A Voice Among Many

I've been trying to take some time to get my thoughts together after the results of this Presidential election. Those who know me or read any of my writings know where I stand politically. I try to stay away from politics on this blog, but it would be inauthentic of me to ignore what's going on. I am a writer, so my actions start with the written word.

Photo by author, 2015 

This whole election process has been anxiety-producing. The results, for me and for many people, are devastating. I want to take the high road, as Michelle Obama has always so eloquently suggested, but first I will be blunt. This man Trump is not my President. He who spews hatred, division, bigotry, fear, and aggression; who lacks respect for women, minorities, people of color, people with disabilities, people who disagree with him, people who report the truth, nature, science, humanity, education, and the future of our planet. He who loves only money and power and truly only cares about himself, who bullies others and carries on like a spoiled, rich toddler--he does not represent me. I will not "unite" with those who tell me to "get over it" and to "not take it so seriously." I will not compromise my beliefs to "make nice" to those who choose to ignore or even rejoice in this man's message of hatred and fear. I do not align myself with people who hate others for the color of their skin or their sexuality or gender. I do not approve of "locker-room talk" which is simply a mask for sexual aggression against women. I will never be okay with sexual assault of any kind. To expect me to ignore the lies and promises of this President-"elect," for the "good of our country" is an insult to my sense of decency. 

Many of my friends and acquaintances and most of my family voted for Trump. To know this is especially difficult for me to reconcile. I understand that most people in this country are fed up with the hypocrisy of the political system. I understand that people who have lost jobs because they believe some politician sent them to China. I understand that blue collar workers and middle class people are struggling in this economy. I agree that there needed to be a shake up in Washington. But I will never understand how anyone with any conscience, with any care for the future of our country, for any concern for others at all could vote for a man who is a bigot, a sexual predator, a regressionist, and a narcissist who promotes himself on the concepts of hating people of different religions, hating people from other countries who look to our country to escape war and poverty, encouraging violence against LGBT people and any person who might say anything against him; who mocks people's disabilities and mocks the parents of a hero who died fighting for our country--I could go on, but I suspect it still doesn't matter to you. I will not unite with those who hate. Period.

Instead, I will look for the healers. I will learn from the teachers, the scientists, the philosophers, the caring, the helping, the just, the wise. I reject Trump and his followers' idea that education is bad. In fact, it is ridiculous to promote the dumbing down of America for that is exactly how someone like Trump can have power over us. I will unite with those who believe in giving and sharing. With those who work hard and try to do what's right for all and not for just themselves. I will fight for our natural areas. I will defend and protect those who have no voice; those who need help; those who are strong enough to stand against those who hate. I will lend my voice and give my support to those fighting for the rights of ALL the people in this country. I am destroyed by the realization that many of my fellow Americans hate so much. I am grieving now, but I will survive. Humanity will rise again, but we will have to fight for it. If you care, get involved. Write letters, join organizations that promote civil rights, women's rights, immigration rights, speak out against sexual assault and indignity of anyone, protect the environment--whatever you care deeply about. Act now. Act often. Be diligent. All is not yet lost.

Blossom

Photo by author May 2016

I decided to split from my publisher and get my rights back to my novel since I was doing all the work and reaping none of the rewards. We'll see how it all plays out when I self publish my renamed novel, but I am going to take some time to regroup and continue writing my other projects first.

It's been a difficult journey in some ways. Self-doubt and frustration of how much work it takes to make a few cents. Yet, writing is something I have to do whether I feel like doing it or not. It's nudged me from the darkest corners of my life. It screams at me in my dreams. It wheedles its way into my everyday. It's a parasite clamped onto my limbic brain.

Writing is hard work. Everybody thinks they could write a novel, but few of us actually do it. It's a long process for most of us. At it's essential best, writing for me is the world. The cosmos. A supernova of experience. The Holy Grail. At it's worst, it is Death itself. The Devil. Armageddon. Sometimes all those things at the same time.

So, here is my advice to my fellow creatives (for what it's worth): blossom anyway. That's right, we're all just buds waiting for the right temperature, the right amount of moisture, the receptiveness of the environment, the right amount of sun, the best soil--there's never a perfect time. There's no way to read the trends. There's no magic formula. It's still just one word at a time. One paint stroke. One caress of the clay. The first cut to the wood. One musical note. One (maybe three chords). Do it your way. Get some outside opinions from people you trust to tell you whether it's crap or not, but do what's in your heart. Take critiques for what they're worth and consider the source. Learn. Grow, but don't give up. Yes, even the most beautiful flowers die. The great thing is, they blossom again. Why should we be any different? Bloom on.

Health Scare

Photo of author by Kevin Tomasello c. 2015

I need to write about something I don't usually write about. I was challenged by an online writing group to write about something on my blog that I am afraid to write about. Since there is a long list of things that I fear, I will start with something I deal with every day: healthcare.

I have had careers as a registered nurse and a speech language pathologist (still currently working in this field). I have worked in three different states for several different types of facilities: hospitals, nursing homes, home health, a university setting, rehabilitation, and transitional care. I take my job very seriously and care deeply for the people in my care.  The political climate makes me ill, but no matter who you want for President, our health care system still needs an overhaul. We talk of "patient-centered care," but very few health care systems are set up  to actually take care of the patient's needs. People enter the hospital with a given diagnosis and if they have a problem that isn't part of that diagnosis, they are discharged and told to follow up with their doctor for whom they won't get an appointment for weeks or months, depending on what the problem is. Patients are pushed out of the hospital earlier and earlier, unless they have the right type of insurance, then they may stay longer than necessary. A patient came in with a huge tumor on his tongue and one protruding from his jaw and cheek. A chest x-ray revealed more tumors in his lungs, showing that the cancer had spread to other parts of his body. The man was deaf, used sign language, and had trouble speaking because of the tumor on his tongue. The doctor decided that the patient was "mentally retarded based on conversation." She did not order a CT scan of his brain. Instead, she ordered speech pathology to see him for a "cognitive evaluation" to determine if he has capacity to make decisions about his care. This is not even in my scope of practice. I could write about many more disturbing examples I have witnessed, but my aim is to keep this post at a reasonable length.  It seems that far too often our healthcare system still can't see the whole picture when it comes to taking care of sick people.

