Finding the Good in the Sad

by Staci Troilo

First, an announcement. Soon you will have to type the address: http://stacitroilo.wordpress.com to access my site. This will only be temporary while I am in the process of switching over to a new host. Please make note of this change. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, and I hope it won’t be a lengthy one. Now, on to this week’s post.

Yesterday was Palm Sunday. For Catholics, it’s the day the Passion is read at Mass. As a kid, I always had such trouble just listening to that gospel reading, let alone participating in it. Then when I was an adult, I watched Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ. Now I really have trouble getting through that gospel. It really makes me feel completely…well, unworthy is the only word that comes to mind, but it really doesn’t come close.

But I have other, happier associations with Palm Sunday, too. For one thing, I was born on Palm Sunday. Not on the thirteenth, but on a Palm Sunday, waaaay back in 1971. I don’t remember that day, but I’m pretty happy about it, nonetheless.

But my favorite memories of Palm Sundays gone by are the tying of the palm crosses. When I was little, my grandfather would come to our house and take all of our palm fronds and tie them into crosses for us. We would then have one for our bedrooms for a whole year, until the following year, when we would get a new one to replace it. (Most churches collect old palm before Lent starts and burn it for the ashes that they use for Ash Wednesday.) I remember him teaching me that the palm was special—it was blessed by the priest—so if I dropped it, I had to kiss it. As he tied the crosses, I scrambled to pick up any little pieces that fell and put them in a pile to be buried or burned. He taught me that was the only way to properly dispose of the blessed palm. He taught me so many things.

I loved being his little helper.

When I got a little older, he taught me how to make the crosses myself. It took me a few years to finally memorize the process, because there weren’t that many to tie. It’s not that complicated once you get it, but you don’t have many to learn with. It starts with a series of folds to anchor the knot in the center, then there are a series of loops to make the post and the cross pieces. Finally, a set of two tiny loops hold the middle together. I finally mastered it in 1985. No one else in my family ever took the time to learn it.

My grandfather died in February of 1986. He never tied another cross. I still have the last one we made together. It’s pretty delicate, but I don’t want to let it go.

I don’t have grandchildren yet, but I do have children, and I’m trying to teach them how to tie the crosses. I think it’s important to pass the traditions along while I’m still here to enjoy sharing my time with them. I’ve already taught my niece, I even taught my husband, and my kids are learning. My son actually did really well this year. My daughter isn’t doing too badly, but she actually is more interested in tying crowns of thorns. She saw one on television once, and has been doing her own version ever since. Maybe she’ll start her own tradition of tying crowns of thorns with her kids. It doesn’t matter to me. Right now, at least we’re all together, at Mass and afterward, as a family.

The gospel is such a tragic—albeit necessary—part of Palm Sunday. It’s nice to have some good memories to add to the day as well.

For Writers:
Fiction is nothing without conflict. Is there something in your WIP that has a negative connotation? Can you think of a way to add an activity and put a positive spin on it?

For Everybody:
Are you having this issue in your WIP? Did you do anything for Palm Sunday? Let’s talk about it.

The Ultimate Rejection

If you are a regular follower of my blog, you know I’m a writer. Maybe you are too. And if you are, you know a thing or two about rejection. It’s a safe bet that most adults have experienced it in some form or another. Heck, my kids are no stranger to it in their own ways.

As citizens of this world, we’ve got to learn how to deal with rejection in a healthy manner if we want to cope with life effectively. (Agree? Tweet it.)

My birthday is this week. I’m usually a little melancholy around this time of year, and my whole family assumes it’s because I’m turning another year older. They tease me relentlessly. In fact, the jokes are so bad that they’ve taken to asking me how old I am the day before my birthday just so they can say, “Starting tomorrow, you won’t be able to say that ever again!” I go along with the joking and I don’t correct anyone; it’s easier to let them think my age bothers me. It doesn’t, but it’s simpler that way.

The real reason I’m a little maudlin this time of year is because it’s the anniversary of my miscarriage.

It’s hard to celebrate another year of my life when I have a child who never got to celebrate any life at all.

And that, to me, is the ultimate rejection.

I bring this up now because my sister-in-law is expecting, and she was having some problems this week. She thought she might be losing her baby. Of all anniversaries, that wasn’t one I’d want to share. Thankfully, she and the baby are currently fine. If you’re the praying sort, I’m sure they’d appreciate a prayer or two offered up for them.

