Something has been missing from my life…by Sheila Claydon

Something has been missing from my life for a long time but I haven’t been able to figure out what it is. Now I know. I’d lost my writing companion.

Anyone who has visited my website at www.sheilaclaydon.com will know that I lost my beloved dog Newton nearly 3 years ago. It was very sudden and he was far too young, and after the heartbreak was over we agreed no more dogs. Why? Well we have friends and family who we visit in Australia, Canada and America, and we also like to travel abroad with our friends, so having a dog is impractical. Obviously. We are also getting older which means that having a puppy is impractical. Obviously. So if we ever think about getting another dog (which we are not going to do) it will have to be an adult who is already house-trained and well away from its teenage years. Obviously.

That was last month’s conversation. This month we welcomed Elfie to our home. She’s eight weeks old, cries when we put her to bed, and has to be taken outside a dozen times a day. Totally impractical. Obviously.

After only 4 days, however, the gap in my life has closed. Elfie is already a constant companion who likes nothing better than to lie on a blanket at my feet while I’m writing just as long as I give her some attention when I take a break. Soon we’ll be able to go walking together too, to explore all the places Newton loved so much. Places that have featured in some of my books. 

In wind and rain, as well as in sunshine, the wild beach, the woods and the sand hills will become part of my daily life again. I’ll no longer be the fair weather walker I’ve become in recent years. Walking with Elfie will inspire new books too. I have my writing companion again.

The books inspired by my walks with Newton can be found at amazon.com/author/sheilaclaydon  and Mending Jodie’s Heart (Book I of the When Hearts Meet trilogy) is set amongst the sand hills and woods that we walked together.

BUY FROM AMAZON

When musician Marcus Lewis buys the derelict farmhouse next to Jodie’ Eriksson's riding school he doesn’t know whether to be amused or irritated by her angry reaction to his plans. Then her sister Izzie visits him and makes things a whole lot worse…or is it better…because now he has an excuse to see Jodie again. Although, when he sees her, it’s not exactly a meeting of minds, they do discover they have one thing in common; they both believe they know what’s best for Izzie, and for Marcus' son Luke.

It turns out they’re wrong. The children they thought they were protecting need to be set free. It’s Jodie and Marcus who have the problem; but can two broken hearts make one whole one? The battle lines that were set when they first met have long since been breached but the war won’t be over until Jodie learns how to trust again, and until Marcus allows himself to believe in his son.
________________________________________

Things My Mother Never Taught Me by Roseanne Dowell

Dedicated to my mother who passed away Nov. 22, 1996  

My mother never taught me about the thrill of a first kiss or the hurt of that first breakup. She never told me about the love between a man and a woman and the joy of standing at the altar vowing before God, family and friends to love him forever.

My mother never taught me about the emotions of holding my newborn child in my arms for the first time, or the feeling of responsibility for their lives. She never told me about the overwhelming sense of awe I'd feel knowing that this child came from within me. That I created the life, nourished it for nine long months, and now had to nourish and care for it in the real world. She never taught me I'd feel this amazing sense of awe with each child.

My mother never taught me the feeling of swelled pride at watching my children take their first steps or hearing her first words.

She never taught me about the combination of pain and pride I would feel as I watched my children waltz off to school looking so grown up and yet so young. So independent. She never told me how I’d feel when they came home and said “But Miss so and so said it was better to do it this way.” and the realization that I was no longer the sole influence in their life.

My mother never taught me about the fear of having a child in the hospital undergoing tests by a neurologist after a normal eye exam discovered a problem or sitting in an emergency room while your child undergoes an emergency appendectomy. She never told me how difficult it would be to watch your child suffer through typical childhood illnesses, stitches or broken bones.

She never taught me about the fear of letting your child go down the street to play or crossing the street for the first time by themselves.

My mother never taught me about dealing with my daughter’s first crush and heartbreak and lost love. She never told me how hard it would be to watch my children struggle to get good grades or make the team or try to fit in.

She never taught me about the pride of watching my child march down the auditorium to receive their diploma or hearing about their first job. My mother never told me of the deep fear I’d experience when they learned to drive or getting that phone call that told you they had an accident.

