2014 — A Year in Review and a Wish for You

This time of year, we can’t help but reflect on what we’ve accomplished. That introspection can give us a sense of great accomplishment. It might result in disappointment. I wish the former for all of you.

As for me, this year seems a roller coaster of emotions.

My kids had some injuries to work through during their sports’ seasons. But both have recovered and are in better shape than they were before their injuries.

We don’t get to see family very often; we’re too far away. But when we do get to visit, we’ve learned to really appreciate our time together.

We lost some dear family members, and others aren’t doing very well. But we have a wonderful new in-law (my niece got married) and there are two new babies in our family (my brother-in-law and my nephew each have a baby girl now… so I’m now a great-aunt in both senses of the word).

Some of my friends and I drifted apart. But I made some wonderful new ones, both in person and online.

I parted ways with my agent. But I landed a multi-book contract with an independent press, and one of my novels will be out later this month.

I stopped working at the publishing house where I edited. But I took a job as a marketing director with a fabulous new publisher, and I’m having a blast.

I’m finding less time to write. But I’m writing faster and smarter.

My husband? Solid as a rock. So I guess all things being equal, he puts me one ahead in the “good things” column.

Yes, it’s been a year of ups and downs. But we all have them. I hope as you look back over your year, you find you have more items in your “good things” column than in the “bad things” column.

Thank you for taking a little time each week to read my posts, maybe even chat with me afterward. Your support means more to me than you’ll ever know. Enjoy your holidays, and I’ll see you in 2015!

Maintaining Mental Health During the Holidays

For many people, this is a joyous time of year. If you’re a Christian, you’re celebrating the birth of Jesus. If you’re Jewish, you celebrate Hanukkah, the miracle of lights for eight days with only enough fuel for one. If you celebrate Kwanzaa, you are celebrating “the first fruits of the harvest” for a week at the end of the month. (Heck, if you’re a Seinfeld fan, you might even be celebrating the airing of grievances during Festivus!) And if you aren’t religious at all, there’s still enough food and gifts circulating around—as well as merriment and good will—that the mood becomes infectious.

For some people, however, this is a sad and painful time of year. According to PsychologyToday.com, many factors contribute to the melancholy of the season. Possible causes include:

Excessive commercialization of the season, resulting in the true meaning being lost.
Obsession over the “perfect” gift or menu, resulting in stress and unrealistic expectations.
Self-reflection over accomplishments, resulting in despair over shortcomings and anger with others who have more.
Pressure to meet or exceed others’ or last year’s gifts, resulting in anxiety over finances.
Dread over familial and social obligations, resulting in stress and depression.
Despair over lost loved ones (and/or lost employment), sometimes even culminating in suicide or attempted suicide.

One Christmas, we had three family funerals within a span of one week. (Believe me, you couldn’t make a story like this up.) They were all on my husband’s side of the family, but actually three different branches of his family, so most people only had to attend one funeral that week. We, however, had all three: a Troilo death, a Turra death, and a Biagioni death. Grieving the first was horrible. Grieving the second was difficult. By the time we got to the third? After the shock and incredulity wore off, we were simply numb. Humans simply aren’t conditioned to process losses like that.

I thought that would be the worst holiday I ever experienced. Of course, I also thought that the year my grandfather died. That was the first time I experienced a loss of someone close to me, and it was terrible.

Several years after these sad holidays, I’m faced with another familial death. My husband’s grandmother just passed away. The funeral is this weekend. Added to that, my uncle has taken a turn for the worst and is likely never to return home. This holiday feels like the most difficult one I’ve ever faced. But I know it’s just because this pain is fresh, and the other difficult holidays are being remembered through the numbing effects of time.

Time may not heal all wounds, but it certainly takes the edge off.

(click to tweet that)

So I ask you for this one favor. This year, when you meet a person who is less than jubilant, consider the stresses they might be under. Don’t call them a Scrooge or a Grinch. Instead, offer them some compassion. It might be just the holiday gift they need.

For Writers:
The triggers mentioned here are real and powerful factors that impact people, not even just during the holidays, but all year long. Fiction relies on conflict. Incorporating any of these issues as character motivation will enrich your work. I’m about to release a mainstream fiction novel full of dysfunctional family dynamics and poor choices. The motivations behind the characters’ actions, however, are understandable and in some cases even noble. These are the things that take one-dimensional characters and make them vibrant.

For Everyone:
Yes, this is an emotional time of year. If you are happy right now, my wish for you is that you continue to be so. If you are stressed, my wish is that you find relaxation. The holiday is coming whether your cookies are baked, your gifts are bought, or your cards are sent. Try to enjoy the frivolity and let the other issues go. But if you are seriously depressed? I wish you the peace of the season, the ability to focus on the good messages and intentions and the release of your anxiety, and the redirection of your negative emotions to something healthier. My prayers are with all of you, this season and always.

Laci and Del: Oh, For A Wonderful Life

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

The Laci and Del Saga was an experiment in serial fiction, where I wrote 12 stories in 12 months throughout 2014. I hope you enjoyed reading the selections as much as I enjoyed writing them. This is part 12 of 12, when the saga comes to a close and we learn their fates. So, without further ado, I give you part 12.

Laci and Del: Oh, For A Wonderful Life

Laci trimmed her tree and decked her halls, shopped the sales and wrapped her gifts, baked her cookies and listened to carols. So she didn’t sing along this year. At least she didn’t brood in silence. She even attempted a Yule log. Sure, it looked more like a Yule lump, but she tried.

None of it mattered. The Christmas Spirit eluded her.

