was growing up, she seemed to worry about everything and it was frustrating at times, but with age and motherhood, I’ve discovered that worry is part of caring. It’s easy not to worry when you don’t care so much, and my mother cared fiercely about all the important people and things in her life.

But as the years pass and the stinging loss fades to longing, it’s the memories of her that stay bright and remind me of all the things she brought into our lives.

My dad called her his cutie. In today’s world many women would find that offensive, but to my mother it was an endearment she treasured. And it was part of her personality. Even in her last years in the assisted living home, the caregivers often told her she was cute. (She was barely five feet tall by then.) She scoffed at the notion and told them she wasn’t cute, she was old. But I think she was still touched by the appellation.

As I look back over all the years, it’s a kaleidoscope of memories jumbled into one brilliant, beautiful pattern: the hours she spent sewing tiny, elaborate clothes for my favorite 6 inch doll, the abandoned baby squirrel she nursed until it grew strong enough to become a pet, the lily of the valley she would tuck into a tiny basket to leave on her mother’s door on May Day, her encouragement when I was down, her joy when I succeeded. We still laugh over the mosquito she rescued from freezing to death in the refrigerator and her refusal to let us squash it while it was still immobile with cold. And it’s even easy now to laugh at the way she would end an argument she was losing, by shutting her eyes so she could no longer read your lips. (She was completely deaf for the last 50 years of her life.)

                 Mom, Scotty & Me                      My Grammy, Me, my son Alex and Mom

Toward the end of her life, she began to horde and hide M&Ms and after she went into assisted living we found all her stashes in the most unlikely places. I think of her every time I find something in my own home that I tucked away and then forgot about. I also think about her when I’m folding clothes and realize how many of my garments are blue. My mom loved blue, pretty much to the exclusion of wearing any other color and I still chuckle about the day we were moving her into her new room at the assisted living facility and my daughter-in-law, who was hanging clothes in the closet held up a pink flowered blouse and began singing the Sesame Street song One of these things is not like the other.

We all have our favorite memories of my mom and we often share them when we get together at family affairs. But the most poignant and heartwarming of all the memories I hold in my heart is that of her smile. She smiled, I’m sure, at my first steps and the first time I called her Mama. She smiled, I know, at my graduation and my wedding and all the triumphs and joys of my life. But near the end of her life, when Alzheimer’s had taken so much away from her, even though she no longer remembered exactly who I was, her smile when I walked into her presence would light up an entire auditorium. She still knew that I was an important part of her life and she was happy that I'd come. That smile still wraps itself around my heart and keeps her close.

I love you mom. And I miss you, always.

Evelyn Woodd Stark Parker  December 3, 1922 – February 19, 2008

In the spirit of Valentines Day, this month’s Blog Hop asks: Why do you think 'bad' boys are so popular as heroes and 'bad' girls so often reviled? In real life, can those labeled bad change (certainly 'bad' is open to interpretation), or are such fictional romances misleading?

I think there are a couple main reasons why the bad-boy hero works in romances if not in the real world. One of the appealing things is the idea that the love of a woman can turn the life of a bad boy around. Perhaps we see a hurt little boy inside desperately trying to convince the world he’s tough and can’t be hurt. In real life the love of a good woman is often not enough to turn a bad boy away from a life of misbehavior and recklessness. However hard a woman tries, she might never pierce the protective shell she has convinced herself he’s built around his heart, and thus transform him. But the desire and belief that her love can make the difference still holds out promise both in stories and in real life.

Another thing most women want, although some will never admit it, is adventure. Maybe even a bit of naughty adventure. Sometimes adventure to the point of living dangerously. And what could be more dangerous than to fall in love with a man who has a cocky disregard for societal convention and a reputation for wildness. Somehow there is more sexy, edgy appeal in a wild ride behind a man on a barely broken stallion, a rumbling Harley that breaks all the speed limits or on the tossing deck of a pirate ship than could ever be found in a classy town car or a Carnival cruise ship. I’m not saying that there can’t be a steamy and thoroughly satisfying love scene in the back of that town car or on the starlit deck of a cruise ship, but the heart-pounding excitement of the stallion, or the motorcycle adds danger to the same love scene, and therefore more adventure. That’s what the bad boy brings to the romance table. It’s the difference between being kissed breathless in the middle of the town square where the whole world can see in varying degrees of shock and finding a socially respectable time and place.