I am a big proponent of palliative care for those who desire it or for families making decisions for loved ones who can no longer decide for themselves. For those who are suffering and have little hope of recovery or for whom continued treatment will offer only more suffering in order to live a few months longer. I have found, though, that palliative care, at least in New York State, is greatly lacking. A friend with metastatic lung cancer to his brain had fought a brave battle and had some success with gene therapy that extended his life and quality of life for two years. When the treatments stopped working and he became very weak and ill, he and his wife decided on comfort/palliative care measures through a home hospice program. When I went to visit him, he could barely speak more than a word or two at a time in a whisper due to his weakened state. He kept asking if he could go back to the hospital. When I asked him why, he didn't say that he was afraid of the pain or that he was afraid of dying. He wanted to lift the burden of care off his wife. His wife explained that my friend was upset because he didn't want her to have to wash him, change him, feed him, and stay up half the night with him when he was restless. He couldn't understand why the hospice people didn't help and why he couldn't go to a facility to receive more care. Aides came in a few times a week for an hour or two at a time to bathe him, but no one came overnight or to take care of anything else, and much of the stress was placed on Joe's (not his real name) wife to take care of his daily needs. This caused him more distress than anything the cancer threw at him. Because they had no children and no family locally, the entire load was placed on Joe and his wife to manage his own hospice care. Joe's wife is a strong lady, but she jeopardized her own health taking care of him. She was pale and thin, chronically fatigued, had to take a leave from her job to care for Joe and she was the one who had to run out to get more supplies, leaving Joe alone in the house each time.

Hospice may work better if you have a large family who can take shifts to help, but this is not the case with many families. Those with the right insurance may go to a nursing home, but there is no guarantee that you will receive more or better care there. Skilled nursing facilities are overcrowded and understaffed. It costs approximately $6,000 a month or more to stay in a Medicare-approved nursing home in New York State. If your hospice care in an nursing home includes procedures that help pain, like radiation to shrink tumors that are impinging on nerves, the cost if greatly increased. Home hospice is less expensive, but you receive much less care and if you enter into any hospice program and you live longer than six months, you have to pay back any money paid by Medicare. Many other insurances don't even cover hospice care. In addition to the burden of watching their loved ones die, families also suffer an often catastrophic financial burden from which they cannot fully recover.

I'm sorry that the United States is not the leader in healthcare it claims to be. People get incredibly worked up when anyone wants to change the system and perhaps those people have been fortunate not to need healthcare to any great degree, but your life can change in an instant. All it takes is one bad accident, one cancer diagnosis, one neurological event to change your life forever. No one is immune and if we can't figure out how to help each other better in this country, I am afraid for its future.

Don't Let the Devils Diminish Your Drive

The view from our wedding 2001

At right is a photo of the view from the fishing boat-turned-nature-cruise-vessel where my spouse and I tied the legal knot almost 15 years ago. This is my second marriage, and it is fraught with more turmoil, but better results than my first. In other words, marriage takes work, just like anything else in life worth doing. The clouds make for a spectacular sunset.

Our marriage has weathered a few storms well, but sadly, our little wedding boat was destroyed in a storm just a couple years after we were married. We cherish the memories and few photos of that day: content that our union is stronger than any storm.

What does this mean for my writing?

A fellow writer on a welll-known writing site expressed his worries that maybe he should give up writing all together after his beta reader (one person) told him his project of more than ten years was flat and lifeless. I understand this thinking, believe me. Skepticism usually wins out over optimism in my brain. Any little cheerleaders are skewered by the talons of the diminutive devils that grace my psyche on a daily basis. Indeed, it is far easier to give up in this writing world than to plow ahead. I have limited time to write and even less time to submit completed works, so each rejection packs a double fisted punch. My inner voice is my worst critic, often urging me to give up because it's all useless anyway--or so the little demons would have me believe. People, whom I considered close friends, failed to buy my book and the woman whom I thought was my soul sister and strongest supporter, emailed me a rambling clinical opinion devoid of any praise or encouragement. This is when you realize that your friends don't necessarily care about your writing as much as you. When you get over the shock of this discovery, you understand that you are the only one who really cares that you wrote anything at all. Reality can suck the life right out of a writer.

Fortunately, you will also receive heartfelt comments about your work. Someone takes the time to comment on my blog or tells me they loved my book or they thought my short story reading was spectacular and I admit, I am renewed. I don't believe writers who say they write only for themselves. If I only wanted to write for myself, I would stick to the journal and not try to publish anything. I write to connect to others, to communicate ideas, to share a story, and yes--to receive feedback. It's a big ol' unsympathetic world out there most of the time, but that doesn't mean I, or anyone else, should give up what they feel they are meant to do. I intend to keep writing and working on my craft to improve. There's always room for improvement, but if you write...you must write, no matter how hard or discouraging it may be at times. Take the criticisms for what they are: opinions. Use them as a springboard for writing it better or if it's only one opinion, remember it's only one person's opinion. It's not the end of the world, I promise, even if it sometimes feels like that. Have a good cry or a strong drink or a hard run or whatever you need to do to slay the dragon then get back at it. No one decides that you fail except you. Be a clever devil, turn your back on the the darkness and face the sun.