My husband and I share everything equally in our marriage. But my miscarriage was the one thing I never felt I could share equally with him. I’m not saying he didn’t grieve with me. We both grieved. But the baby didn’t reject him. Just me.

I offered it all I had to give: nourishment, safety, comfort, love. But I wasn’t enough for it.

It was the ultimate rejection.

I had a lot to overcome when I learned I lost the baby. The physical issues were the least of it. There was the heart-shattering grief. The gut-wrenching fear that I’d never be able to have a child. The stomach-churning guilt that I’d done something wrong. And the soul-sucking humiliation that I was an abject failure.

I moved through life on a functional plane of existence just above ‘zombie’ for months. It truly took an act of Divine Intervention before I snapped out of my funk and rejoined the land of human beings again.

After living through a loss like that, a rejection like that, the other kinds of rejections in my life didn’t quite have the same impact. Sure, I still have feelings, and my feelings can still be hurt, but I now have a different perspective.

Have I had friends leave me out of things or tell me lies? You bet.
Have I had family members break promises or betray trusts? Sure.
Have I had colleagues drop the ball or cause damage to my brand? Yes.
Have I, as a writer, received rejection letters? Of course!

Do I let those things get me down? No.

I wish I could say I laugh and move right past them. I don’t. Like I said, I have feelings. But in the grand scheme of things, those things aren’t nearly as important as what I’ve already faced.

So the next time you’re facing rejection, ask yourself this one question:

Is this NO a life-altering NO, or can I move on from this unscathed?

If you can move on, allow yourself five minutes to wallow and wail at the world (venting your frustrations for a little while is healthy, after all), then pick yourself up and move on. Your next effort may be the one that results in your dreams coming true. You don’t want to cheat yourself out of your dreams because you were busy living a nightmare. (Believe that? Tweet it.)

I hope none of you have ever suffered the ultimate rejection. Or ever will. I, thank God, have only suffered it once, and since then my husband and I have been blessed with two wonderful children—a son and a daughter. And although I remember that rejection every year, I have come to terms with it. While I’ll never say I’m glad it happened, I can say I learned a lot from the experience. If nothing else, I hope you can learn from my loss, too.

Keep your rejections in perspective.
Lament them to get them out of your system.
Reassess to see if you need to change anything before continuing with your plan.
Move forward with your next step so you are still pursuing your dream.

Do you have any suggestions for someone suffering a rejection? Share them with us here.

Getting to the Heart of A Different Matter

by Staci Troilo

Hello. If you’re stopping by hoping to read another anecdote about my family or my friends, you’re going to be disappointed today. Or maybe not.

We’ve been discussing my relationships for a while now. I’ve told you stories about my grandparents, my parents, my siblings. You’ve read about my husband, my kids, my friends, heck, even my dogs.

What we haven’t discussed much lately is my work life. And we should. Because as far as relationships go, we have professional ones as well as personal ones. And if you’re as lucky as I am, you’re as passionate about your career as I am about mine, which means your professional relationships have the potential to be quite powerful, meaningful.

This weekend I attended the Northwest Arkansas Writers’ Workshop Annual Conference in Fayetteville, Arkansas. It’s been a while since I saw some of the attendees, some of the people I only knew from online and I got to meet in person for the first time, and some people were complete strangers to me but became new friends and colleagues. A great time was had by all, and there was some valuable information presented.

The day started with Greg Camp, Publishing Director of
Oghma Creative Media doing a presentation on
editing for publication.
Greg’s talk covered the importance of a few key points
in fiction writing in order to avoid getting rejection letters. Well, to avoid getting as many as you would otherwise, anyway.

Grammar—You must have no grammatical errors if you want to be considered for publication.
Research—You have to do your homework. Historical inaccuracies are a sure way to get your manuscript tossed.
Pacing—You can’t do an “info dump” and tell the reader everything within the first five pages of the novel. Action needs to be revealed through the POV character interacting with other characters at a measured rate throughout the novel.
Conflict and Motivation—You don’t have a story unless your characters are at odds with something or someone and are motivated to change their situation.