As for the bad girl not being an acceptable heroine – it’s the double standard that prevails everywhere. Two guys can stagger down the street stinking drunk and singing the latest hit off key and they’re just being boys. Two women do so, and there aren’t too many people who find it cute or even remotely acceptable. Guys might enjoy a wild senseless fling with a woman who loves being naughty, but they don’t marry them and most romance writers instinctively know that and don’t push those boundaries.

Are romance novels unrealistic? Of course they are. But that’s why we read them. Some of us are fortunate to find and marry our soul mates. Some of us have good and satisfying love lives and marriages. Most of us have memories of the boys and men we loved and lost. But let’s face it most of those stories, if written into books would make for some pretty dull reading. We want the excitement. We want to fall in love with both our heroes, bad boy or otherwise, and our heroines. We want to watch them struggle to overcome the conflicts that keep them apart and become better for the struggle. And we want our happy ever after. Again and again. That’s what romance fiction is all about.

See that these authors think about the Bad Boy Hero:

Helena Fairfax  http://helenafairfax.com/
Rachael Kosinski http://rachaelkosinski.weebly.com/
Anne Stenhouse  http://annestenhousenovelist.wordpress.com/
Connie Vines http://connievines.blogspot.com/
Fiona McGier http://www.fionamcgier.com/
Rhobin Courtright http://www.rhobinleecourtright.com/       

Many years ago, I had a discussion with my father about whether a baby is a miracle or not. He maintained that they were not because miracles were rare and babies are born every day. I argued that an infant is a miracle because of all the things that have to happen just right for an embryo to become such an amazing creation. From just a single tiny egg and an even tinier sperm, comes this intricate miniature human being. Their senses are all functioning even if they haven’t learned how to process what they see and hear – they do know what Mommy smells like and they know her heartbeat. And did you know that a fetus even has their own distinct fingerprints well before they are born? How can anyone not consider that a miracle?

Even if that tiny perfect human being doesn’t seem like a miracle, just think about the potential. Consider the mind-boggling number of things this little person will learn in just one year – how to smile, to laugh, the sound of their father’s voice or a sister’s giggles. How to put things in their mouth, how to crawl and even perhaps to walk. How to say Mama and Dada and sometimes how to sign what they can’t yet say. They’ll discover what marvelous things their own hands are and how to explore their world with every sense they have. In the words of my granddaughter, their world expands from ‘sleeping, eating and pooping’ to that of a little person on a mission, bustling about his world learning what he likes and dislikes, what sunshine feels like and rain, grass under his feet and snowflakes on his nose. How to hold a crayon and a fork and open supposedly childproof containers. And that’s just the first year. From there he or she can grow up to be anything: a waitress, a soldier, a doctor, a teacher, a lawyer, a scientist or a poet or even a leader of nations.

But despite the outcome of the debate between my dad and me, or the wider world either, I know I have another new miracle in my family. Nicholas Philip, all nine pounds two ounces of him arrived on time and healthy. He’s grandbaby number fifteen for me. And every time, in spite of having had four children of my own, I am amazed all over again at how tiny and perfect a newborn is. I marvel at those tiny fingers and toes, the big adorable eyes, the little bowed mouths. I love the little sounds they make when they sleep and I especially love they way they smell.

Every one of my babies and grandbabies have created memories that are special and different, but one thing that never changes is how wonderful it is to cuddle a sleeping baby against your chest. Even in the middle of the night, or perhaps especially in the middle of the night when all the world is sleeping and the soft cover of darkness surrounds you, curled up in a rocking chair with a sleeping infant cuddled against your shoulder is one of the sweetest things in the world. I love those moments and cherish them.

So, welcome to the world Baby Nicholas. You are a special miracle and I love you.

January 2016 – Round Robin Blog Hop topic - What are one (or two) writing projects you want to accomplish this year? What will be any obstacles you might encounter?

The first part of this month’s topic is harder to answer than the second because I have far more than one or two projects I want to accomplish. Should I tell you about the idea that’s been hibernating in my brain for some years waiting for me to get around to writing it? Or should I discuss the book written long ago that I absolutely love the idea of, but know it needs a lot of work that I’d like to revisit. Or a new novella to go with my series? Or the final edits for book 4 in my Tide’s Way series? Or a short story here and there? I want to accomplish ALL of these.