Cheers! Now get to work.

Forward Movement

Sunset over sand bar to Bar Island at low tide by Laura J. Bear

A review and a plan:

2015 was a big year for good things. It witnessed the launch of my first novel: WHERE THE HEART LANDS in March. I turned a half century old. My son got married. I had the good fortune of participating in two writing retreats: the Cayuga Lake retreat with my writing sisters and the New Hampshire Berlin Writers Retreat at Coppertoppe Inn in Hebron, NH where I was reunited with the extraordinary writer Greg Norris and met several wonderful new friends in person after hearing about them for so long.

We were not immune to sad and tragic things in 2015. We lost our dear friend Mike. The news brought ugly events into our home: racism, torture, death, general inhumanity, and a more and more divided nation with crazier political ridiculousness every day. My fifty-year-old body was suddenly less able to deal with chronic pain issues and stress. With sorrow and age comes renewed appreciation for everything I take for granted every other day: the warm sun on my face, the rain pinging on the rooftop; the kiss of wind on my skin; my family; my health,; my friends; trees, water, birds, animals, nature; quiet; laughter; a bicycle ride; live music; writing; my ability to read; the fragility of life; the capacity to love someone more than yourself; the simple sharing of my day with my spouse; the touch of his hand; the knowing that someone else cares about where I am at any given time.

Each new year offers a fresh page to my story and  I am setting some goals for 2016:

1) Choose kindness over being right, especially in my own house!
2) Write something every day, and don't sweat the word count.
3) Submit a short story every two weeks.
4) Write at least one nonfiction article a month.
5) Finish the draft of novel #2.
6) Play my mandolin or guitar at least every other day.
7) Think before I speak, and listen more than I talk.
8) Cook on the weekends and  freeze dinners for the work week.
9) Laugh more.
10) Go for it: I'm not getting any younger. Quit striving for perfection and jump in.
11) Learn from my mistakes and move on.
12) Get outside every chance I get.

May your new year be your best one yet.

Be Golden

Golden reflection at World's End State Park photo by author Laura J. Bear, October 2015

Since we are having such an unusually warm December so far, I decided that a snowy picture just wouldn't work. Besides, I thought it it might be a good time to talk about some things that have been on my mind, if you'll indulge me for a moment.

The news lately has been distressing: senseless mass killings; discrimination of any number of people; fear so widespread that people are willing to cling to their weapons and their insular slice of the continent at the expense of their humanity; bickering, blaming, name-calling, and general ridicuous behavior of most of our politicians; the rampant materialism and increasing division of our nation. It's enough to make me want to scream...or lash out...or cry...or throw up my hands..or just throw up. Not to mention that this season of supposed good cheer and altruism can be a depressing hell for people who have lost loved ones because their pain is amplified by the fact that everyone else seems so damn happy. I truly can't stand it sometimes.

Yet, I am instantly lifted from the sucking power of this dark mind-muck by the tiniest hint of sweetness--a sparkle of humanity. When I am at my absolute lowest--when my heart is raw and bleeding and open in my chest, vulnerable to the jagged blade of hate--that's when I am most sensitive to the smallest kindness, the quietest act of love. A stranger holds the door open, makes eye contact, and smiles. Someone stands up with you when you speak out against the harming of an animal or some other wrong. Last week, someone told me how much they enjoyed my novel, that they loved my characters and related to them. I can think of no greater praise for a writer, and  I was deeply moved. As silly as people may believe social media to be and as easy an avenue it can be to spread lies and hatred, social media can help people join together: to learn, to grow, and to share the good things that humans do for each other. We can lift each other up, just as easily as we can tear someone down. Why not search for the gold? Caring about others doesn't subtract from your soul, it adds to your happiness bank. The more you care, the more you care. The more open you are to the experience of other human beings, the more open other people are to you.

It doesn't matter what we look like or what religion we follow or don't follow. It doesn't matter where we live or how screwed up our families are. Politics aren't people and shouldn't be treated as such. It doesn't matter what you wear or how big your house is or how much money you make or what the hell the Kardashians are doing. We're all people, damn it, help each other. Take care of each other. Take care of the Earth--our only home. The only thing worse than hate is apathy. The only cure for hatred and apathy is that four-letter word: LOVE. Can we please stop being assholes to each other? A divided nation or region or neighborhood is the breeding ground for terrorism. Hate feeds terrorism. Terrorists win every time we act out of fear and hate. So, just stop. No matter how much it bugs you, be golden instead. You want to lighten your own load? Lift someone else up. Notice how the water in the photo above looks like spun gold? Water is not inherently golden, it reflects everything around it. Be the gold and see how it reflects back to you.

The Company We Keep

Photo of view of Newfound Lake from Coppertoppe Inn,  Hebron, NH by Laura J. Bear

I just returned from a wonderful wrtier's retreat at a magical place called Coppertoppe Inn in the foothills of the White Mountains of New Hampshire. Not only was the scenery breathtaking, with views from every room, but the company was stellar. Ten writers converged upon the Inn (including me) to share their work, refresh their spirits, and, well...write! It was my great fortune to be invited by a champion of writers: the extraordinary Gregory Norris, author of The Fierce and Unforgiving Muse, the screenplay for Brutal Colors, and Tales from the Robot Graveyard, among many hundreds of other titles. Greg is the quintessential writer: prolific with a seemingly infinite arsenal of ideas; organized with beautifully decorated files, notecards, and notebooks; and incredibly supportive and encouraging to other writers. Check out his blog: http://gregorylnorris.blogspot.com/. Through him, I was able to meet members of the delightful Berlin Writers group--all talented writers and lovely people in their own right.