I’ve known Greg for a few years and we have a lot in common. We both taught at the college level (he still does), we both write fiction, and we both edit for a living. I can tell you two things about his presentation: He knows his stuff and his advice was spot on.

The next presenter was Casey Cowan, President and Creative Director of Oghma Creative Media. Casey’s presentation was all about the seduction and allure of book covers. He said four things sell books:

Word of mouth/peer pressure
Big name endorsements
Eye appeal of the cover
Author effort/interaction with readers

When Oghma Creative Media designs covers, they consider the demographic of the readers and the genre of the book, then they look at the book’s message or theme and work with the author to design a front cover and spine that has the appropriate appeal for the audience. Then they work on the back cover to design not only the right color, but also taglines, teasers, and endorsements so that the back works with the front and works with the genre, creating a comprehensive package.

Then my bosses, Duke and Kimberly Pennell from Pen-L Publishing, did a presentation on the relationship between authors and publishers. They discussed author expectations, publisher expectations, and the importance of the two getting in sync for a rewarding relationship. Some points covered were:

Personality—It’s really a matter of chemistry between author and publisher. If you don’t like each other as people, you won’t trust each other and you won’t work well together.
Vision—What are you expecting for your book? Your promoting efforts? Your career as a writer? Talk about it and be sure your plans mesh.
Marketing/Promotion/Reviews—Publishers used to send books to reviewers, issue releases, handle the promotion efforts. Now the shoe’s on the author’s foot to handle the marketing. These plans should be agreed on in advance so there are no surprises or disappointments.
Editing—Typically work is done in Microsoft Word using “track changes.” If a different method is preferred, it should be discussed.
Distribution—You need to know where your books will be available for purchase, how much you can buy them for, if you can buy them at wholesale price, etc. Learn the details in advance.
Support—Support shouldn’t end when the book is released. If you have questions or concerns, you should be able to call your editor. If you are doing a marketing tour, it’s not unreasonable to request a media packet be sent on your behalf. Make certain you have this support in place. Remember, your publisher doesn’t make money unless you do. They should be on your side.

After lunch, one of the founding members of the group, Velda Brotherton, discussed her twenty year writing journey. She encouraged us to hang on to everything we write, even our early work, because while we might not find a publisher for it immediately, years later we might. She’s finding success with some of her work twenty years after she wrote it. She offered a lot of advice, applicable to novices and experienced writers.

Write the best book you can (This involves more than just writing; it means studying the craft, joining critique groups, going to conferences, writing every day, editing ruthlessly, and having your work edited—with a thick skin.)
Build your platform so people can find you and follow you—Promote!
Publish your own work if you have to so your tribe can start reading your work
Avail yourself of small publishers
Use Createspace
Look into audiobooks
Then go for broke in New York (This is where conferences are so important. You’ll make connections with agents and editors there to get your foot in the door.)

We ended the day with the other co-founder, Dusty Richards. Dusty discussed everything and anything you’d want to know about writing.

How to measure page count (1 page = 250 words)
How to structure a novel (1^st quarter, hero’s lost. 2^nd quarter, hero’s alone. 3^rd quarter, hero gets support. 4^th quarter, hero becomes hero or martyr.)
How to end a chapter (with some teaser to keep readers turning the page)
How to analyze the experts (Read every other page; you’ll see their structure. Or read one scene in the middle of the book and pick it apart.)
How to get experience (Work on short stories first, then work on single person POV.)

It’s been a privilege being in Dusty and Velda’s group for the last several years. Between them they have close to two hundred books published and decades of wisdom that they willingly share. All of the speakers were full of knowledge and quite entertaining. It was a really good day.

But I think my favorite part was the people. I used to be intimidated by conferences, but now I love them. I like meeting new people and catching up with old friends.

This was the first time I set up a book table. That was a new experience for me, and it was a blast. It’s always a shock to me when someone wants my autograph, and this time someone even wanted to take my picture! I even had one woman come up to me and say she saw my book cover from all the way across the room and she just had to come over and see what it was about. That was a real honor. Yes, I met a lot of new people, made some new friends, and had a really good time.

So this post wasn’t about family, but it was about relationships—professional ones. And I’m just as passionate about them and treasure them just as much as I do all the other relationships in my life. What about your professional relationships? Have you recently been to a conference? Are you in sales? Do you have a funny work story to tell? Share it with us here.