But since everyone loves a man in a kilt, I think I’ll share a little about The Piper, which is the story that’s been waiting patiently for me to write. Years ago when I was doing research for a different story I spent several days in a College library, comfortably ensconced at one of their big old oak desks with a pile of books around me. I was sitting there thinking how awesome it would be if I could read an old journal written by a man in the time period and place I was researching. From that random thought came the premise for my story.

The story is of an author who for one reason or another sets out to write a book about a legend, and in the process falls in love with a man from a bygone era. The Piper was a soldier with a Scottish regiment who bravely played the bagpipes to hearten his comrades, putting himself in harm’s way with no thought to his own safety. I know my ending, but I’m going to keep that a secret so once it’s written, perhaps you’ll want to buy it. A few days ago, my brainstorming group, the Sandy Scribblers, came together for our monthly meeting and I shared the bare bones and random ideas I’d mulled over for years. Lots of great new possibilities were explored, possible endings, possible reasons for the book this author was writing, intertwined relationships and totems, and how to pull off a love-affair that spanned more than a hundred years. So, now I’m really excited to write this story.

I will get the edits for Book 4 in the Tide’s Way done and I might complete the novella for that series. I know I’ll write more short stories which I offer my readers for free, either on Amazon and B&N or on my own website. But the biggest monkey wrenches in my writing plans are things that take me away from my library (my study) for weeks at a time. Even though my laptop goes with me, family comes first and not a lot of serious work gets done. I’ve already traveled twice this winter and in less than two weeks I fly north again to welcome my fifteenth grandchild. A mere month later I will again be in the air, this time to attend the confirmation of another grandchild and about 7 weeks after that yet another granddaughter is having her first holy communion. All important events Grammy must attend. There will also be another christening. (Thank heavens my grandson won’t graduate from college until 2017.) And that’s just this spring. Who knows what summer and fall will bring.

The reason these interruptions are truly obstacles is that as an author, I write best when I am totally emotionally connected with my characters and the events in their lives. Being with family divides that emotional connection and makes it harder to get my head back in the game when I get back to my writing. I often have to go back and re-read all or some of what I’ve already written to get myself immersed again and the muse starts cooking. Maybe if I were a plotter it would be different. I’d have a detailed outline I could follow and just pick up where I left off. But I’m a pantser and I write character driven stories, which means being IN my characters’ heads and hearts, living the events with them.

Same is true for me while writing a book.

Check out these other authors – see what they have planned for 2016.

Victoria Chatham http://victoriachatham.blogspot.ca
Margaret Fieland http://margaretfieland.com/2016/01/23/writers-to-do-list-for-the-new-year/
Diane Bator http://dbator.blogspot.ca/
Beverley Bateman http://beverleybateman.blogspot.ca/
Connie Vines http://connievines.blogspot.com/
Bob Rich  http://wp.me/p3Xihq-Bm
Rachael Kosinski http://rachaelkosinski.weebly.com/
Judith Copek http://lynx-sis.blogspot.com/
Kay Sisk http://kaysisk.blogspot.com
Anne Stenhouse  http://annestenhousenovelist.wordpress.com/
Hollie Glover http://www.hollieglover.co.uk
Helena Fairfax  http://helenafairfax.com/2016/01/23/setting-goals-my-writing-projects-for-2016-and-some-advice-required/
Rhobin Courtright http://www.rhobinleecourtright.com/      

On a mild winter day with the sun warm on my shoulders, I often think back to the first day I saw my little bungalow. I’d been searching for a place to rent for a few months while I went house hunting for a permanent home here in northeast Florida. On the third day one agency I'd stopped at sent me to check out two really likely places at Crescent Beach, but while I thought through the pros and cons of each, I continued on, driving south over the bridge taking me from Anastasia Island to Summerhaven.

If you blink going through Summerhaven, you’ll find yourself going over the next bridge onto Rattlesnake Island – it’s that small. With the ocean on my left, I turned onto old A1A. Most of the homes were small and old, weathered and nestled into the dunes as if they’d been there forever. A few surfers were catching rides on the long curling waves that broke on Summerhaven’s shore, but the neighborhood itself was quiet and empty in the early afternoon in the middle of the week in December. On the corner of the only road that runs east and west on this small piece of land were two small bungalows with a rental sign.