When Christmas day came, she went to church and prayed to God to take her pain away, but either her prayer went unheard or unanswered. Del was permanently gone from her life, and her heart wasn’t broken—it was shattered.

Usually she went to her parents’ right after church, but she wasn’t up for the festivities. Instead, she went home. And cried as she watched It’s a Wonderful Life over and over again. Clarence got his wings. George learned how important he was to everyone.

Laci got more depressed and learned how important alcohol would be to getting through the holidays.

Too bad she’d already finished all the liquor in her apartment. Maybe she’d overindulge at her folks’. She could always spend the night. Or call a cab.

She’d waited as long as she could, but before Clarence got his wings the third time, she could delay no longer. She bundled up and headed to Christmas dinner.

Two blocks from her parents’ home, she pulled her car over and stared at a Tudor home with a large yard. She’d always loved that house, ever since she was a little girl. It had been for sale for almost a year, and she had entertained the idea of buying it when she and Del were dating. Someone had beat her to it, though. Lights were on inside it, and the sign had been removed from the yard. Another dream out of her reach.

She sighed, put the car in drive, and went to Christmas dinner. It was every bit as dreadful as she’d expected. Her cousin Clara spent the whole meal fused to her fiancé. They looked like a two-headed monster. Laci waited for Clara to climb into Kyle’s lap, but thank God she stayed plastered to his side. Still…

It nauseated Laci.

Alcohol be damned. There wasn’t enough liquor in her dad’s entire bar to make her stay there any longer. While Clara cuddled with Kyle and her mother and Aunt Rose started getting cookies out, Laci slipped her coat on, grabbed a bottle of rum, tucked it under her jacket, and headed outside.

“Aren’t you even going to stay and open presents?”

She turned around to see her father had followed her out to the sidewalk. He had on slippers and no coat, and his face was already turning pink in the frigid air.

“Dad, what are you doing? You’re going to get sick, and Mom will blame me. Get back inside.”

“I will if you will.”

“I can’t, Dad. It’s all just too much.”

He closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her. Instead of the warmth she needed, she just felt chilled. Snow flurries fell and clung to his thinning hair and cable knit sweater. He felt smaller to her than the hero of her youth. He was no longer her knight in shining armor, able to slay her demons and save her day. She had found a new hero, and she’d lost him. Hell, she’d driven him away. Blinking back tears, she patted her father’s back and pulled out of his arms.

“You need to go in. And I just have to go.”

“What about leftovers? Or a dish of cookies? Take something home with you.”

She pulled out the rum she’d pilfered and wiggled the bottle at him. Then she kissed him on the cheek. “Goodbye, Dad.” She turned and headed for her car.

“Will we at least see you for your birthday?”

Pain was a hot poker searing through the center of her heart. Last year on her birthday, just after the clock chimed the new year, she and Del reconciled. Her future was promising, bright. Suffering through this birthday without him would be torturous. She didn’t know if she could bear it.

Instead of making a promise to her father that she couldn’t keep, she got in her car, waved at him, and drove away.

Back at her apartment, she curled up on her couch with the remote control, a box of tissues, and the bottle of rum. She didn’t even bother with a glass. Sometime during her George Bailey marathon, she fell asleep, surrounded by tear-soaked wadded up Kleenex and a half-empty bottle of Bacardi.

* * *

Laci’s company shut down the week between Christmas and New Year, and she always loved having that time off. Until this year.

This year, every day was an endless litany of phone calls and emails checking on her and inviting her out to cheer her up. By the second day, she’d buried her laptop under snail mail and turned her phone to silent. She’d allow herself a few more days of wallowing, but she’d be damned if she’d start the new year miserable. Determined to get out of her funk and attend the annual New Year’s Eve party at Kelly’s house, she dug a scarlet sequined cocktail dress out of the back of her closet. It still had the tags on it; she’d never been daring enough to wear it before. She hung it on her closet door and stared at it every day, trying to get the courage to go through with it.

On the thirty-first, she got up, downed a huge steaming mug of black coffee, and headed out. A manicure, pedicure, and hair appointment later, she was back at her apartment, staring at her dress.

She still had eight hours to talk herself out of going.

Or into going.

She tried reading a book, watching a movie, listening to music. Nothing relaxed her. She tried catching up on emails. She deleted several from Del—unopened. Finally, she opted to soak in the tub, making sure to keep her hair well above water level.

Not even lavender-scented bubbles settled her nerves.

At eight o’clock, the time when the party officially started, she got out of the tub.

At nine o’clock, she applied her makeup.

At ten o’clock, when even the late-comers had shown up at the party, she started to get dressed.

At eleven o’clock, she stood in her bedroom, dressed to kill. And sick to her stomach.

“I’ll never get a cab this late,” she said to the empty room. “No point in even trying.”

She glanced in the mirror and had to acknowledge she was the world’s worst liar. Her poker face consisted of trembling lips and watery eyes. She turned away from the mirror and took a deep breath.

Her gaze landed on her jewelry box, and she crossed the room to it. Pulling open the top drawer, she took out a stunning diamond necklace. The one Del had given her so long ago.

The one he’d recognized on her last year when he found her on Kelly’s patio.

It was exactly what she needed to complete the outfit. In fact, when she bought the dress, she said that very thing in the dressing room.

She always thought she’d have a ring to match, but it wasn’t to be.

She blinked back tears, fastened the diamond strand around her neck, and walked back to the mirror.

It looked perfect.

And felt terrible.