Ten Days and Counting. Are You Ready?

by Staci Troilo

Lent starts in ten days. We discussed it at Mass this week. Apparently we should already be preparing. I find that funny, because the Season of Lent is a season of preparation. So I’m supposed to be preparing to prepare? I get what they’re saying, but I’m really having a hard time suppressing the sarcastic brat in me. Here’s hoping I can do it for the rest of this post. (Maybe that’s me preparing to be a better person. Or preparing to prepare to be a better person…)

Several countries celebrate the day before Lent. In Italy, the most well known celebration is the Venetian Carnival. It began to celebrate the victory of the “Serenissima Repubblica” against the Patriarch of Aquileia, Ulrico di Treven in the year 1162. In the honor of this victory, the people started to dance and make reunions in San Marco Square. The festival was outlawed in 1797, but made started to make its reappearance in the nineteenth century for special occasions. In 1979, to embrace Venice’s heritage, the Italian government brought the Carnival back. Masks are worn from the Feast of St. Stephen through Shrove Tuesday, and to highlight the fine craftsmanship of Venetian artists, there is a contest for la maschera più bella (“the most beautiful mask”) which is judged by a panel of international costume and fashion designers. Over three million visitors attend Carnival every year.

In my country, the most well known celebration is called Mardi Gras and the biggest event is held in New Orleans. It’s a full season that starts on Epiphany and culminates on the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday. It’s marked by parades, costumes, masks, beads, music, and the all important consumption of unhealthy foods and beverages before the sacrifices of Lent begins. I don’t like to call this season “Mardi Gras” because it translates to “Fat Tuesday,” and that term always bothered me. That’s not what the day (or the season) is really about.

The Catholic tradition calls the day before Lent begins Shrove Tuesday. “Shrove” comes from the word “shrive” and means “confess.” The term is sufficiently explained by a sentence in the Anglo-Saxon “Ecclesiastical Institutes” translated from Theodulphus by Abbot Aelfric about A.D. 1000: “In the week immediately before Lent everyone shall go to his confessor and confess his deeds and the confessor shall so shrive him as he then may hear by his deeds what he is to do [in the way of penance].”

Some people call Shrove Tuesday “Pancake Day,” a name that likely came about because of the English custom of making pancakes to use up the eggs and fat which were, at the time, prohibited dietary items during the forty days of Lent. Religious laws have relaxed a little, (and I don’t think people make pancakes with lard anymore), but in many parts of the world, next Tuesday is still Pancake Day.

My family always had a big meal on the day before Lent. And we always had dessert. Because we have modern day conveniences—like refrigerators and freezers—we don’t have to worry quite so much about using up our food before Lent starts. But we still have traditions. My husband’s family always made Fritole before Lent. If you think those fried donuts are good at Chinese buffets, you have to try these! My mother-in-law has fond memories of these from her childhood with her grandparents, and my husband and his siblings have great memories of their grandmother and these from when they were young. I love them so much, I asked for them to be made when my kids had their communions (just so I’d get them twice those years). I’ll share the recipe with you here, and I’ll include it just as it’s written. I hope you try them and like them as much as my family. (By the way, when it says to fry in really hot Crisco, it means to drop by rounded tablespoons into the melted shortening.)

I don’t know if you are preparing for Lent, or preparing to prepare, but I hope you take some time in the next ten days to spend some quality time with your family, make some wonderful memories, and think of some ways you can try to affect change—in your life, in the life of a loved one, in your work life, or in your community. We can all do a little more to make our relationships better.

For Writers
Preparing… Preparing to prepare. Preparation is no joke. There is a lot to do before you sit down to write.

research
character sketches
outlines

Even you “pantsers” who don’t like to plan things will find it easier if you know who you’re writing about and and have your preliminary research done in advance. Benjamin Franklin once said, “By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail.” We have enough going against us already, don’t we? Why not invest a little time an effort in the front of our projects so we can start off strong and build momentum rather than run into the dreaded writer’s block part way through?

So anyway, everybody, we’re on our countdown. Lent is just ten days away. We’re all preparing. Do you have a Shrove Tuesday tradition that you’d like to share? We’d love to hear it.