My mother never taught me of the excitement of their engagement and the trials of planning a wedding. She never told me of the happiness and pride I’d feel watching them walk down the aisle to stand beside the one they would vow to spend their life with or the worry that this child was now totally independent of you.

She never taught me of the sense of wonder I’d feel holding my newborn grandchildren for the first time.

She never explained that these feelings of worry and concern never go away when my children grew up. My mother didn't tell me the worries would only strengthen as my children married and had children of their own. That I’d have more to love and worry about.

She never told me was how it feels to be a mother.  She never told me about the joy, pain, and overwhelming awe of being a mother and grandmother. I now know why my mother never taught me these things.  Because these thing have to be experienced to understand the wonderful sense of being a mother.  

But the biggest thing my mother never taught me was how I’d feel when she was no longer here to talk with, to share my feelings with after she passed from this world. She never taught me how to deal with the sense of loss at losing a loved one or the pain deep within that I would carry through the rest of my days. She never told me how much I’d miss her.

Roseanne's books can be found at  Amazon

CLICK TO BUY

Forced to stay in a nursing home while undergoing therapy, seventy-two year old, Mike Powell refuses to get out of bed, won't cooperate with the nurses, and won’t take his medicine. At least not until he meets Elsa. The tiny, spunky little Elsa sparks new life into him. 

Seventy year old, Elsa -left in the home while her son takes a family vacation - joins forces with Mike, setting the home on its heels, and later discovers deception and fraud. Can they find happiness together? 

Magical Birthday Wishes by Cheryl Wright

Click to Buy Book

I recently discovered a new technique for colouring backgrounds. It's very quick and easy, and is done using shaving brushes!

To try this technique, I went to my local $2 shop and bought a couple of brushes. The above card was my first attempt, and as you can see, the pink came out a little streaky. I have since come to discover you need a very light hand when doing this technique. Subsequent cards were much better.

This was an extremely quick and simple card to make, and after this one, I ended up making four more. All five will be going to Combat Cards in the very near future.

This card uses the following stamps:

Greeting:  Gina K Designs (from a very old set)
Stars:  Star Cluster by Lavinia Stamps
Main image: Mushrooms from Stamp-It Australia

I hope you've enjoyed this card. Thanks for reading, and I'll see you next time!

Links:

My website:  www.cheryl-wright.com 
Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/cherylwrightauthor 
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/writercheryl
BWL website: http://bookswelove.net/authors/wright-cheryl/

I remember Mom

She was always there. All my life, no matter whether things were bad or good. Mom was always there.  I'm one of the lucky ones, mom lived to be 94 and I guess I just got used to her listening to me.  Sometimes I'd tell her the same thing over and over again, working through my pain, my disappointment, or celebrating some triumph that only mom could understand just how much it mattered.

Mom at my home in Kansas City with my girls and my brother's two boys, taken shortly before my husband died.  I moved then, and moved again, and again, through it all mom was always there.  She was there for my girls and she was there for me. Mom kept me going; it didn't matter how crazy my life got, mom was there. 

A different life, another daughter, growing girls, and smiling faces, Mom was there, and when I left and went back to the youngest girl's father, mom was there. And when it fell apart again, mom was there. And when he died, she was there then too

Another life, girls all grown, and finally someone for me to trust mom loved that, loved my husband and the way the three of us shared our lives together.  For 23 years that never changed, the three of us together.  We shared so much, the three of us, the years came and went, in the fall she'd fly off to my brother's and while she was there we'd talk on the phone and she'd tell us about all the fun she was having in the sunshine, and in the spring she'd come back and life would pick right back up where it left off in the fall.  Mom was always there - there when I cried and there when I laughed, always there was mom.

 

A daughter, so beautful, so full of life and laughter, so much love - it hurts so much, so much pain and so many tears, so much loss.  Mom was there, always mom was there, she was there at birth when I said hello and she was there at death when I said goodbye. Always mom was there.

Then there was this, seemed like maybe my time was over - triple negative - the worst kind, lump the size of a golf ball, but mom was there. Always there was mom, she was there to listen to me and cry with me and laugh with me, always mom was there.  And when I beat it all, and we went back to being us and I survived, mom was there, always mom was there.