I looked back at the ocean so close on my left and the little house on the right. Wouldn’t this be a great place to stay? I called the number on the sign and was told that the houses were empty and one of them would be available for rent for the months I had in mind, but at the moment, there was no one who could come down to let me inside to check them out. So, I parked the car and got out to explore what I could see from the outside. After peeking in unshuttered windows and liking what I saw, I walked slowly back to the car, pausing in the middle of the deserted road to look back at the one I might stay in if I wished. In that moment, I knew this place was special.

Today was another of those winter days. Mild, sunny and quiet. In that winter seven years ago, I looked at many homes, some of them really appealing, and even made an offer for one of them. But nothing was quite as perfect as the bungalow by the sea and the longer I stayed here, the less I wanted to be anywhere else. I got lucky in the end. The previous owner sold me this little place my heart had fallen in love with, and I’ve been here ever since. The neighborhood is still a quiet little place off the beaten track and my neighbors are an eclectic mix of young and old, artist and business men and women, Florida born and transplants from colder climates. Moving here has been one of the best decisions of my life.

When I stand in that road and contemplate the bungalow I now call home, I get the same feeling of certainty I had that day more than seven years ago. My home is not the same salmon color it was that first time I saw it, but the feeling of home “here’s where I belong” is the same. I love the rare sunrises I am up in time for and the more frequent moonrises that enchant me with their romantic rivers of silver on the sea, and the stunning skies at sunset. Duff loves keeping his eye on his corner of the world and greeting anyone who walks by. We both love walking on the beach each day. And I am truly grateful for the serendipity that brought me here that very first day.

It began before Christmas … the sore throat and cough that has hung on now for more than two weeks. I flew to Maryland for the holiday feeling just fine and on my second day there, without warning it hit me. I woke to an empty house and a big bowl of bananas that desperately needed to become banana bread, but I couldn’t find the loaf pans so I called my daughter at work to find out where she kept them. She answered the phone and I opened my mouth but all that came out was a squawk. She anxiously asked, “Are you okay, Mom?” I tried again and finally squeezed out my question. That was day one – laryngitis. Day two I could speak enough to carry on short, hoarse conversations, but singing my favorite hymns at church that night was a no-go. By Christmas Day the tickling began followed by a honking cough. This sequence of events is typical of a throat infection for me so I wasn’t worried, just frustrated by the timing.

Then came two nights in a row where I had to sleep sitting nearly straight up in a comfy chair to keep from coughing all night. But eventually even that began to ebb. When it was time to fly home, I headed to the drug store for a bag full of remedies that would keep me from getting caught up in that tickle – throat clearing – tickling more – honking cough routine. No need to infect or alarm all my fellow passengers. A second week passed. With this thing still not gone and my glands now swollen as well, I decided it was time to see the doctor.

The doctor shook his head sadly after examining me and said there was a particularly persistent throat infection going around, but that it was a virus and therefore nothing an antibiotic would do anything to cure. Not the news I wanted to hear. I can’t even pronounce his diagnosis, but he prescribed a cough medicine with codeine in it to quiet the cough and give my throat a chance to heal. So off I went to the drug store. Being a controlled substance (in this state at least) it was not a prescription he could call in or send electronically so I was going to have to wait.

The pharmacy was busier than I've ever seen it before - Murphy at work, I'm sure. I waited. An hour then was told the insurance company hadn’t responded so they still hadn’t filled it yet. Frustrated and nearing the end of my patience, I called the customer care number on my insurance card. That “Care” is a joke. I got passed from one uncaring person to another before someone finally announced that it wasn’t covered because it was an over-the-counter drug. I informed her that it was most definitely NOT an over-the-counter med here in my state. I was passed to yet another person who told me that they don’t cover this medicine for the common cold. I gave her the diagnosis, spelling it out since I couldn’t pronounce it, and was now passed to yet another person who informed me that I needed pre-authorization. The doctor could call them and get it authorized and then they would cover it. Of course by now I’ve been waiting over two hours and it is five past five, meaning the doctor’s office has closed.

So here I am back to gargling with salt water, sucking on lozenges and drinking herbal tea touted to sooth the irritated throat. And feeling sorry for myself. It rained all day so I didn’t miss a walk on the beach, but I could have enjoyed a cozy day inside working on my book. So, it’s been one of those days.

Time to write in my gratitude book and get a change of attitude – what do you think?