What the Shadow Portends for You

I grew up in Pennsylvania, and because of that, Punxsutawney Phil was a big deal. Not as big a deal as if I had lived in Punxsutawney, but a bigger deal than it is living in Arkansas.

One reason: It was Pennsylvania.

Another reason: We were so sick of snow by then, we would have given almost anything for that furry little rodent to not see his shadow.

Ever year, my family would gather for breakfast and wait to see what weather Phil would predict for the coming six weeks. And it seemed like every year, we’d offer up a collective sigh because there would be six more weeks of winter. (You may think that’s an exaggeration, but since 1887, Phil has seen his shadow 100 times, predicting an early spring only 17 times.¹ We almost always shared a regretful moan over his forecast.) One year, though, it dawned on someone in my family that there’s a reason Phil always sees his shadow.

It has nothing to do with the fact that it’s February-freaking-second when they drag him out to look around. (And by the way, he looks cold, sleepy, and none-too-happy to be bothered when they do it. Would you at dawn on February 2 in Pennsylvania?)

It’s got nothing to do with climate patterns, jet streams, polar vortexes, or any other such nonsense.

It has everything to do with the fact that every single camera crew there has a spotlight pointed at the poor creature. Of course he sees his shadow.

The tradition is darling, and I, like the rest of Pennsylvania and perhaps much of the rest of the country, will look forward to it for years to come. But I do not now, nor will I ever, put my trust in Phil’s predictions. There is the aforementioned built-in media bias (gee, that’s unheard of in this country) and more to the point, six weeks doesn’t quite get us out of the cold, anyway. I’ll just keep watching the meteorologists for the forecasts (because we all know they’re infallible) and wait for spring like everyone else.

Hopefully when my kids have their first tennis match in May, it won’t be snowing like last year. (Who ever heard of snow in May? In Arkansas?)

It snowed here yesterday. Again. The kids are off school. Again. And Phil is back in his cozy little nest (again), waiting for spring, which hopefully is just six weeks away. My family can wait out six weeks. We have each other. Thank God we get along. Because sometimes I think we might not dig our way out to civilization any time soon.

Hey writers… are there any traditions you can incorporate into your WIP? Ones rooted in historical lore like Groundhog Day?

Groundhog Day Fun Facts

It actually began as a Pennsylvania German custom in Pennsylvania in the 18th and 19th centuries.²
It originated in ancient European weather lore, where either a badger or sacred bear foretold the coming weather.²
The holiday also resembles the Pagan festival of Imbolc, which is celebrated on February 1 when the Celtic calendar moves from winter to spring.²
Another origin of the festival is the ancient celebration of Candlemas, the halfway point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox, according to the climate center.¹

If Candlemas be fair and bright,

Winter has another flight.

If Candlemas brings clouds and rain,

Winter will not come again.¹

Think about traditions in your family, customs in your hometown, rituals in your faith. Perhaps there are conventions or beliefs that you can work into your WIP that will help enrich your characters or your town histories.

Do you have any interesting traditions to share? We’d love to hear all about them.

^{1 wikipedia}

^{2 USA Today}

Do You Know Where You Come From?

If you’ve browsed my blog, website, or Facebook page, you know I’m from Vandergrift, Pennsylvania, and you know what it’s famous for. If not (or if you’ve forgotten), I’ll tell you. Vandergrift is the first worker-owned, industrially-planned town in America. When founder George G. McMurtry acquired an iron and steel mill on 640 acres of land on the Kiskiminitas River, he had a vision: a town that was unique, attractive… “better than the best.” He contacted Central Park designer Frederick Law Olmsted, who promised there would be no better town in the world “for physical health and comfort.”

“The town would be a site of natural health, wealth, and beauty; drained; graded; flat but convenient; good road and walks; not in squares, but according to the lay of the land; such water as flows from mountain springs brought into houses; sewers; expanse of grass; trees; outlook; modern above and below ground; electric lights, telegraph, telephone… bathtub… . Every man to choose his part with the means at hand of supporting that part; the people to own their houses and control their pursuits. The means of health and enjoyment of life within reach of all inhabitants. Liquor not to be sold there.” (Something Better Than The Best, 1996, p 20.)