The years kept going by and finally she was 94.  Where did they go.  She was weakening, we knew she was, but none of us want that, we didn't want the change.  Mom knew time was growing short, and of course I knew, but she knew I didn't want to know and we pretended.  She didn't want to eat, but I'd cook soup and bake biscuits and tempt her and she'd eat. She didn't want to, we both knew she didn't but she would, just because I made them for her.  I'll never forget the last words she ever said to me.  I'd made her soup and she didn't want to eat, and I left the room.  I was hurt, and she knew it because I hated it when she didn't eat -- it made what was coming seem so close.  That night, I went back in the room to see if she was ready for bed and she held up her bowl.  "I ate it all,"  she said and showed me her empty bowl.

I hugged her, and helped her into bed.  She'd taken the mild sleeping pill the doctor had prescribed for her and she was already falling asleep.  I propped her up on the pillows and smoothed her hair.  She was already asleep.

I miss you mom, so much.  Love Judy

 

We've got Cows! By Tia Dani

(With apology to the writers' of the movie, "TWISTER".)

BUY FROM AMAZON

Whenever we work at a restaurant, it means we're usually creating a new book.

Beginning a new story, always fires us up, however, sanity also rears its annoying pointy head and sniffs, "Where are you going to start?"

Since our stories are generally character driven, we first like to know our characters inside and out. We talk about who they are and what they specifically want. Once we've got their names and backgrounds, flaws, and why they are driven, then we work on where we're going with the story.

Actually sometimes a plot line will come to us first, but that's a topic for another blog later on. (Has anyone picked up we're always saving things for other blogs?)

Back to brainstorming. Our second step is who opens the story in their point of view? Normally we gear our books toward the romance genre (Dani's strong point), so we usually start with the heroine. Sometimes the hero will protest and win the argument. We're really not gender driven.

But here's where it gets tricky. Once we know the characters, know the underlying plot, we have to add flesh and blood to the story…the stuff that not only draws readers avidly into the book, but ourselves as well.

We rely on our handy dandy writing class rule. Every scene needs three parts:

1. Goal. What does the character want? CHECK. DONE THAT.

2. Conflict. A series of difficulties characters must face on the way to reaching their goal. CHECK…WAIT! HOLD ON…We're not exactly there yet.

Several minutes (actually hours) of discussion, heavy research, and some wine, maybe a lot of wine, one of us (usually Tia) yells, "We got cows!"

Imagine in the restaurant the looks we get are quite comical. "Cows? What cows?" Several people look around nervously. "Where?"

We grin at everyone and explain we're co-authors, Tia Dani, and Tia's yell, "We've got cows." is an expression for seeing difficulties (like in the movie where cows fly in the middle of a tornado.) Some nod and say, "I see." Others…look confused then go back to eating.

Now onto Rule Three: 

The Ultimate Disaster. What keeps characters from reaching their goals? By this time Tia is jumping up and down, waving her hands at a bunch of unseen cows in her mind. (Remember how she loves a great disaster.) Even Dani can't help but get drawn into the excitement. She has her own cows. With rapid-fire description, she embellishes great love scenes to go along with Tia's disaster(s).

By this time we have new people around us and we have to explain all over again.

But the really funny thing is, our waitress, who's gotten to know us quite well, strolls by and says with a grin, "Katie, bar the barn door. Tia Dani has their cows!"

                              This is how we look by the time we've finished brainstorming a book.

                                       © Graphixparanoid | Dreamstime.com - Mad Cow Photo

                                        cow photos by @ElisaLocci/DreamstimeStockPhoto

To find out more about the writing team Tia Dani and our books visit us at: 

http://bookswelove.com/authors/tia-dani/
https://tiadaniauthor.wordpress.com/
https://www.facebook.com/tiadani.author
                                                          

Did My Kid Just SAY That? by Gail Roughton

     

     

You never know what’s coming out of a child’s mouth next. That’s one of the perks of having kids. They can embarrass you one minute, have you in stitches laughing the next, and occasionally, leave you open-mouthed and slack-jawed in sheer amazement.