I had been greatly needing a retreat with like-minded people. An all-consuming day job coupled with the urgent prodding of my latest project, my second novel and all the necessary daily routine stuff, not to mention the daunting task of continuing to promote my first recently hatched novel without being a bother, had depleted my soul. The desire was still there, but I had run out of fuel. I needed to recharge--a creative jump start. I found that in New Hampshire over Halloween weekend.

I arrived a day early, as my drive was the longest: six and a half hours through eastern New York, Vermont, and part of New Hampshire. One of my hosts, Sheila, of Coppertoppe Inn, greeted me on her way out to prepare for the arrival of the group the next day. Her husband Bill took over with charming and interesting conversation and recommendations for dinner in town. I had a luxioroius room with private bath and the breathtaking view above. I began to unwind and settle in for a night of writing after dinner, anticipating the arrival of the infamous Berlin Writers group the next day.

I decided to begin my morning with a  hike down the road from the Inn on the trails of a bird santuary and nature center with views of the lake. As I emerged with some confusion from one of the more overgrown trails,  a car crept down the steep dirt road to the park entrance. Peter Estabrooks and his wife, the poet Esther Lieber-Estabrooks surpised me with a warm greeting and to let me know that I should be receiving a package from them at the Inn today. This confirmed what would be an extraordinary weekend.

The rest of the group trickled in over the morning in small carloads until we were all assembled into our accomodations and had been introduced. The vibe was electric and inviting. Some of us set right to work, while others took some time to relax and enjoy the surroundings. Murder mystery writer Irene G. and I instantly connected on another walk to get the kinks out before sitting to write. The talented writer and artist Judi C. quickly became a soul sister. Heaven is in the kindred spirits you meet along the journey.

On Friday evening, we agreed to read from one of our new works. I had been playing around with a short story about one of the central characters in my new novel. The reading forced me to dig deeper into it. The group consisted of writings from all different genres. Each person read with passion, and the group gave constructive criticism: honest, but never mean. Each fellow writer contributed something with genuine care. On Saturday, it was determined that we must write a short story  of 1,000 words or less with Halloween as our writing prompt. As someone who struggles with finishng anything in one month, much less in one day, this was a daunting task for certain, but I was up for the challenge.

As the newbie to the group, I somehow missed that I was supposed to have a Halloween costume for Saturday night. Sheila came to the rescue with a chic vintage hat, black fitted blouse with gold details, and a wild black skirt for my transfromation into Dorothy Parker. Each reading was a new joy and my heart grew full. The aptly named Newfound Lake was the backdrop for this retreat, and indeed, I cherish my newfound group of writer friends: Irene, Esther, Judi, Bernie, June, Natalie, Jonathan, Tina, and, of course, dear Gregory; and my inspirational hosts: Sheila and Bill, who extended the warmest hospitality one can imagine. Words are inadequate to express my gratitude for the gift of that long weekend, but words are all I know, so I hope they will suffice. Thank you all.

Blood Moon Rising

Super Moon Blood Moon Lunar Eclipse 9/27/15 photo by Kevin Tomasello

Harvest moon, blood moon, total lunar eclipse, supermoon: all this happened at once this month. The moon was its closest to the Earth on September 27 to 28th, causing its greatest gravitational pull on our planet and offering a rare view of our nearest orbiting neighbor. A super moon is the closest full moon to the earth, which makes for a gigantic luminescent orb as it rises in the darkening sky. Although the term blood moon denotes gothic images of werewolves, vampires, and witches, its scientific meaning is less dramatic. A blood moon is a relatively new term for the fourth total lunar eclipse in a tetrad: four total lunar eclipses separated by six full moons (six months) with no partial eclipses between. According to Earth and Sky earthsky.org,  the term blood moon carries religious significance as a prophesy for the end of time. I'll let you read more about that on their website, but there seem to be so many signs of the end of days that I wonder if these days are in fact much longer than our 24 hour days? In any event, it makes for a spectacular night image with associated chills up one's spine. This moon also has the distinction of being a harvest moon: the full moon that shines closest to the autumnal equinox. The brightness of this full moon supposedly allowed farmers to work at peak harvest late into the night. Great story fodder, in any event!

I've been feeling the gravitational pull of my writing. It's been a struggle lately, juggling an increasingly stressful full time job with the utter need to write. Most of my days and nights are spent piecemeal: tiny morsels of time spent on projects that scream for intense, in-depth immersion. I find myself desperate for any tidbits of distracting creativity: a line of a poem, a musical phrase, quiet solitude for contemplation and gazing at my toenails, searching for the right words to lay down on the page. Any writing accomplished is like blood-letting: laborious, scrutinized, depressing, a strangled glut of words choked from a moldy gourd. Recently, a pleasant, although obviously non-writer gentleman informed me that he didn't see the problem with writing a book. "You just come up with an outline and write it out, don't you?" I nodded, teeth clenched, head wobbling like a pumpkin on a corn stalk. If it were that easy, I suppose I would have a thousand books by now. Perhaps, a book should appear easily written, like a doctor who breezes in for a five minute visit with his or her patient, quickly diagnosing and treating a medical problem. No one sees the eight or more years of schooling and the four or more years of residency: the extended sleepless marathons of common colds and domestic abuse cases; the wretched consequences of mistakes; the soul-battering humiliation and genuine fear of not being an immediate expert. Everyone thinks they know what it is because they read it on the internet or their second cousin's nephew's girlfriend is a nurse and she said ...