She stood in front of her mirror, staring at her reflection. Memories flooded back to her, crushing, debilitating. Her breath came in shallow gasps and her heart drummed a staccato beat in her ears. Every blink, every breath, every heart beat… Del. His smile, his laugh. His arms around her, his lips on hers. Holidays and vacations. Games and movies. Everywhere she looked, every sound she heard… Delany.

The buzz of her doorbell broke into her thoughts. She tried to ignore it, but her uninvited guest was persistent. It was probably her parents, making sure she was okay. Resigned to a tedious conversation, she stomped to the door and flung it open.

Del stood there, leaning against her door frame.

Words failed her.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

She shook her head, blinked hard, and swallowed. “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t at Kelly’s.”

“I wasn’t at Kelly’s because I didn’t feel like a party tonight.”

“Then why are you dressed for one?”

She sighed. “I was in the mood earlier. Now I’m not.” She faked a cough. “I’m not feeling well.”

He raised an eyebrow and his lips twitched like he was suppressing a smile. “I see.” He pushed her door open and entered her apartment. “Well, I guess I’ll stay here and take care of you.”

She closed the door and followed him into the living room. “That’s not necessary.”

“I insist.”

She sighed. “Shouldn’t you be out west somewhere?”

“Why?” He sat down.

“Why?” Her voice raised in both pitch and decibel. “Why? Because you live there!”

“Says who?”

“Delany.” She fisted her hands, put one against her forehead and rested the other on her hip. “I don’t have the energy for this.”

“So sit. I told you I’d take care of you.”

She lowered her arms and stared at him. “What do you want?”

He patted the couch cushion beside him. “Please come here. I need to talk to you.”

Sighing, she gave up and crossed to him. She stared down at him before finally sitting… on the opposite side of the sofa.

He got up and moved over to sit beside her. Taking her hand in his—and taking a deep breath—he stared into her eyes.

His proximity was more than she could stand, and she started to rise. But he held on to her, and she was forced to remain seated.

“Lace, I’ve practiced this I don’t know how many times. But the words seem inadequate now. So let me just tell you, I don’t accept what you said to me in October. I tried, because I thought it was what you wanted, but I can’t. I love you.”

“It doesn’t matter, Del. It’s not enough.”

“It does matter.” He rubbed his thumb across her knuckles, and she felt the all-too-familiar tingles shoot up her arm.

“Laci, I tried it before. I tried it again the last two months. I can’t do it. I can’t live without you in my life.”

The words she always wanted to hear. From the man she wanted to hear it from. And it wasn’t enough.

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry, Del. Two months is a long time. I’ve moved on.”

“That’s why you’re home alone on New Year’s Eve dressed for a party and wearing the necklace I gave you.”

She blinked, but didn’t answer him. Couldn’t.

“You’re missing something, though.” He scrutinized her from head to toe.

Laci squirmed under his gaze. She patted her hair and smoothed her dress.

“No. It’s not your hair or your dress. Those are stunning. It’s your fingers.”

“I just had a manicure!” She held out her hands and stared at her fingernails. None was rough or chipped. When she looked back up at him, he was on one knee in front of her.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a tiny black box and opened it. A brilliant diamond sat nestled in the satin interior of the box. Intricate facets reflected the soft light in the room.

“Marry me, Laci.”

Those were the words she’d always wanted to hear. From the man she wanted to hear it from. And she wanted it to be enough, but knew it wasn’t. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Del, why are you doing this?”

“Because I love you.”

She sobbed, tried to compose herself. But it was no use. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I don’t want to be in a long-distance relationship, and I simply can’t uproot my life and move across the country.”

He took her hand. “Who asked you to?”

“You did. You are. Again.”

He shook his head. “No, Laci. No, I’m not.”

“Then how will we make this work?”

“The same way we have been.”

She sniffled. “Don’t lie to me.”

He sat back on his heel. “I’m not. Why would you think that?”

“I saw you. On Thanksgiving. Getting into a cab with all your stuff.”

Again he shook his head. “You know, you jump to conclusions more than anyone I know. I’ve been calling you for weeks, but you never answered or returned my calls.”

Her breath caught in her throat. She hardly dared ask, but she had to know. She whispered, “Didn’t the new job work out?”

“My new job is great. I have more free time and more money.”

“Oh.” She looked away.

“It’s downtown.”

She looked back at him. “What?”

“I told you. You just assume things when you don’t know the facts. I never took the west coast job. I took a job right here, in town.”

“But I saw you…”

“You did see me. But you jumped to the wrong conclusion. Again. I moved. I wanted a house. In the suburbs. For us.”

“What?”

“You know that two-story Tudor two blocks from your folks? The one you love? I bought it.”

She raised trembling fingers to her lips. Could it be true? “What?”

“I couldn’t leave, not without you. I spent the first month away from you packing and the second fixing up the house. But I called you every day.”

“I deleted your messages. I couldn’t stand to hear your voice knowing you were gone.”

“But I’m right here. And I’m asking… was it all for nothing? Do you not want me anymore? Or will you marry me?”

She smiled, then laughed through the tears. “Yes. Yes!”

He took her hand and slid the ring on her finger. “There. Now your outfit’s complete.”

She threw her arms around him, and he hugged her tight. “I love you, Laci.”

Pulling back, she rested her forehead against his. “I love you, too, Del.”

“One more thing.”

She looked at him. “What?”

He nodded to the clock. It was five after twelve.

“Happy birthday.”

She looked at her ring, a glinting promise of a long future with the man she loved.

It was indeed a happy birthday. It was going to be a wonderful life.