All my kids have done it to me at one time or another and my grandchildren do it to me now. But the family did she just say what I think she said prize goes to my daughter, Rebecca. She was eight at the time, leaning back against the bathtub and savoring the feel of the hot water. Bath time was one-on-one time, hard to come by in a family of three children and two working parents, and I’d learned to grab it with each child whenever the opportunity arose. Sometimes we’d just talk, sometimes I’d read to them. I don’t know who looked forward to bath time more, me or them.

On this particular evening, I remember I had a book in my hand. It was a rather special one, at least to me. An edition of Tales of Uncle Remus I’d had since I was twelve or so myself, purchased at the Uncle Remus Museum in Eatonton, Georgia, home-stomping ground of the author, Joel Chandler Harris, and the oral folklore that gave birth to the Uncle Remus stories. Okay, I was a nerd even at twelve when computers weren’t even thought of, I’ve never denied it. We’d been reading a story or two every night for a week or so. But Brer Rabbit wasn’t on my child’s agenda that night.

She sat straight up, fixed me with the amber eyes so large and gorgeous they’ve made strangers stop and stare since birth and asked me, “Mama, are we ever born again?”

Not a question Mama was expecting, I’ll tell you that. I wracked my brain for its possible source. Maybe she’d caught a telecast of a Church service on television? A talk show, maybe? Or heard a radio show I wasn’t aware of?

“You mean like — are we born again when we die and go to Heaven?”

“No, no, no!!!” Her hand slapped the water. “I mean when we die, are we ever born again, here, on earth? In another body?”

 Eight, I thought to myself. She’s EIGHT! Where the heck is this coming from?! I wasn’t so startled I didn’t recognize this as the most basic description of reincarnation I’d ever heard, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why she’d have thought of it. I fell back on the best child-rearing advice I’d ever gotten. No, not from my mother, or aunt, or mother-in-law, or best friend. From Atticus Finch of To Kill A Mockingbird. That fictional single parent and his major guideline of child-rearing got me through a lot while raising my kids, especially Rebecca, to-wit: When a child asks you a question, you tell them the truth. They don’t necessarily have to understand exactly what you’re saying, they just have to know you’re telling them the truth. Because they’ll know if you’re lying to them. 

So I gathered my wits about me and took a deep breath. “Well, that is, in fact, what many of the world’s religions believe, yes. That when you die you’re born again in another body.”

“But what do you believe?”

Great. Couldn’t avoid that, could I? “I believe it’s a probability it’s a possibility, yes.” I haven’t spent my entire adult professional life in a law office for nothing. “Becca, what on earth made you think of this in the first place?”

“I don’t know, I was on the playground the other day and it just seemed like I’d been there before, done the same things before, just in another body.”

Ah! De’ja vu, I thought. I was, in fact, rather relieved. A strange phenomenon, to be sure, but one pretty much everybody’d experienced at some time or another. I should have left well enough alone. But of course I didn’t. I just had to ask. “Well, then—who were you?” I mean, she was eight, of course she’d say, “A rock star.” “An Indian maiden.” “Cinderella”. Maybe even “An Alien Princess”. Something exotic, something dear to the imagination of childhood. Nope. Something utterly, completely, down-to-earth. Something realistic, and assuming that any universal recycling program called reincarnation does exist, completely possible.  “I don’t know," she said slowly.  "But I was black and had a lot of pigtails.”

From nowhere, I remembered my mother laughing about the stories one of my older brother told when he was small. Stories about “a long time ago when I was an old man.” So let the academics and professors and religious leaders debate all they want. I’ve never looked at reincarnation the same way since. I never will. Nor will I ever forget that night when out of the mouth of a babe came that beautifully basic and elemental description of such an extremely complicated and controversial belief, stripped right down to its barest element.  You know what they say about the sensitivity of children and animals. They know things.  Things we don't.  Or possibly...things we used to know but have forgotten?

Besides, I’m a writer. I’ve told you before—we never waste anything. We just recycle it into these things we call novels. Like my War-N-Wit, Inc. novellas. Wherein my heroine Ariel Anson Garrett wasn’t so sure about that thing known as reincarnation either. And boy, was she in for a surprise!