For those of you who stopped by on Tuesday and didn’t find a new post, I offer my apology. I was on and airplane. Or more accurately, I was in a car, then on the Metro, through security and onto a plane, finding the shuttle to my car and back in a car to home with stops on the way to collect my dog and buy some groceries. As I’m still coping with a winter cold, I was pretty beat by this time and decided to just sit with a cup of tea and watch TV. How distressing to discover that in my absence, my TV had died. That meant, since I have only the one TV, yesterday was spent researching and then heading out to purchase a replacement and finally hooking the whole thing up – TV, U-Verse box, DVD player and Amazon Firestick. I rather amazed myself by getting it all done and working first time. The only thing that didn’t happened was getting the universal remote programmed to handle the other gadgets. Maybe another day I’ll try again  and I’ll suddenly figure out what they mean by pressing the TV button – they don’t say on which remote or what button exactly since none are labeled TV. But for now, I’m ready to watch the ball go down in Times Square and welcome the new year while I contemplate my New Year's resolutions.

I make them every year. Sometimes I keep them, sometimes not so much. Last year I bought a Fitbit and promised I was going to walk every day. I started with 7,000 steps a day but by May had graduated up to 10,000. I have met that goal most days. I missed a few around Thanksgiving and more around Christmas, but for the most part I kept that resolution. However, to go with it, I was hoping to lose some weight. Actually I did lose some – 12# to be exact, but not nearly as much as I’d secretly hoped. I’d also promised that with the demise of the living history museum downtown, I’d find a new way to volunteer some of my time to others. That I did, too. I took the training and now am an official volunteer at the USO lounge at the Jacksonville airport. I had another new book come out, TRUSTING WILL, and appeared in two anthologies: with a recipe and writing organization tips in WE’D RATHER BE WRITING, and a Christmas story in SNOWBIRD CHRISTMAS vol. 3. I also completed another book in my Tide’s Way series that will come out in 2016. So, all in all, last year was pretty successful.

I started a monthly newsletter last year, which I plan to continue this year. If you are interested in signing up here’s the link: Skye-writer's Newsletter  I sometimes spotlight other authors, post book reviews or writing tips or highlight a new release of my own when I have one.

I’m going to continue with my volunteering with the USO and that scale is still sitting there waiting to keep tabs on me. It’s another Fitbit gadget that sends the results of every weigh-in to my Fitbit dashboard on my computer and the app on my phone so there’s no ignoring it unless I just don’t step onto it. My doctor want’s to try another approach to weight loss to augment my own efforts so we’ll see how that goes.

I resolve to find at least one new author and to make a stab at cleaning up the to-be-read pile that seems to always overflow, my Kindle and various horizontal surfaces in my home. I will also complete the novella I’ve been plotting in my head and submit at least one new manuscript for publication. Inspired by my friend, Heather Ashby, I bought a Gratitude Journal which I have already begun and am super excited about keeping up, heightening my awareness of all the blessings I already have and being thankful for things I still hope to have, creating a whole new level of positive vibes in my life.  I’m still wearing the Fitbit and plan to keep up the daily step goal. Maybe I’ll even add some new exercise beyond the walking, but I’m not going to officially add it to the list. I’ll be doing well to meet those already outlined.

If you are making resolutions this year, I wish you success in meeting them. And whether you do or don’t, I wish you all a blessed, prosperous and happy new year.

In the midst of the hectic preparation for Christmas and then in the merriment of the holiday, we should all take the time to remember how difficult this season can be for some among us. When everyone is traveling to be with family, being alone is even harder to bear. Advice often given to lonely people dreading the coming festivities is to reach out to others or to volunteer and get involved, but, while it’s easy advice to give, it’s not so easy to follow. Reaching out is difficult for lonely people. Asking for help almost impossible. Often they think they have nothing to offer anyone and can be of no value so they don’t see a point in volunteering. For the troubled of mind, holidays are even more difficult than the rest of their lives. Everything from gift giving to family to festive activities and the intensity of the holiday atmosphere magnifies the torment in their own mind.

For our military men and women, being far from home and family makes their sacrifice that much greater. For the defenders of our country, not spending time with their families, not seeing the wonder of the holiday in their children’s eyes is hard enough. Add to that the danger they live with every day and it’s hard to relax and enjoy gifts and cards from home, even when there are holiday packages to open. For the families left behind, the fact that their husband, father, son, wife, mother or daughter is missing and serving far from home leaves a hole that is hard to ignore and harder yet to celebrate around. Children, excited about the coming of Santa still cry themselves to sleep when Mommy or Daddy isn’t there, too.