Control

If you know me, you know how important family is to me. Being there for the good and the bad, the happy and the sad, the holidays and the day-to-day. I never expected to live 1,000 miles away from my hometown; never thought I wouldn’t be able to be with my loved ones anytime I wanted, let alone on a holiday.

But I didn’t go home for Thanksgiving.

If you know me, you know I love to cook. You know I meticulously plan holiday meals and special event menus. I budget my time in the kitchen to maximize output, minimize work, and get everything on the table at the right time.

This year, I had a problem with the oven and the turkey wasn’t ready when the rest of the meal was.

If you know me, you know when I set a goal or deadline for myself, I meet it. I try to exceed it. This year, I determined not to miss a weekly post. Not for vacations. Not for holidays. I had a guest post scheduled for today, so I was covered.

But due to circumstances beyond my control, the guest post won’t be published today.

In the course of our daily lives, there are plenty of challenges in our way, obstacles to overcome, problems to solve. It would be ever so easy to throw our hands up in the air, howl in frustration, and give up.

I could have cried because I couldn’t go home for the holiday. I could have had dinner without the turkey or just scrapped the meal altogether in favor of takeout. I could have not written a post today and missed my deadlines.

But I didn’t.

I embraced my “phone” visits with my family. I even missed two birthdays and two “First Thanksgivings” with the new babies. But pictures made it easier. I made dinner work and enjoyed my husband, kids, and dogs. I even made a few new recipes, and they were well worth the experiment. And I wrote a post. It’s one I’m pretty proud of. And one I hope you can learn from.

Life gets so much easier when we learn to roll with the punches, accept the things that aren’t working, change the things within our control, and let the other things go.

I don’t consider myself a control freak (although my husband and kids might argue to the contrary), but control is important. It helps us feel in charge of our destinies. It gives us confidence in ourselves. It takes away uncertainty.

7 Ways to Conquer Challenges and Assume/Maintain Control

First, you must always be prepared for a setback.
If one occurs, you must be able to make an honest assessment of your situation. Once emotions get involved, it’s harder to be impartial.
Next, you must decide what things you have no control over and what things you can affect.
1. On the things you can’t impact, decide to accept them for what they are and move past them.
2. On the things you can impact, analyze the situation. Then make plan for solving your problem, or, if you already have a contingency plan, review it.
Is your plan sound and viable?
1. If so, implement it.
2. If not, revise it until it is, then implement it.
Make assessments on the fly, and adapt to changes in your situation.
Be prepared to let go of your ideal and accept “well enough for now.”
Learn to be happy with what you have instead of upset with what you don’t have.

For Writers:
We’ve all written that passage, scene, or chapter that simply doesn’t work. You may love it for fifteen different reasons, but “cutting our darlings” has to be one of the best lessons we can learn. The best way to control our writing is to honestly assess it (or listen to constructive feedback from others) and decide the best course of action. If that means deleting, then delete. If that means rewriting, then rewrite. If that means a minor tweak or leaving it as is, then tweak or let it stand. But to truly be in control, we have to be the ones who make the tough choices. Our work, and ourselves, will be better for it in the end.

For Everyone:
No one likes to give up control. It can be more than uncomfortable. Sometimes it can be downright scary. But with an action plan and a calm, rational demeanor, we can resume control of most situations and find a solution we can be comfortable with. For times when we have no control? We just have to learn to accept that and hope for the best.

Me personally? Maybe I am a control freak. I plan. I make contingency plans. I adapt. I admit it… I do like to be in control.

Today, I’m not. It’s tradition to decorate the house for Christmas on the day after Thanksgiving. I’ve tried to get out of it for the last few years, but my daughter has put her foot down. So I’m decorating today. As much as I love to be in control, I recognize a hopeless cause when I see one. And today, I defer to the force of nature that is my daughter.

Have you ever found yourself in a situation where things didn’t go according to plan? How did you cope? Do you have any advice to offer? Let’s talk about it. Share your story here.

Do You Focus on the Negative?

We broke down and bought new furniture for our family room. We’ve needed it for a while, but with two dogs that jump on it and two kids who eat in there, we didn’t see the point.

Until the dogs ate the stuffing out of the cushions.

We went to several stores and were never really satisfied with anything. So we settled on a sofa and loveseat that would match our existing chair. However, it doesn’t match our walls, so now we have to paint.

My living room hasn’t been painted since we moved in. But now we have another room on the list.

We intended to keep this set pristine. But the dogs are already using it as a bed, and my kids are eating on it again. It’s probably only a matter of time before I’m picking up stuffing off the floor.

Don’t get me wrong, though. I’m not complaining. I’m actually grateful.

See, this month was difficult for many of my family and friends. My uncle is sick and deteriorating rapidly. My mother had two surgeries. A high school friend is marking the one year anniversary of her mother’s death. An online friend’s father is in the hospital. And the list goes on…

How can I complain about furniture when so many people have much bigger worries to contend with?

This month we celebrate Thanksgiving. It’s less than a week away, actually. Are you going to be grateful for the blessings you have or complaining about your have-nots?

There are many disappointments and tragedies I could focus on this year, but I’m choosing to be thankful. I hope you manage to do the same.

For Writers:
An easy personality trait to give a character is negativity. What about gratitude? Do you have a character that needs to be fleshed out, better developed? Try making him or her altruistic, especially if he or she has little to be grateful for. This is a great way to add dimension to a flat character.

For Everyone:
Thanksgiving is nearly upon us. I wish you all nothing but health and happiness this year. Hopefully you find contentment and peace.