That’s the town my grandfather immigrated to. He came to America in 1920 when he was just six years old. Despite the glory of the Roaring Twenties (something he was too young to appreciate), the whole country was experiencing Prohibition, so Vandergrift wasn’t the only “dry” town. But it was a beautiful town.

Vandergrift was a town of curving streets, green parks, tidy homes with the latest amenities offering the mill and foundry workers all the comforts and health benefits the early 1900s had to offer. The town boasted churches in several denominations (St. Gertrude is now a National Landmark) and Rabbi Reubin Y. Rubinowitz sometimes led the town in holy days of worship. Citizens came out in droves to watch or participate in the many parades held throughout the year, and in the summer, families could always cool off at the community pool.

Naccarato home — The whole Naccarato clan in front of the family home

Yes, my grandfather immigrated to a wonderful town. His father died just eight years after they came here, leaving my grandfather as “the man of the house.” He quit school to get a job in the foundry, earning money for the household and helping raise his two sisters and four brothers. And he managed to do just that. They stayed in their home—a home that stayed in the family for generations. He only gave it over to his mother and younger siblings a year after he was married. My grandmother—my ninety-five year old grandmother—is still in the house he bought her. My grandfather’s original home was just sold from our family’s holdings last year.

There’s something about Vandergrift that gets in your blood and doesn’t let go.

Why am I telling you all this?

We were just home for Christmas. The town has changed. A lot. My parents were raised in a different town than the one my grandparents immigrated to. I was raised in a different town than the one my parents were raised in. My kids don’t recognize Vandergrift as the town my husband and I describe from when we were growing up. Times change. Progress? Maybe. I can’t say I see much that changed for the better in my beloved hometown.

But it’s home.

All of us need to remember that we are where we came from—at least to some extent.

And writers, this is especially true for our characters. They all have backstory. It might not all make it into our work, but it’s there. You should know it. And it should shape your characters. If I was a character in a novel, I’d be a girl living in the south who desperately misses the north. She misses her family, misses her friends. She has trouble shopping because she can’t find the right ingredients. She has trouble with colloquial phrases, and sometimes the locals laugh at her because of her confusion. Do I have to include any of that? No. If I choose to, I definitely shouldn’t say it explicitly. I’d just reveal it as the story progresses. She can be sad as she mails a birthday gift because she won’t be at the celebration. She can be confused when someone says, “Damn, Skippy,” and they laugh when she asks who Skippy is. She can be frustrated when she can’t find oil-cured olives and pancetta at the grocery story. The history should come forth in small snippets throughout the story, letting us learn about the character through her feelings about her home. Let it become a character itself.

Pay attention to your history. Embrace it. That’s where the enrichment is.

Where are you from? What makes it special? Share your story with us in the comments.

Grandma, Light Bulbs, and My Epiphany

It’s the new year. We’ve all been reflecting on 2013 and making resolutions for 2014.

I look back on 2013 as an eventful one. It was a year of making new friends, losing dear loved ones, publishing my first novel, securing an agent, earning several writing awards at a writing conference, winning first place in the main course category of the Atkins Low Carb Recipe contest, and managing to visit home not once, but twice (a rare treat, living 1,000 miles away). My son was inducted into NHS and got his driver’s license. My daughter graduated from middle school with a 4.0 for all three years and made conference on the high school tennis team her first year. Yes, it was an eventful year. And we have even higher hopes for 2014.

But January 6 is already almost a week into the new year. It’s officially Epiphany, the church feast uniting three events in Christ’s life when His divinity “shines” through His humanity: the adoration of the Magi, the baptism of Christ in the Jordan, and the first miracle at the wedding feast of Cana. See, that “shining” is important. During Advent, the world was in darkness, and we waited in expectation of the Coming Light. At Christmas, the Light shone forth, but dimly, seen only by a few around the crib—Mary and Joseph and the shepherds. But at Epiphany, the Light bursts forth to all nations and the prophecy is fulfilled: The Gentiles shall walk in Thy light, and kings in the brightness of Thy rising (Isaiah 60:3). The star of Epiphany, “flashing like a flame,” is still another facet of the light-motif.

We talk about “epiphanies” in our lives all the time. An epiphany (according to The American Heritage Dictionary) is “a comprehension or perception of reality by means of a sudden intuitive realization.”