Not to compare writng to medicine, but why not? It requires the skill of a surgeon, the language application of a linguist, the most passionate open-heart imaginable, and the full-body armor of a knight: not to mention the total exposure of your very soul to the whole world. To all my writer friends out there: may the blood of passion eclipse your doubts and reap your best harvest as you grow and grow and GROW.

First, Get Outside...

Photo of author in her kayak by Kevin Tomasello c. 2015

I need a distraction from working on my new novel--okay, not really, I need an excuse not to work on it. Actually, a little procrastination goes a long way. Too long. I have a whole list of writing projects I need to work on, so why do I hesitate? My mind craves silence...and nature. Ideas rush between the tortuous convulusions of my cerebrum, yet I balk at putting them to page. My much more prolific colleagues continue to create and publish every scribbled thought--or so it seems--while my words thunk to the page with all the elegance of a corpse.

The truth is, I have been pulled away from writing by the bodacious bounty of a rare and splendid summer. The hot sun has been tempered by the low humidity--almost impossible in this Susquahanna River valley, nicknamed "Sinus Valley" for good reason. Even without a breeze, the air has been warm and dry with a hint of the Atlantic sneaking in from the far-off coast. Our little dog Teddy raises his muzzle often, as if to sniff the salt air. We are several hundred miles from the coast, however, and even further from the wonderfully rocky Maine coast we love so much. Not the crowded Downeast known to most vacationers, but further up, to Acadia's Schoodic pennisula and beyond. My husband and I were married on a fishing boat 14 years ago, in the harbor. Sadly, our paradise has been discovered by developers and summer in Bar Harbor has been lost to a bulky luxury hotel that juts out into the water while masses of sightseers crowd the streets. For the first time last summer, it was a chore to buy a week's pass to Acadia National Park. People spilled from the crush of the parking lot into the park office like marshmallow Easter Peeps squished in their box. The beauty of Maine's craggy coastline, though, is that there is so much of it that one can find hidden gems in its lesser known crevices. There I go, off on a tangent again. Ah, the winding mind of a wanderer.

Anyway, I have been soaking up the glorious days of this solstice before they get away. Occasionally wracked by guilt for not writing every day, I have taken long weekends away from my day job to bicycle the rolling hills, paddle the river, amble through the local park with my spouse and my dog, pluck juicy tomatoes and alarming zucchini monsters from the garden, and generally goof off. I don't feel too bad, though (says my wretched, sniveling, shackled inner writer). Soon enough, the leaves will fall and the bite of winter will arrive. There will be plenty of days to document all this rumination. Hopefully, those pasty white words will lose some of their dead weight and dance upon the page like snowflakes. For now, let the sweet sun shine!

Thank the stars for the dark night, or I'd never get any writing done.

Summertime...Lessons Learned

Author with Teddy In Ithaca

Okay, this photo is a few years old, but the subjects look about the same. I've been trying to focus on writing the next book, but I do get distracted by the beautiful weather lately. I wrote a chapter tonight on Novel 2, but I haven't been keeping up with my blog, so I thought I'd take a few moments to write an update.

We had a heavy downpour here this afternoon: cancelling our plans for bike riding or walking the dog, but helping me get back to work on my writing with little regret. It's been difficult to stay the course. My debut novel WHERE THE HEART LANDS has been doing well, but the process of discovery is slow. I know I need to get more of my work out there, but so many things tear me away from the writing each day: full-time job as a speech language pathologist, husband who likes to do things with me, and furry family members who demand attention, treats, walks, and petting. My son is all grown up and now a married man with his own demands, but I still miss him and want to talk to him all the time. The weather in upstate New York has been spectacular. A rare and welcome treat. This summer has been cooler--in the 70s and low 80s with lots of sunshine, and plenty of rain in between. We're due for a heat wave this week, but it still feels like Fall is just around the corner. The seasons move so fast any more, like life.

As I grow older, I cherish the beautiful things so much more. Is it my imagination, or are the weekends and summer days growing shorter? I wish I could talk to my 20-year-old self with the knowledge I've gained in the thirty years since. What would I tell that feckless young woman?

1) Chase your dreams, you might not get another chance.
2) Work hard, and love your work. Don't be such a lazy ass!
3) Be kind to everyone, mean people need it more than anyone else.
4) A smile works much better than an angry word.
5) Forgive yourself, you're never going to be perfect.
6) Don't dwell on the past, it doesn't change a thing!
7) Tell people what you love about them.
8) Give up the people and things that don't love you back, without regret.
9) It's okay to be still sometimes.
10) Listen more than you talk. You will learn much more than you ever imagined.

Enjoy each day, my friends. There will never be another like it!

Dog Days of Writing

Teddy sound asleep in the shade of the Burning Bush.

It's the dog days of summer this weekend. Hot, humid temperatures after a mostly cool, pleasant season so far. Teddy does what most dogs do during the smoldering heat--sticks to the shade.

We spent all day yesterday pulling out overgrown weed trees and other jungle-like growths spilling over from the neighbor's into our gardens. We were a little grumbly at first, then we decided to ask our neighbor if she minded if we cut down some stuff on her side of the fence. She was relieved and even offered homemade iced tea after she came out to help. We spent the afternoon sweating and hauling brush as we chatted and learned more about each other's lives. She is recently divorced and raising a daughter with health problems. Not much time or care for what her garden was doing. A good reminder not to judge your neighbor.