Veterans Day Every Day

This week, we celebrated Veterans Day. That one day a year we set aside for the people who have served our country—in wartime and peacetime.

Why just one day?

These are people who took an oath, promising to defend us, regardless to the personal sacrifice they might face. They’ve protected us, secured our rights and freedoms, and fought to make the world a better place.

Medals or not, all veterans are heroes. We owe them far more than a “thanks” and one day in November. (click to tweet)

This year, on Veterans Day, my parents celebrated their 53^rd wedding anniversary. My dad is a veteran, and I can’t imagine how my mother felt, waiting for him to come home. Wondering if he would. Thank God, he did, and fifty-three years later, they have three children and six grandchildren to show for it. That is their world. The world my father signed up to protect.

Also this year, on Veterans Day, my niece—a veteran—got married. Her husband is still actively serving our country. They’re beginning their lives together in a world they both promised to defend.

My family is able to celebrate these wonderful occasions because our military has assured us we are safe to. They’ve guaranteed our lifestyles and ensured our liberties.

I don’t wait for Veterans Day to thank our military. When I see someone in a military uniform, I say thank you. When I talk to veterans, I give them my gratitude.

Shouldn’t we all do the same, every day?

For Writers:
We all need a hero in our stories. We create strong men and women to advance our plots, maybe even save our worlds. How many of us have considered making our heroes veterans? Even if our stories aren’t about waging wars in third world countries or protecting our borders, a veteran is a special-sort-of-someone whose background will shape his or her actions and yield a unique perspective to any situation. Don’t forget our military when writing a character bio.

For Everyone:
It was Veterans Day this week. Did you thank a vet? Will you tomorrow? Next week? In a few months? Let’s always remember to show our support of the people who protect us. You don’t have to agree with the politics behind our military operations to be appreciative of those who serve our nation. (click to tweet)

Veterans, I humbly thank you.

Laci and Del: Giving Thanks Was Never So Difficult

Remember that 2014 is the year I’m trying serial work. This is part 11 of 12.

Laci and Del: Giving Thanks Was Never So Difficult

Laci loved autumn—crisp air, cozy clothes, football and hockey season, hearty and spicy foods—and Thanksgiving was one of her favorite holidays. She pulled her sweet potato casserole out of the oven and breathed in deeply. Ah, nothing could smell better. Except her mother’s turkey and stuffing. She pulled on her favorite sweater, loaded her casserole and pumpkin cheesecake into the car, and left for her parents’ house.

Yes, this was one of her favorite times of the year. But this year she couldn’t enjoy it.

Try as she might, she couldn’t get past her breakup with Del. The past few weeks had been torturous. She vacillated between knowing it was for the best, to staring at her phone praying he’d call, to almost dialing his number.

In the end, though, none of those were true. She didn’t think it was in either of their best interests to separate, but she couldn’t follow him, he shouldn’t stay, and he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to try to repair their relationship. He hadn’t contacted her once. Not one call. Not a text. Not a single email.

She sighed and bore left, her car automatically heading toward his apartment instead of her parents’ house. If she could maybe just get a glimpse of him before being inundated with family for the day, she might feel a bit better.

Or it might just make things worse.

She stopped at the corner of his street and stared, dumbfounded, at the sight in front of his building. A cab sat near the curb, trunk open, and the driver had exited and was helping Del load luggage into the back.

Definitely made things worse. She suffered the worst case of déjà vu ever. She struggled to breathe while the tears streamed silently down her cheeks. Of course he hadn’t tried to contact her. She’d told him to move on, and he was. Literally.

It was too awful to watch the cab driver pull away, taking her love and her future with him. Instead, she made an illegal U-turn and drove back the way she came. She didn’t get two blocks before the flashing lights in her rearview mirror indicated a problem. No one else was on the street. It had to be her. When the siren blared, she signaled and pulled to the curb. The police officer followed and, after parking behind her, approached her window.

“Miss, do you know why I pulled you over?”

Tears continued to fall, but now accompanied by wracking sobs. She nodded her head.

The officer sighed. “License, registration, and insurance, please.”

She fumbled in the glove compartment and produced the papers he needed. Then she got her license from her purse. Her sobs came like hiccups as she handed the information out the window.

“Miss, are you all right?”

She just shook her head. He produced a handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to her. “I’ll be right back.” He went back to his patrol car and did whatever took cops so long to do back there.

Laci tried to settle herself before he came back, mopping at her face and taking deep breaths. All she managed to do was smear her makeup.

He came back to her car and handed her information back to her. “You have a clean record, and I wouldn’t want to mess that up on Thanksgiving. Let’s consider this a warning. But be careful. And no driving until you’ve calmed down. Okay?”

“Okay.” It sounded more like “ah… ka,” but it was all she could manage to utter.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

She nodded and offered a watery smile.

“Drive safely, Miss Marks.”

She offered him his hanky back, but he smiled and waved her off, then returned to his vehicle.

To Laci’s dismay, he didn’t pull out. She figured he was waiting for her, so she composed herself as best she could and left for her mother’s. He followed her to the bridge, then turned away.

The rest of her ride was uneventful. Because of her side trip and the subsequent stop, she arrived at her parents’ home late—right when the food was being placed on the table. No picking at turkey and stuffing right out of the oven this year. No matter, she wasn’t hungry anyway.

The house bustled with activity. The littlest children colored hand-outline turkeys while the older ones sang “Over the River” and danced around. The men walked sideways into the dining room, trying not to miss the last football play they’d get to see before dinner was over. Her mother and aunt hovered over the table, fussing over details while her cousin Clara snoodled up to her boyfriend Kyle on the couch. Everyone else must be in the kitchen, but she couldn’t see past the commotion in the dining room. Soon people filed to their seats from all corners of the house.