My grandmother is ninety-five years old. I can guarantee she’s had an epiphany or two over the years. When she was a teenager, she was being courted by a wealthy young man from the neighboring town. His family owned several car dealerships and he would have made her quite a comfortable life.

Then she met my grandfather.

And she had an epiphany.

It didn’t matter how rich her suitor was or how easy he could have made her life. She had fallen in love with another man. The man she was going to marry and make a life with, raise a family with.

When we have an epiphany, people liken it to a light bulb going off in our heads. They say “we saw the light.” And it really is like that.

Just as my grandfather gave my grandmother an epiphany, he gave me one. The story of his ancestry clicked like a light bulb in my head one day and became the beginnings of the series that landed me my agent.

Pay attention to those family stories, folks. You never know when they might turn on a light in your head.

So, what about you? What epiphanies have you had? What are you working on in 2014? Share your stories with us below.

First Friday Fiction Feature – Laci and Del: Second Chance?

It’s the first Friday of the month. You know what that means… it’s time for another installment of short fiction. (You can, at any time, find this work or any of the First Friday Fiction Features, by going to the My Work tab, clicking on Freebies, and selecting the story you wish to read.)

This year I’m doing something different. Instead of twelve months of different stories, I’m trying out some serial work this year. So there will be twelve consecutive pieces released starting with this one: “Laci and Del: Second Chance?”

Laci and Del: Second Chance?

Laci glanced around the room, her gaze flitting from the people to the door and back. Panic clawed through her insides as desperately as she wanted to claw at each figure blocking her way. She had no means of escape. She’d waited too long. What fifteen minutes earlier had been a navigatable maze of clusters of party guests, standing like islands in a sea she could have traveled, somehow had morphed into one massive throng she had no hope of wading through. The door might as well be in another country. She’d never make it.

Sighing, she turned around and unlatched the patio door. Cracking it open just enough to squeeze through it, she slipped outside and closed the door behind her. Immediately she was hit in the face with the bracing cold of winter.

“Damn, it’s freezing out here!” She wrapped her arms around herself and watched as her breath dissipated into the night. She briefly entertained the idea of going back inside, but shook the idea off before even turning around. The countdown had begun. Even through the heavy door she could hear them all chanting, “Fifty-seven… Fifty-six… Fifty-five…”

Less than a minute, and she could put another horrid year behind her.

And start another one.

She rubbed her arms harder and tried to blink back the tears that were threatening to fall, tried not to imagine every single person in there sharing a warm kiss at midnight… while she stood on the patio. Alone. In the cold.

“Thirty-two… Thirty-one…”

The voices had grown louder, and Laci realized the door had opened. Wiping her eyes and clearing her throat, she mustered the last ounces of courage and dignity she possessed and turned toward her unwanted intruder. “I’m sorry. Would you mind terribly? I’d like to be alone.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

He was backlit by the lights from inside the house, but she didn’t need to see his face to know who he was. She’d know his voice, his body, anywhere.

“Delany?”

“Only you and my mother ever call me that.”

She cleared her throat. “Del. What are you doing here?”

“Something I didn’t think I’d ever do again.”

“Three… Two… One…”

As shouts of “Happy New Year” and the beginning notes of “Auld Lang Syne” rang out from inside the house, Del crossed to Laci and kissed her.

There was no forewarning. No preamble. He didn’t stroke her cheek first or brush her hair back from her face.

There was just Del. And the kiss.

And the disappearance of her whole miserable world for a blissful moment.

When he released her, the people inside were about done cheering. The strains of the song were fading away. The tears had dried on her cheeks.

And her heart rate was nowhere near normal.

“And what, might I ask, am I supposed to make of that?” she managed to get out in a steady voice.

“I’ve been watching you all night.”

“You’ve been watching me all night? What are you, now? A stalker or something?” She clutched at where a collar should be, but all she found was a necklace. A beautiful diamond necklace he’d bought her, highlighted by her upswept hair and the low-cut bodice of her cocktail dress. She tried to cover it with her fingers, but she saw the look of recognition on his face. Why did she have to choose that piece—of all pieces—to wear that night? Thankfully, he didn’t comment on it.

“We’re both still friends with the same people. We’re bound to end up in the same place at the same time. But after how things ended…”

She lowered one of her arms and studied his face.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t know if you were ready to talk. So I stayed on the opposite side of the room all night. I was trying to be polite and give you space.”