CLICK TO PURCHASE FROM AMAZON

Four in One Boxed Set

Find all Gail Roughton titles at

Books We Love

And at Amazon

You can also visit at her Blog

and on Facebook

What movie would you watch again and again? By Jamie Hill

 

CLICK TO BUY

Anyone on Facebook has seen the status game: "Name a movie you've watched over and over again". I can think of several, mostly they're ones that are being shown on TV. When I channel surf I'll stop to watch parts, if not all. Sister Act I and II were playing a couple weeks ago on Saturday and Sunday, and I watched parts of both of them again. We never miss a showing of Jaws, Pretty Woman, parts of Titanic and probably the favorite in our house, Jurassic Park. Our consensus is that the first movie was best, the second was so-so, and the third was pretty good, better than the second. I liked Sam Neill's character better than Jeff Goldblum's, and was tickled that they included him and Laura Dern in the third.

A while back word came out of a fourth Jurassic Park movie called Jurassic World. Chris Pratt is an up and coming Hollywood actor and seems to fit the leading character role just fine. From the little I've seen from the previews, it looks like there's a mother who allows her two sons to go alone to the Jurassic World theme park which is finally open. (Excuse me, didn't she watch any of the movies?)

Anyway, June 12 is just around the corner and although we don't go to the theater to see many movies, my family will be making a trip to watch this one on the big screen. Absolutely can't wait!

I got to wondering if this theory also applies to books. Is there a book you'd read again and again? I have a few that I've saved and reread over time. Go Ask Alice is one that I can start reading and will sit there until I've finished the whole darn thing. I'll reread parts of The Horse Whisperer. But generally, my reading time is short enough as it is, and my 'to be read' pile is too large to reread books when there are so many new and interesting ones out there. 

I must admit, when I open my own books to grab an excerpt or something like that, often I'll get caught up reading and will follow thorough to the end. When I finish I get that happy feeling that readers get when they close a book, only it's multiplied when you're also the author of said book. That's one of the most amazing feelings there is.

If you're in the mood to reread, or perhaps read for the first time, some hot cop romantic suspense, why not start with book one of my series, A Cop in the Family? Jack and Crystal remain close to my heart to this day. Enough so that I wrote two more books which included them, so readers could see where they ended up. 

I just love happy endings! (And watching dinosaur movies from the comfort of my chair.)

Find Family Secrets and my other titles at Amazon and other book sellers, also available in paperback by request at a bookstore near you.

Family Secrets: http://amzn.com/B004478IN6

Jamie Hill's website: http://www.jamiehill.biz/

Jamie's Publisher, Books We Love: http://bookswelove.net/authors/hill-jamie/

17th Century Recipes by Katherine Pym

http://amzn.com/B00I6KOKL6

From the book: Samuel Pepys' Penny Merriments, Being a Collection of Chapbooks, full of Histories, Jests, Magic, Amorous Tales of Courtship, Marriage and Infidelity, Accounts of Rogues and Fools, together with Comments on the Times. Selected and Edited by Roger Thompson of the University of East Anglia at Norwich, 1977. 

Merchantman being attacked by Pirates

Whew, what a mouthful. Our titles these days are much shorter, with less syllables, easier to remember. To remember this, I simply refer to it as: Penny Merriments, a tome I found in a used bookstore and considered it a great find. It has all sorts of wonderful information, like recipes to make one beautiful, or a recipe for the newest way to roast a hare. It sends me right back into the era of my choice...

17th century England started out with traders going to far distant shores, but the cost was extensive. Spices were gathered through the Levant Company (owned by noblemen and gentlemen of quality) and the fledgling East India Company. As the century moved forward, their ships went to places already taken by the Spanish and Portuguese. 

First Anglo/Dutch War

 
The Dutch East India Company (VOC) began at about the same time as England's, but they weren't hampered by the religious upheaval and civil wars England endured during the first half of the century. The Dutch VOC had a leg up on English merchant shipping until Cromwell decided enough was enough and went to war with The Netherlands. This is known as the First Anglo/Dutch war (1652-54), and fought entirely at sea. This war were over trade, who could monopolize which ports in the East and West Indies.

With that said, the recipes below show an inordinate amount of spices, which were very costly. During the reign of King James I, a fight to near death took place between VOC and English Merchantman in the South Seas that decimated the nutmeg crops on Pulo Run Island, in the Banda archipelago. A once rich source of nutmeg, it never fully recovered. 