Far too many people, far too little room. Packed elbow-to-elbow and hip-to-hip, everyone—almost everyone—she loved clustered around the table. It was the kind of family event she adored.

And she didn’t know how she’d get through it.

Her dad looked at her and frowned, but he didn’t say anything. He just enveloped her in a hug and took the casserole dish out of her hand. Her mother reached for the cheesecake but stopped in her tracks. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Lying was just easier. “I got stopped by a cop on my way here, and I had to cry to get out of the ticket. Thank God it’s Thanksgiving. He was in a holiday mood and took pity on me. I got off with a warning.”

Her mother frowned and took the dessert from her, weaving her way between the kid table and the adult table to put it in the refrigerator. Her Aunt Rose smiled and kissed her cheek. “Well, we’re just glad you’re here now. And what about your young fella? Where’s he?”

Her mother, reentering the dining room, cleared her throat and glared at her sister. “Help me pour, Rose.” She thrust a bottle into Rose’s hand, saving Laci from answering.

Laci swallowed her tears past the lump in her throat and wondered if she’d be able to eat anything. She knew it all smelled wonderful, but she was sick to her stomach and the aroma of the food just made it worse. Taking her seat, she grabbed her goblet of water and downed it in two gulps.

Her aunt got the children ginger ale while her mother walked around pouring Taittinger for everyone. Her father, at the head of the table, stood and tapped his fork against his champagne flute. Everyone grew quiet while he said the blessing, then he raised his glass.

“Another year, another wonderful spread. Another houseful of loved ones.” He turned toward Laci, but she couldn’t meet his gaze. She reached for her champagne flute and stared at the table. “I’m so grateful for all our blessings, and for each one of you. If you’d all raise your glasses…” When everyone had complied, he said, “For the bounty of Thanksgivings past, the blessings of Thanksgiving present, and the promises of Thanksgiving futures. Sláinte!”

Laci mouthed the words as he spoke them. He ended every Thanksgiving toast the same way. This year, though, when everyone else drank, she put her glass down. She didn’t feel like celebrating. She didn’t feel blessed this year. And she certainly didn’t think her future was very promising.

Clara and her boyfriend managed to get to their feet without knocking over any chairs or crushing any toes. Clara clinked her fork against her glass, the crystal sounding shrill to Laci’s ears. When everyone looked at the couple, Clara said, “We have an announcement.”

Laci sighed. Clara always had something to share. Why it needed to be an announcement, she had no idea, but she refrained from rolling her eyes and waited.

Clara and Kyle wrapped their arms around each other, then Clara thrust her left hand into the air. “We’re getting married!”

The reaction was thunderous and immediate. Everyone did their best to extricate themselves from their seats and rush over to the young couple to offer congratulations. Everyone, that is, but Laci and her parents. Laci headed for the door, and they followed.

“Laci,” her mother said.

“I can’t, Mom. I’m sorry, but I just can’t.” She rooted through the pile of coats strewn on the stairs and found hers, second from the top. “Make my apologies, say whatever you have to. But I have to get out of here.”

“But it’s Thanksgiving,” her dad said.

She pecked him on the cheek and hugged her mom. “I know.” And she walked out the door.

Laci was really starting to get the hang of driving through a flood of tears. It had become the norm. She’d also grown accustomed to letting the car decide where to go, as she didn’t have the will or desire to direct it. For some reason, she was driving through the city again instead of heading home. The parade was long over, but in her mind she heard the echo of the marching bands, saw the horses and the floats, listened to the delighted squeals of the children as Santa made his way down the street. She liked to attend the parade every year, but this year she hadn’t been up to it. Now, the streets still littered with candy wrappers, soda cans, and confetti, it seemed so profound to her. Life was just like that parade. It was beautiful and exciting. And fleeting. And once the magic was over, all that was left was the tattered remnants. Until someone cleaned them up and disposed of them.

When she got to the bridge, she saw a street cleaning crew heading the way she had come. Too bad she couldn’t hire them to clean up her mess.

She drove across the bridge, not bothering to look at the fountain at The Point, the paddle boats on the river, the incline on the hill. Those were things she never missed; the city was gorgeous and the sights always lifted her spirits. But that day, she didn’t care. She just went where her car took her.

And cried when she ended up on the Coal Mountain overlook. The place Del had taken her on Valentine’s Day.

She put the car in drive and headed home, her heart broken and her mind reeling. Would she ever be thankful for anything again?

Cutting Room Floor

If you’ve been following me on social media (And if you aren’t, why aren’t you? The links are right there in the sidebar!), then you know this week I’ve been focused on Halloween. So of course you’re expecting a post today—on Halloween— about the holiday. Right?

Wrong.

Today, I expect you’ll celebrate the holiday however you like (or maybe not at all), so you don’t need me to tell you what to do. Instead, I’m bringing in friend and fellow writer P.C. Zick to talk about her novel, Native Lands, and to share with us a scene that didn’t make the cut. (Lucky for us, she gave us a sample of what did make the cut, too.)

So, without further ado, I give you P.C.

Native Lands – The Cutting Room Floor

My new release Native Lands made it through many twists and turns from its inception in 2006 to its publication this month. Eight years, three titles, and 40,000 cut words later, the novel finally made it to the publication stage this week. While the cutting room floor is littered with debris, not all is lost—the litter may very well become my next novel.