She sniffed.

“Anyway, I figured you would leave before midnight. I know how you feel about not having anyone to kiss when the ball drops, especially given it’s not just the new year, but your birthday too, so when—”

“You remember my birthday?”

His eyebrows shot up. “What kind of person do you think I am? Of course I remember your birthday.”

She relaxed enough that she dropped her hand away from her throat and started rubbing her arms again. Since Del had walked onto the patio, she hadn’t felt anything but heat. The cold was starting to hit her again, though. As well as some old feelings she hadn’t buried as deep as she had thought.

“Come here,” he said.

Before she could object, she was nestled in his arms, tucked against his firm, warm chest.

“Laci, I know things got all messed up before. I don’t want to revisit the past. This is a new year. For you and for everyone.” He pulled back a little bit and looked down at her. “I’d like to give us another try.”

She couldn’t meet his gaze, so she tucked her head back against his chest and held on tightly to him. “I don’t know, Delany. It took me a long time to move on. I don’t want to go through something like that again.”

“That’s how you know it’s worth fighting for. Because we were so hard to walk away from. Come on, Laci. What have you got to lose?”

Laci thought about the year since they had broken up and the men she hadn’t been able to date. There had been something wrong with absolutely everyone who’d asked her out—too tall, too nerdy, too creepy, too involved with work, too interested in fantasy football—so she’d politely declined all her offers until the offers had stopped coming. Yes, she realized her reasons were ridiculous. Well, maybe not the creepy guy, but all the other ones. But obviously her social calendar was in need of some CPR.

But wasn’t Del the reason it flat-lined to begin with?

She had a lot to lose. He couldn’t possibly understand. Was he worth the risk?

Countdown to Christmas: Hope

So the Month of Thanks is over, and we’re entering the last month of the year, which is interesting, because in my faith, we are entering the new year of our church calendar. Advent has begun, which, for those of you who don’t know, is not only the start of a new liturgical calendar, but is a preparatory season leading up to Christmas.

Advent is noticeable by the violet vestments worn by the priests, the evergreen wreaths found in the church and in many homes, and the three purple and one rose candle on the wreaths. The evergreen branches are significant because they represent immortality, strength, healing, and victory over persecution. The wreath itself is a circle, a ring; a shape with no beginning and no end, and therefore represents the eternity of God, the immortality of the soul, and the everlasting life found in Christ. The lighting of the candles represent bringing light, or Christ, into the world.

Each candle has a different designation. This first week, we light a purple candle—the Prophecy Candle. It is in remembrance of the prophets, particularly Isaiah, who foretold the birth of Christ. This candle represents hope.

As a devout Catholic, I embrace these tenets of my faith.

As a romance writer, what does all this mean for me?

Actually, this season is a beautiful time for romance.

Sights: twinkling lights, roaring fires
Sounds: soft music, crackling logs
Smells: evergreen boughs, simmering spiced cider
Tastes: mulled wine, hot cocoa
Feelings: fur-lined gloves, hand-me-down quilts

Romance is all about hope.

Hope that someone will understand what you want, what you need.
Hope that your trust will be rewarded.
Hope that your love will be earned. And returned.

Advent is about anticipation. Week one is about hope.

And romance is about both.

How are you counting down the weeks until Christmas? I’d love to hear about your plans and preparations.

Guesting at WritersHelpingWriters.Net

I am honored to be a guest at WritersHelpingWriters.net today. Angela Ackerman and Becca Puglisi (formerly known as The Bookshelf Muse, and authors of the well known and invaluable work The Emotion Thesaurus as well as the newly released The Positive Trait Thesaurus and The Negative Trait Thesaurus) recently hosted a week long Amazing Race to help writers with log lines, queries, book promotions, etc. in conjunction with the launching of their new website name and their two new book releases. I was one of the ‘racers,’ or the writers who helped other writers. It was a great experience. I even met someone who lives in France who has since not only become a friend, but who has volunteered to become a tour guide should I ever make it over there for a visit!

Today, I’m not in France, however. I’m over at WritersHelpingWriters.net, talking about the basics of mystery novel writing. I hope you stop over, read the post, and check out Angela and Becca’s new site.