Citrus fruits, dates, pepper, cotton cloth, and other fruits and spices were trekked across the desert sands to ports the Levant held in the Mediterranean, then imported via ship to London. Once these commodities hit the London markets, they proved costly for the middling English household.

Fleet of East Indiamen at Sea

The below recipes can only come from later in the 17^th century, and were directed to the more well-to-do. Middling folk who could read, enjoyed the thoughts of these, though...

"To Roast a shoulder of mutton with Oysters the best way. Take one not too fat nor too lean, open it in divers places, stuff your oysters in with a little chopt pennyroyal (mint or basil), baste it with butter and claret wine, then serve it up with grated nutmeg, yolks of eggs, ginger, cinnamon, butter and red wine vinegar."

"To Stew a Leg of Lamb the best way.

Slice it and lay it in order in your stewing-pan, seasoned with salt and nutmeg, adding a pound of butter, and half a pint of claret, with a handful of sliced dates, and the like quantity of currants, and make the sauce with the yolk of two eggs, a quarter pint of verjoice (acid juice from sour or unripe fruit), and two ounces of sugar. Boil them up, and put them over the meat, serving up hot together."

"The Art of Beautifying the Hands, Neck, Breast and Face: Harmless and Approved, with other Rare Curiosities.

To make the hands arms white, clear and smooth. Take a quarter of a pound of sweet almonds, blanch and bruise them, with a quarter of a pint of oil of roses, and the like quantity of betony-water (plant of the mint family): heat them over a gentle fire; and then press out the liquid part, and it will serve for either hands or face anointed therewith."

"To take away Freckles, Morphew (scurfy skin) or sunburn.

Steep a piece of copper in the juice of lemon till it be dissolved (the juice), and anoint the place with a feather morning and evening, washing it off with white wine." (Not sure how that one worked.)

"To take off any scurf from the hands and face.

Take water of tartar, that is, such wherein calcined (burnt to a powder) tartar has been infused, anoint the place, and wash it as the former (with white wine)."

"To sweeten the Breath, and preserve the Teeth and Gums.

Boil a handful of juniper berries, a handful of sage, and an ounce of carraway seeds in a quart of white wine, til a third part be consumed: strain it and wash your mouth with it morning and evening, suffering a small quantity to pass down: you may whiten the teeth by rubbing them with pumice stone."

So... who wants to try one of these recipes and let me know how it works? I'd especially like to know the results of whitening your teeth with pumice stone. Or should I do a disclaimer? Don’t do this at home!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Many thanks to wikicommons for the pictures:

This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license, &

Roger Thompson, Samuel Pepys' Penny Merriments, Being a Collection of Chapbooks, full of Histories, Jests, Magic, Amorous Tales of Courtship, Marriage and Infidelity, Accounts of Rogues and Fools, together with Comments on the Times. Selected and Edited by of the University of East Anglia at Norwich, 1977.

A Great Sense of Humor...

CLICK TO PURCHASE

I believe it was Tommy Cooper, British prop comedian and magician, who once said "Always leave them laughing." Personally, I love to laugh and enjoy novels that make me laugh, think, and truly enjoy the time I spend absorbed in their pages. If you were to catch a glimpse into my house, my kids and I are always bantering jokes back and forth. My middle son usually wins - until his younger brother pipes up with a one-liner that stops us all cold and everyone ends up too busy laughing to come up with more jokes.

In every novel I have written, I always use humor to keep the tone light and the story flowing along when things are getting tense. This is a scene from The Bakery Lady that puts a little levity in the first meeting between Leo Blue and Christina Davidson:

Leo moved toward the table for a better look, standing as close to Christina as he dared. She smelled as sweet and spicy as her desserts. He should move away before he said or did anything stupid. “Those look good.”

“I hope you’re talking about the cookies.” She scowled. “They’ll look even better after they’re baked.”

He grinned, sitting on a nearby stool. “I hope we’re still talking about the cookies.”

Humor keeps a good mystery from getting too dark,especially in the case of a cozy mystery. Even if it's just from that one character who is the foil for the serious detective. The sidekick who becomes a beloved character in his own right. Leo Blue started off has the entertaining sidekick in The Bookstore Lady, then took over until I had to feature him in The Bakery Lady. People seemed to love is quick wit.

Tonight I'm blessed with a houseful of laughter thanks to my youngest son's sleepover birthday party and a houseful of chatty teenagers. I'm bound to find fodder for another book in all the nonsense as they clown around. While not everyone may love a clown, who doesn't love a good chuckle now and then?
Keep Smiling!

Diane Bator
Wild Blue Mysteries:
The Bookstore Lady
The Mystery Lady
The Bakery Lady

DE-CLUTTERING - TO DO OR NOT TO DO - MARGARET TANNER

For a short time only, 99cents/99pence - Kindle Countdown Deal. 

BUY FROM AMAZON

THE PERILS OF NOT DE-CLUTTERING – MARGARET TANNER

I am a clutter collector from way back. I figure why throw anything out; you never know when you might need it. I inherited the hoarder gene.

“Waste not, want not” was my mother’s motto and she lived by it the whole of her life. Maybe it was because she lived through the great depression of the 1930’s and World War 2, that she would use and re-use, save and squirrel away stuff. Our house was never untidy, because most of the hoarded items were well out of sight. 

I should have learned my lesson after my dear mother died about 20 years ago and my sister and I had to clear out her house. To say it was a nightmare was an understatement. It took weeks. My mother had kept receipts from the 1940’s, even her World War 2 ration book. And speaking of books, she had hundreds of them. Then there were the ornaments, pretty little knick-knacks that reposed on every shelf or level surface in the house. Boxes of china. Well, you get the idea.

Now you would think that after all this trauma and angst, I would have dashed home and gone through my own cupboards.  I didn’t, but I did take a lot of my mother’s stuff with me.  Well, how could I let it go?  All those little treasures.

My mother-in-law passed away, same story, I kept a lot of her things too. I was a hoarder.  It came as naturally as breathing or eating.

Well friends, retribution did come. The youngest of our sons finally left home, so hubby and I decided it was time to downsize. We bought a smaller house, and put our larger house on the market. “We’ve got a lot of stuff here, we’ll have to get rid of it,” hubby says.

Over my dead body. “No, we won’t do anything rash,” I said. “There’s plenty of time to work out what we want to keep.”

A week before the auction of our house, my husband had to have heart by-pass surgery, so I had to go on with the sale alone. After the auction and hubby’s successful operation, I had to start packing, because when he came home he couldn’t do anything for eight weeks. I really hit the panic button because we had a short settlement. Forty days to clear out all our stuff, that of my mother and mother-in-law (things I had kept, and shouldn’t have). Well, it was a nightmare. I did most of it on my own.  I don’t know how many trips I made to donate all these “treasures” to the second hand thrift shop   And I did help the less fortunate - big time.  The thrift shop manager must have thought I was Mother Teresa re-incarnated.

It was terrible. I cried because I had to give away my ‘treasures, mum’s treasures and my mother in-law’s treasures’. Worse still, was the time it took to pack them and deliver them to the thrift shop. 

With the clock ticking, I had to be ruthless – and I was.

If you are even contemplating moving house, start to get rid of your surplus stuff early.  In fact, don’t collect it in the first place.  A lady once told me that if she didn’t wear a dress for a year, she was probably never going to wear it again, and she got rid of it. Smart lady. Wish I had such courage.  I still cling to my favourite dresses, hey I might lose weight and they will fit me again???

The moral of this story is -  don’t hoard. De-clutter as much as possible, because one day you will have to sort it out, or your children will have to sort it out.  

The same goes for your writing.  Be ruthless. If the manuscript you have expended blood, sweat and tears over isn’t working, discard it.  Temporarily cast it into your bottom drawer is what I mean. Don’t destroy it, because you might be able to resurrect it at a later date.  Start on something fresh and new. Once you get your writing tastebuds tingling again with a new premise, a feisty heroine and a spunky hero, the words will start flowing until they become a torrent.

Never give up. It is a steep climb to the top of the publishing mountain, but oh what a view once you get there.

http://bookswelove.net/authors/tanner-margaret/

Margaret Tanner writes spicy historical romance set in Australia.

FALSELY ACCUSED

1820’s England. Robbed of his birthright and falsely accused of murder, American Jake Smith, is exiled to the penal colony of Australia.