The concept for Native Lands began when I was assigned a series of freelance articles that led me to research destroyed mangroves, endangered wildlife, and extinct tribes of native Floridians. As I read and traveled the peninsula of Florida in pursuit of the stories, I kept coming back to the connection all living things have with one another. I began writing a novel with the working title of Connecting the Dots. A member of my writers’ group at the time suggested the title was too clichéd. I knew he was right, but I kept it until a better choice presented itself.

When I needed to interview wildlife officers for more information about the Everglades for the novel, serendipity occurred. I accepted a job with the Florida Fish and Wildlife Commission as a public relations director. For four years, I interviewed and interpreted wildlife managers and officers. I didn’t work on Connecting the Dots, but I knew my day job was providing me with plenty of substance for my fiction.

When I pulled the novel out in 2012, I changed the name to Safe Harbors, which is the name of the development in the novel that threatens to destroy many parts of the state, including the Everglades.

I began finishing the first draft early in 2014. The Native American tribe, the Timucuans, thought to have become extinct in north Florida 200 years after the Spanish invasion, nagged at me. When I visited my daughter in St. Augustine where the Timucuan village of Seloy existed until around 1780, I felt ghosts moving the pen across my journal. I wrote scenes from Seloy in 1760 when the warrior Locka decides it’s time for them to move south before they do become extinct from disease and bullets.

Then the title Native Lands sprang to life as the final choice. With Locka’s story paralleling the story of 2012 Floridians fighting developers, I added nearly 40,000 words to the manuscript bringing it in at around 130,000 words—far too many for the majority of the reading public.

Between my beta readers and my editor, I knew I had to make some important changes. I fine-tuned the point of view so the reader clearly understood who the main characters and the antagonist were. I eliminated and combined characters. And I threw out anything that didn’t contribute to the movement of the plot toward the climax of the story. It was a grueling and painful process, and for days, I wondered if the book was worth saving.

Then I went to work. Once I had a clear vision in my mind of what I needed to do, the incisions into the plot became easier.

Recently I found an old blog post about Native Lands that I wrote soon after I started the drafting stage. I must have liked it enough to post it, but it’s a scene that’s now on the cutting room floor.

Barbara walked closer to the nest to inspect its size. She glanced back at the three young people now sitting on a blanket nearby. Sam turned toward her with his swimming trunks hiked up high on his thighs. She noticed the tattoo immediately. Her eyes drifted to Lori who sat facing the ocean, her bare back to Barbara exposing a similar tattoo.

“Are your tattoos identical?” Barbara asked.

“Lori’s has a female protector over the heart. That’s the only difference,” Sam said.

“Our mom has one identical to mine,” Lori said. “She said it was a tradition in her family.”

“What about your father? Does he have one?” Barbara asked.

“He died when we were young,” Sam said. “We don’t remember him.”

Barbara asked no more questions, but as the rest continued talking about protecting the sea turtle nest, Barbara wondered how old Mike’s lost children might be.

Mangrove Mike did not speak of years and dates. He was the age of the seasons that ruled the moments of his life.

He often said life had no beginning; life had no end. It only existed now.

Why did I cut a scene I liked? The plot needed to move in a different direction. A friend of mine who was a successful author once told me if I loved a piece of prose too much, it probably meant it needed to go. He was trying to tell me to remove myself from my writing and view it with an objective eye. Just because I wrote it, doesn’t mean it’s chiseled into a rock. It’s been invaluable advice.

Native Lands reads much differently than the original novel I started in 2006. And there’s a file on my computer with 40,000 words of something that might just make its way into my next novel.

Here’s an excerpt from Native Lands that didn’t make its way to the cutting room floor. Locka prepares to lead members of his tribe to the Everglades from St. Augustine, Florida, in 1760:

The entire party would consist of six couples, four warriors, and four young children. Four of the women bulged with new life. The night before departure, they gathered near the fire with the rest of the tribe. Chief Calumba and the shaman began the ceremony with prayers for the safe passage of the small tribe of Seloy. After the prayer, the Chief signaled for the four children to come forward to the fire with their parents.

“We come here this evening to tattoo our young with the new symbol of the Seloys. They will carry this throughout their life, and with the help of their parents and the other members of this group about to leave our village, they will pass on their heritage to their own children.” He turned and bowed to the village shaman.

“This symbol represents the most sacred of animals,” the shaman said as he placed a long pole in the fire. At its tip, the pole held a sharpened shark’s tooth. “The marks for both female and male will be the head of the panther. Above the female’s symbol, a sun will shine down representing the sustaining force of the female. The male mark will show the crescent moon above the panther’s head to mark the passage of time and nature’s role in the life of our people.”

P.C. Zick began her writing career in 1998 as a journalist. She’s won various awards for her essays, columns, editorials, articles, and fiction. She describes herself as a “storyteller” no matter the genre.

She was born in Michigan and moved to Florida in 1980. Even though she now resides in western Pennsylvania with her husband Robert, she finds the stories of Florida and its people and environment a rich base for her storytelling platform. Florida’s quirky and abundant wildlife—both human and animal—supply her fiction with tales almost too weird to be believable.

She writes two blogs, P.C. Zick and Living Lightly. She has published three nonfiction books and six novels.

Her writing contains the elements most dear to her heart, ranging from love to the environment. In her novels, she advances the cause for wildlife conservation and energy conservation. She believes in living lightly upon this earth with love, laughter, and passion.