Today a nice bicycle ride with a friend we haven't seen in a while. The 93 degrees didn't seem quite so bad with the breeze! I've been re-reading May Sarton's journals--THE HOUSE BY THE SEA after reading JOURNAL OF A SOLITUDE. An intelligent, somewhat tortured, talented soul who greatly inspires me. She is more positive in SEA, where she moves into a rented house on the coast of Maine. Maine is a special place for me, but today I am grateful for our little home on the hill with our wild gardens and good bicycling roads. Trips to Maine help me with my ocean fixation. I love that rocky coast with the mountains and sea in one stunning place. If it weren't so far from family, we would be there all the time.

I've been getting some positive feedback on my novel WHERE THE HEART LANDS and knocked out over a thousand words tonight on the new novel. Back to work at the day job tomorrow, then another day "off" of more writing and, if the weather holds--another bicycle ride. Life is what you make it. Sometimes I need a kick in the pants to remember.

Do something that inspires you today.

No Time for Hate

Photo of author by Kevin Tomasello

It's been a busy couple months and updating my blog has taken a back seat to wonderful things, such as a trip to Minneapolis for my son and daughter-in-law's wedding, responding to requests for information about me and my book for the Ithaca College alumni association, and spending an evening with a wonderful group of readers who invited me to their bookclub meeting after reading Where the Heart Lands. I've also been focusing on the writing of my second novel, getting the garden and the yard in shape, and working at my full-time day job as a speech language pathologist. Now that summer is here, more bicycle riding outside is essential!

Usually, I try to keep politics out of my blog posts, but I have to give a shout out to The Supreme Court for ruling that all people who choose to marry may do so legally: Finally! After all the news about racially motivated murder and general hatred towards any of our fellow human or animal beings lately, this was uplifting. Sometimes love wins!

I don't know about you, but I don't have time or patience for hate. I don't care why you hate, there is no benefit to promoting hatred of anyone. We all have baggage. We all have feelings. Many of us had really screwed up childhoods. This does not mean that it is okay to hurt someone else or to hurt animals. Nothing good comes to a society that tolerates hatred of its members or hatred of those who are not us or harming those who are vulnerable! We are all equal in this country, remember? Not some, not a select few, but ALL. Each one of us has an obligation to promote the good for the good of all of us: every one. Instead of spending all that energy on hate, why not spend it on trying to become a better, more caring human being?

Blessings to all the newlyweds! Peace and harmony to you all.

Remembering Souls

Photo by Kevin Tomasello c. 2013

Where does the time go? The passage of time seems to speed up as I grow older. My little boy, Mitchell, was just splashing through rain puddles a minute ago, and next weekend he is getting married! My niece, Rachel, is graduating from high school in two weeks. Life passes in a blink any more.

On this day, we remember those who were taken from us much too soon: my grandfather Walter; mother-in-law, Jean; brother-in-law, Jim; our nephew, Kyle; and my father-in-law, Vito, a Sea Bee in WWII. And then there are all the men and women and service animals who gave their lives while protecting our country. We should never forget them and what they gave up for the rest of us.

When I am missing people too much, I like to remember something I read by Ram Daas in his book Still Here. He reminds us that our souls continue on, even after our bodies are discarded. I like to think of my body as a temporary wrapper for my Soul, when I am in a more open conscious state than usual. Ram Daas relates a story in Still Here where he heard an interview with Pat Rodegast, a pyschic medium through whom a being from beyond named Emmanuel described death as "absolutely safe...It's like taking off a tight shoe." Well, that sounds just wonderful to me. I only hope I can greet death with this relief when my time comes.

Our time in these earth bodies is short. Perhaps those who were more evolved were allowed to leave their bodies a little sooner. Either way, how do you want to live your particular life? In struggle or in gratitude? My dear friend and extraordinarily talented writer, Gregory Norris http://gregorylnorris.blogspot.com/ has learned to live his life with gratitude. Not a stranger to struggle, he chooses to focus on the positive parts of his life and is such a genuine person that his light shines over everyone. Once forced to live in his car with his significant other and his fur family, he chooses not to hold on to bitterness. Instead, he teaches by example, easily giving his time and his encouragement to anyone who needs it. I am constantly inspired by the people I treat in my other job as a speech pathologist: those who have survived stroke and brain injury, and must learn how to interact with the world as a different person.

Here is what I've learned: live your life to its fullest. Spread joy. Live as though you will be back again to try again and again, each time better than before.

In the spirit of giving back, I am giving away 10 free copies of my novel Where the Heart Lands on Goodreads. I would love your feedback and your thoughts. Here is the link for the giveaway: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25127420-where-the-heart-lands and here is my email address: laurajbear@gmail.com.

Many happinesses to you all.

Caring for the Soul While Getting Down to Business

Photo by Author 

It's that time of year: writing retreat on The Lake. Despite the snow flurries, the sound of the the waves is soothing and the view is spectacular from the desk in my room. You'll have to wait until I'm back home to see it, but here's a nearby magnolia bloom from a different year (the magnolia blossoms are still tight buds outside the house this year). My jaw and neck and shoulders are loose as the stress of the last few weeks slides out into the water, carried away by the wind and the churning of the waves. No phones, no sick animals, no household demands for a glorious four days. Just what my soul needed and my muse required. I have work to do. WHERE THE HEART LANDS is out there, searching for more readers. But, I must get back to work on the next book. There's been only snipets of time and less desire. A nurse at work yesterday came up to me to tell me how much she enjoyed WHERE THE HEART LANDS. After a rather disheartening few weeks of book promotion, these positive words lifted my heart. I wish I could say that I just write for the thrill of it, but the truth is, I need to know that people are reading and enjoying what I write. It makes the lonely journey of filling pages worth the effort. As much as I need to write, it still doesn't always come easily. Almost never, in fact. So, why do it?

I do it to learn about myself and the world. I do it to express all the jumble inside my head in a more cohesive way. I do it because I am compelled to do it. Because the urge never leaves me alone. Because it comes from somewhere else, somewhere deep and dark and scary (sometimes) or from joy (once in a while). Because a story wants to come out whether I mean it to or not. Hallelujah when someone takes the time to read it and especially when they let me know what it meant to them. I am humbled and exhalted that another person is moved to share their experience of the work with me. This is why I write.

Time to get down to business.

If you like, check out my website : www.laurajbear.com or order WHERE THE HEART LANDS from my publisher www.unsolicitedpress.com or through Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Where-Heart-Lands-Laura-Bear-ebook/dp/B00TQUXPZW/ref=la_B00UGHOKQM_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1429810836&sr=1-1 or through Barnes and Noble http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/where-the-heart-lands-laura-j-bear/1121315471?ean=9780692380758 or from two very fine bookstores: RiverRead Books in Binghamton, NY http://www.riverreadbooks.com/search/apachesolr_search/Where%20the%20Heart%20lands and Buffalo Street Books in Ithaca, NY http://www.buffalostreetbooks.com/
Thanks!

Rebirth

Photo of Grosbeak by Laura J. Bear, 2010

What a beautiful spring day! Birds and peepers exploded in song all along our bike ride today. It seems that all the creatures rejoiced in the end of winter this fine warm day. Green is sprouting everywhere with the yellow of daffodils and multi-colored crocuses dotted throughout the landscape. Ahhhh, yes.

Robert Frost was right, "Nature's first green is gold, her hardest hue to hold." I know all this will go away again, but the wonderful fact that spring keeps coming back year after year, reminds me that there is life after the long, cold winter. Life after death. Spring wouldn't be as glorious without the cold grip of winter (although, I have to admit, I could do with a much shorter version of the frigid gray season).

The characters in my story WHERE THE HEART LANDS go through their own catharsis. Lucy has to figure out how to reinvent her life after her unfulfilling marriage ends abruptly. Young Addie changed her name and then her life, in order to escape an abusive family. People don't change and grow without the help of others, though. Here are a few more morsels to share from the book:

Lucy's Aunt Jay was an eccentric influence on Lucy as a young girl:

"To Aunt Jay, none of this mattered. She allowed me to be myself and explore every side of my creativity that I wished. Growing up, I spent many summers at her apartment in Manhattan. The city was so exciting, huge, and mysterious. Aunt Jay was a little scary, too. She was tall and stick-thin, with a beak for a nose. She dressed in black, filmy layers, except for a purple shawl or red scarf sometimes pinned together with a huge brooch shaped like a face. It was easy to imagine that brooch coming alive after dark. Many times during my visits, I would lie awake in Aunt Jay's big, old brownstone with the high ceilings and heavy drapes, waiting for that face to float into my room. I'm happy to report it never did."

After Lucy meets Addie for the first time:

"I couldn't get my new neighbor out of my head. I was excited about having such a sweet, pretty friend next door. She was nothing like the nipped and tucked women I knew back in suburbia. I seemed to have a bit of a girl-crush on her and felt a little wicked thinking about her in that way. what was the big deal, though? I wasn't with anyone any more. No one was here to judge me except me, right?"

And let's not forget Tom Anderson, another important friend in Lucy's recovery:

"The man wore stained overalls and his hat almost covered his eyes. His skin looked like rawhide. A cigarette dangeld from his mouth. He was clean-shaven, but a long ponytail trailed down his back. His face had creases that deepened when he spoke.
     'Hello, I'm Tom Anderson.'" ...

..."Tom Anderson put out his cigarette on a little wooden box he pulled from his pocket, slipping the stub inside it. 'I know just a bit about almost everything.'"

That's all for tonight. Have the best night you can make.

Where the Heart Lands

Photo by Kevin Tomasello c.2014

A couple more excerpts from my novel WHERE THE HEART LANDS:

"The wind blew strong across the prairie, dissipating the smoke and flapping the clothes on the line. Tom appeared in his truck.

     'What happened?' he asked.

I showed him the pot on the stove. the walls were oily with soot.

     'Looks like Addie had a little spill over with her peyote tea,' he said, scraping at the hardened substance on the burner with his nail. 'She all right?'"

From a different chapter:

"There are times in my life when the picture stops and the film flaps against the reel. An old image, I suppose, but apropos. Everything happened so quickly, yet each piece was slow motion, rewinding over and over in my mind. If only life had a reset button."


If only...

Where the Heart Lands released March 14th through Unsolicited Press

A couple excerpts:

"I'm not sure why I thought I should get a cat, just that a kitten might outlive me."

"As she passed by the slow-moving train, a ragged man with a beard and dark, oily skin jumped off one of the open train cars. He waved at her, but she pretended to ignore him. She kept walking, not thinking too much about him until he appeared right in front of her."

"'Lucy,' Tom took a long inhale from his pipe,' Sometimes a question is the answer.'"





Available from Unsolicited Press http://www.unsolicitedpress.com/store/c1/Featured_Products.html

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Where-Heart-Lands-Laura-Bear-ebook/dp/B00TQUXPZW/ref=la_B00UGHOKQM_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1428969951&sr=1-1
Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/where-the-heart-lands?store=allproducts&keyword=where+the+heart+lands

A Dinghy in a Sea of Yachts

photo of dinghy in Stonington, Maine harbor by author

I was thinking about all this writing business--so much so that I was dreaming about walking 20 miles in the rain with two dogs and an awkward load upon my back...in the dark--and I have found that I have trepidation about the business of this writing business. Okay, I hate it--the part about selling stuff, promoting stuff, trying to get people to buy stuff. I don't like doing it and I'm not good at it.

Writers are generally introverted people. This is probably not a shock to anyone, but it needs to be repeated: most writers (never say "always" for anything or you may be disappointed or insane) are quiet "misfits" who spend a good part of their day inside their heads. It's not necessarily comfortable in there (I speak only for myself, but feel free to relate if it strikes a nerve). In fact, the mind of a writer/creative person can be a dangerous place for the less than timid. (I say less than timid because TIMID is often the fetus-form of the future toddler-monster SELF-DOUBT). So, let me touch upon the imagery of the little boat afloat on the water. Our little vessel is happy, floating there in the calm water unnoticed, serene. Ripples in the water begin to rock the boat, gently at first, but then become stronger and more urgent. The boat responds by riding over each ripple, buoyed by the rhythm of the waves. There is a nice creaking of the wood hull as it rocks on the fluid beneath. Suddenly, a huge cruise ship sails by. There is no danger of collision because the big ship is far away from the harbor, but the wake of that big boat travels fast and hard through the water toward the little boat. As the sea wall rolls into the shore, the little boat braces itself, pointing its bow into the wave. Maybe it gets knocked around, or loses an oar. Water splashes into the little dinghy as the wake overtakes it, but the vessel stays strong and upright. The scene repeats every time another bigger or faster boat goes by, but the dinghy stays the course.

Row, row, row your...sorry, I was daydreaming about floating on the water...where was I? Oh yes, I guess what I'm trying to say is that even if you're a little dinghy, don't let anyone call you crazy for following your dreams. Keep rowing, bail out the bad stuff, and stay afloat.

Hope to see some of you tomorrow (April 4th) at 2:00 at Buffalo Street Books in Ithaca, N.Y.

Spring Into Action

Photo by Kevin Tomasello c. April, 2010

The photograph on the right was taken at Cornell Plantations by my husband several years ago when spring had actually started to bloom in April. I just can't face another picture of snow, especially when it's eternally white or slate-colored outside my window. It is officially spring now, Mother Nature. Get on schedule, lady! I know March is pushing it in this part of the country, but we're all quite tired of winter; so, if you wouldn't mind, please may we have some green? That would be nice.

All this gray gloom makes for dark story lines. It was the dead of winter when I wrote the opening line of my just-released novel WHERE THE HEART LANDS beginning with Lucy's proclamation:

"I wasn't sure why I thought I should get a cat, just that a kitten might outlive me."

Dark, but hopeful, too, right? I'll let you decide when you read the book. No spoilers here, folks. Don't be surprised if the next novel starts out a little moody due to the influence of this long, cold winter. My friend, Mari, keeps torturing me with photos of the splashing, sparkling waves and warm radiant beaches of southern California, where she lives. She always seemed like such a nice person, but this definitely shows her evil side. We get a little cranky here in the northeast by March, beware.

Spring is indeed on the way, however, and this means we in the colder climates are dreaming of new work: pouring over seed catalogs as we plan our flower and vegetable gardens; getting the meat written into the new novel (and, perhaps, adding some cheer to the darker elements); cleaning out the dust and grunge from the closed-up house; burning (storing away) the yards of winter clothing; celebrating the wedding of two young people deepening their lives together (my son and my almost daughter-in-law); and the feeding and handling of my newly hatched book. It's time to throw off the heavy afghan and spring into action! Damn the snow and cold! That faint, hesitant light will soon burn away all the shiver and paint the color back into the landscape. I may not be good at patience, but I can wait if I feel like I'm taking some sort of action. Call it a working meditation, if you will. Busy hands, quiet mind, perhaps.

Let me know how you're doing! My next book event is a reading and signing at Buffalo Street Books www.buffalostreetbooks.com in Ithaca, NY on Saturday, April 4th at 2:00 pm. I would love to chat with you!

The Next Leg of the Journey

RiverRead Books in Binghamton, NY March 14, 2015/photo  K. Tomasello

March 14, 2015 Book Launch/photo K. Tomasello

Author Laura J. Bear at Book Release Event March 14, 2015/photo K. Tomasello

Successful launch for WHERE THE HEART LANDS at RiverRead Books in Binghamton, NY www.riverreadbooks.com.

Where the Heart Lands Cake with matching book! March 14, 2015/photo K. Tomasello

Thank you to everyone who came out to listen, buy books, and show support. I had such a great time meeting and talking with everyone. Thank you to Connie at RiverRead for your glowing introduction and for providing such a wonderful place to launch my novel. Thank you to Donna Kordula from Cakes for Every Occasion  http://binghamtoncakes.com/contact.html for the beautiful and delicious cake that looked just like my book cover!

Thank you to my family and friends who traveled from near and far (Minnesota, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Ithaca, to name a few places). I am truly blessed to have such wonderful people in my life.
I could not have done any of this without the love and support of my spouse Kevin Tomasello. He took all these pictures, kept everything together, hauled books, and so many more things. My talented son remembered to take video and his lovely bride-to-be helped me navigate the quagmire of social media conundrums I have been struggling with for a while.

So, this is a love letter to all of you: readers, writers, fellow life-troupers: believe in yourselves! Follow your dreams; take in the world around you; listen; pay attention; care deeply; and most important, keep going, because the next corner you turn may be the best one yet!