The homeless are always bereft and alone, but with wreaths hanging on every door and lights twinkling all over town, the gaiety of shoppers and carolers isolates those who have nothing even more. Soup kitchens sometimes offer a holiday meal, but it’s not the same as being surrounded by the warmth and love of family in a place you can call home. Even when you have a home, many are scraping by, just barely able to support themselves and their children. It’s disappointing for a child to discover that Santa didn’t bring the one thing they yearned for most, even if there is a tree. And for the parents who wish so desperately to give their child the gift they treasure, the ache in their hearts when they cannot must be vast.

Hospitals are places of incredible healing and undoubted miracles, but they are also places of pain, anguish, and dying. Unless you’re on the maternity ward celebrating the birth of a new life, being in the hospital over the holidays means serious illness for the patients, their families, and those who care for them.

So, please, in the midst of your celebrations, take a moment to think of all those less fortunate than you. If you pray, pray for peace and healing and comfort. If you are financially able, share some of your bounty with others who have so little. Write a letter to a soldier, visit a shut-in, take cookies to someone who is lonely. Ask yourself, “What can I do to make someone else’s Christmas happier?” Then do it.

From my heart, I wish you all a wonderful holiday and a prosperous and happy new year. I ask God’s blessing on you and yours on this day and all year through.

                                      Skye

When this month’s Blog Hop topic arrived (During the sometimes hectic holidays do you find it hard to find writing time?) I had just finished a list of the all the things that needed doing in the scant three weeks between my return from Thanksgiving in New England and my departure for Christmas in Maryland. It was a very long list. A daunting list. And my WIP was NOT on it. I guess that’s part of the answer.

Prior to an author’s first contract, it’s easy to take time off – there are no deadlines to meet, but once you have a publisher and an editor who’s waiting on your next submission, then making time for your writing is just as important as your day job. The holidays just make it more challenging.

Last year I had a December 1^st deadline, which I, thankfully, met. This year I didn’t, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a project in process. I finished the first major revision of Healing a Hero, book four in my Tide’s Way series and sent it off to my beta readers in November, and I play to start my final revision on January 1^st.  But that doesn’t mean I have nothing that needs doing right now. Two December book signings and two writers meetings don’t count toward writing time, but they add to the list on my clipboard. Neither do the promotional things I’m working on or the facebook parties I’ve promised to attend, but they take time, too. But I did have a writing project and had to make time for it amidst the sewing and shopping and wrapping and writing out Christmas cards. As a gift to my readers, those who follow my blog and receive my newsletter, I wrote a short story SAVING JUST ONE. That went out in my newsletter two days ago and a link to it will appear at the end of this blog.

So the answer is, YES – it is difficult to find the time sandwiched into all the rest of the holiday chores, the parties and family gatherings to write. But one thing about most writers is that writing is part of who they are and being away from it leaves one feeling like something important is missing in their lives. The writing moments might be fewer, or more hectic, or happening at odd times like 1:00 am, but they happen. Our characters talk to us all the time, even while we’re baking cookies and wrapping gifts and sometimes you just have to stop for a minute and catch what they’re telling you before you forget each perfect line or idea.

So, of course, I grabbed my pen and added writing to that clipboard list. As a dedicated listmaker who gains great satisfaction and a sense of accomplishment from checking things off a list, my writing deserved a place. And I did check it off when that short story came together.

Happy writing to all my author friends, happy reading to all those who appreciate our efforts and a Merry Christmas to you all.

SAVING JUST ONE – my Christmas gift to you.

Check out how these other authors handle their writing and the holiday rush.

Diane Bator http://dbator.blogspot.ca/
Beverley Bateman http://beverleybateman.blogspot.ca/
Connie Vines http://connievines.blogspot.com/
Anne Stenhouse  http://annestenhousenovelist.wordpress.com/
Rachael Kosinski http://rachaelkosinski.weebly.com/
Marci Baun  http://www.marcibaun.com/
A.J. Maguire  http://ajmaguire.wordpress.com/
Bob Rich       http://wp.me/p3Xihq-A9
Hollie Glover  http://www.hollieglover.co.uk
Rhobin Courtright http://www.rhobinleecourtright.com/