Contact and Purchase Links:

Amazon Page: http://www.amazon.com/P.C.-Zick/e/B0083DPN4E/

Amazon UK Page: http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B0083DPN4E

Barnes & Noble (Nook): http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/p.c.-zick

Apple iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id916306797

Kobo: http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/search?query=P.C.%20Zick&fcsearchfield=Author

Website: http://www.pczick.com

Kiss My Lips!

No, that’s not an offer. Sorry.

I’m hosting a cover reveal for fellow author Stella Eromonsere-Ajanaku. Many of you know my next novel is about a dysfunctional family. Wait until you read Stella’s teaser… she’s no stranger to drama, either.

Title: Kiss My Lips

(Holiday Series #2) Will one kiss seal their love?

Author: Stella Eromonsere-Ajanaku

Series: Holiday Series

Genre: Romance/Contemporary/Multicultural/Interracial

ISBN: 978-1502776549 (Paperback)

Release Date: Wednesday 29th October 2014

Cover Artist: Love Bites And Silk

Add to Goodreads

You Can Pre-order Kiss My Lips

Amazon.com – Pre-Order Link

Amazon.co.uk – Pre-Order Link

Blurb

Accepting Logan’s marriage proposal was the most exciting event of Lorna’s life. But deciding in what country to marry her fiancé proved to be more than a tearful ordeal. When Lorna’s dad announced unexpected news, the wedding wheels spun in a different direction.

With other family members stirring conflict, would there be a wedding? Or would their shared kiss deepen their desire?

Teaser

An hour after the doctor assured them Lorna would be fine, Logan and aunt Nneka remained by her bedside.

“My brother is the biggest fool I have ever known,” Lorna’s aunt complained, regret etched in her eyes, as her arms rubbed her temple. “I can’t believe he had no tact or kindness in his bone. How can he break such news, one after another without warning?” she lamented on a huge sigh.

She paused but Logan kept mute. If he was as reckless as his future father-in-law, he would have knocked off the man’s two front teeth.

“He wasn’t always this clueless, Logan,” auntie was saying, shaking her gently graying head. “Oh no, I think Marie has changed him. I hope to God, he knows what he’s getting himself into.”

Logan bit back the retort on the tip of his tongue.

“You haven’t said anything, Logan,” the older woman noted, watching his shoulder muscle flex and tighten.

“I’m beyond enraged, aunt Nneka. It is best I keep sealed lips before I regret my words. The only request I want to make is to plead with you to tell her dad to stay out of Lorna’s way for now.” His tone was soft but his eyes narrowed and his jaw compressed.

He saw the older woman’s mouth tighten at the sides but she nodded.

“I know he’s her father and nothing can change that,” he said stiffly, as if accepting the truth Kanu was a permanent feature in his fiancé’s life was painful. “But causing her so much pain to the point she collapses is reprehensible. I have tried to restrain my tongue, but right now, I want to punch his head.”

Lorna’s aunt approached him and touched his arm. He stiffened and she looked up at him. “Look at me, Logan,” she said in a placating tone.

Turning round, he looked at her. His rage wasn’t directed at her but he was in no mood for mind games.

Connect with Stella

Giveaway – How to enter

Leave a comment. Every reader who leaves a comment on the blog gets one free eBook of Stolen Valentine Kiss (Holiday Series # 1).

You get any other eBook from Flirty & Feisty Romance Novels.

Flirty & Feisty Romance

Our promise…is to deliver an intensely emotional experience you’ll never forget.

Is Time Passing You By?

Seth birthday — My son on his 16th birthday. Hard to believe a whole year has passed already.

Today is my son’s birthday. His seventeenth birthday.

How the heck did that happen?

I remember waiting for my due date. Waiting after my due date. Waiting three extra weeks for him to arrive. I had bonded with him long before he was ready to appear, and when he finally did, he was rushed to the NICU and I didn’t get to hold him anyway. Not for two days.

But when they wheeled me out of surgery, they took me to him. And when I said hello to him, he lifted his head and looked right at me. The nurses were stunned; they said babies don’t do that. But I knew from the moment I conceived him that he was special.

Just yesterday he was cradled in my arms. Except yesterday is apparently seventeen years ago. My yesterday is seventeen years of bottles and diapers, then toys and books, and then sporting events and academic awards.

Yes, my son is special.

So even though I won’t get to see him much today (he goes straight from school to his varsity game and won’t get home until late), I’m making his favorite foods to commemorate the day. Homemade stuffed pizza and cheesecake. You only turn seventeen once, even if you aren’t home for it. Might as well mark the occasion. (And trust me, even at midnight, he’ll eat pizza and cake!)

See, next year is the last year he’ll be home for his birthday. When he’s nineteen, he’ll be away at college, and I’m pretty sure his aspirations are going to take him far away from here. I don’t have much time.

Yesterday flew by, and tomorrow will be here before I know it.

It’s so easy to get lost in the mundane minutia of everyday life. Take the time to make each day special. (click to tweet that)

So happiest seventeenth birthday to my beloved son. May each future year be even more wonderful than the last.

For Writers:
Do your characters get lost in their day-to-day activities? It wouldn’t make for a compelling read if they did. But it’s not too realistic if they are constantly in flux, either. Try to strike a reasonable balance. Their character arc will be much more believable if we meet them when their lives are routine, but then watch them grow into people who break out of the mold.

For Everyone:
Are you stuck in work-rut? Do you do the same things, day after day? It’s time to stop and smell the cake. (Trust me, it smells AMAZING.) Appreciate life. Actually live, rather than exist. Life is all the better when it’s lived with purpose.

What the Subject Experts Say: