Category Archives: happiness

You know you’ve met your people when….

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The calendar has finally turned the page into September. There are many reasons for me to smile after writing that line. This means the lodge has slowed down enough so we can all have two days off in a row to catch up on our rest. This means the temperature is dipping down low enough at night that sleep is enjoyed under a fuzzy blanket while the windows are still open. And this means it is soup and stew season!

I recently saw a post on Facebook written by a woman who has come to the realization that her 1971 slow cooker has finally admitted defeat and is no longer able to keep its temperature. The collective messages were those of sadness and unwavering support. We, being soup and stew people, felt the loss as much as she did.

As a helper, by nature, I immediately sent her the link to my latest slow cooker purchase that was designed to not only cook on a consistent low temperature, but had the added feature of being able to brown meat and sauté vegetables before turning the dial to cook on that same slow temperature for six to eight hours, producing the most melt-in-your-mouth meals you could hope for.

These are my people. These people who mourn the loss of a piece of kitchen equipment that has lived through generations of their families. These people who remember Aunt Jenny’s crockpot beef stew decades after Aunt Jenny has passed, but still put the same ingredients into their slow cookers to honour her memory, and enjoy the familiar taste of her stew. These people who enjoy summer to the fullest, but secretly wait for soup and stew season to start again.

Darkness and humor

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At the end of another busy summer at the lodge, I came home today and relaxed by scrolling through the many posts I have published on this blog. I have participated in many writing challenges that have allowed me to hone my writing skills by inspiring me to create a full story in a certain number of words. This particular challenge was to write a 66-word story using the word fanatic. The following paragraph was my entry.

‘After hearing the word mispronounced, with the emphasis on the wrong syllable, she had an idea of what to do with the wretched people who would not allow her solace.  Fanatic – indeed they were.  They camped out in her driveway, followed her everywhere but, one by one, they became smaller in numbers.  Her “fan-attic”, mind you, was becoming rather full.  She hoped the smell would dissipate.’

I blame my brother for introducing me to the wonderful books of Dean Koontz in my teenage years. Dean’s books are filled with dark themes, but those books are lightened by an underlying humor that makes the badness easier to embrace. This is the style of book I love to read, so this became the style of book I wanted to write.

Although I have written and self-published six books, I still love a challenge. Earlier this year, I entered the NYC Micro-Fiction Writing Challenge to create a story in 250 words with a pre-assigned theme and a key phrase. I missed the top ten entries by one, placing first in the honorary mentions. I received some wonderful feedback from the judges and great encouragement to follow my passion to keep writing.

I will soon be editing the book I wrote last winter and I will forge ahead with the book I have just begun writing. Next year, two new books will be added to my growing list of novels, and I have ideas for so many more stories. Once the hard work of writing the books is complete, the harder work of marketing myself begins. Wish me luck!!

Putting myself out there

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In a world that is so heavily focused on social media presence, I have been content to hide behind the safety of this blog and not engage in really anything outside of my comfort zone. But those days of living behind the scenes are over. If I want to put myself out there and have people know about my books, I need to fully engage in the trends, and I need to immerse myself in Booktok.

The thought of creating many short videos of myself talking about my books, and my writing process, is terrifying, but necessary. In my mind, I have committed to the process, but in my gut, I feel like I have eviscerated myself and my entrails are spilling onto the concrete slab in front of my house, steaming under the heat of the late summer’s sun.

I have written a six-book series that I am extremely proud of, but the thought of shamelessly promoting myself makes my skin crawl. But this is the nature of the beast. This is marketing. And this is what I need to do to make people who like to read the genre I love to write about want to read my books.

It has been a remarkable journey, from the initial concept of my first book, to tying in the other ideas to create a series, to finishing the six books in The Relative Series. I could not have imagined where I am now from where I was in 2017.

I will have two new stand-alone books available in 2026, and I am eager to listen to the voices in my head and continue my writing journey.

Thank you to everyone who has followed me, and thank you to those who are just finding me. I have much more to say, so keep your eyes open for new books coming soon!

Writing little things to amuse myself

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We are now firmly entrenched in the nine weeks of summer chaos at the lodge, which means I do not have the cranial capacity to write meaningful sentences, or paragraphs, that could potentially become useful in any future books. I do, however, have the time to think about the novels I have written and remember a few of the phrases that make me laugh. But, if I am honest, those phrases will most likely go completely unnoticed by my readers.

The final book in The Relative Series has a few nuggets that make me giggle, but one keeps resurfacing in my brain and I laugh out loud every time I think of it.

A student goes missing from a university in London, England in the early 1900’s. The intense investigation begins and the main character, Adelstein Beckett, is questioned by the police. The missing girl’s name is Margaret Carillon. Her last name was chosen after a brief Google search, and I am laughing as I write this. A carillon is a musical instrument made of cast bronze bells. In my book, the police ask if Mr. Beckett is familiar with a student named Margaret Carillon. Addy’s response (I’m still giggling) is, “It rings a bell.”

I don’t know why it makes me laugh so much, but I am glad I can still find the enjoyment in the little bit of humour I wrote specifically for myself. There are other references to things that mean a great deal to me, and I am happy to leave those little bits of my life in my books. I can only hope friends and family may recognize the subtle references.

I miss writing. But while I spend the next 49 days enjoying spending time with our summer guests, my mind will still be focused on the books that are waiting to be written, the characters who are waiting to be defined, and the amusing lines I can add to my stories that will continue to make me laugh!

Let it flow

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These are words I recently used as advice for a friend of mine. After texting this phrase to her, I sat back to let those words play over and over again, like a moving marquee in my brain, until my own message became clear. The words I shared with her also had a deep meaning to me.

I have sadly been neglecting the voices in my head. I have allowed myself to live each day in a perfunctory state of mind without paying attention to the creativity I have harnessed in the past and thoroughly enjoyed while listening to those voices. The list of to-be-written books in my brain has grown exponentially, but the compulsion to put in the work to bring those stories to life has waned.

I miss the joy I feel when I write. I miss those moments of lost time when I become so consumed by a story that hours go by before I am able to remind myself I am in my own home and I am not the central character of one of my stories, and living in a realm I have created.

I need to embrace the freedom of creativity, and I need to let it flow. I need to let it wake me up in the wee hours of the morning. I need to let it interrupt my work hours. And I need to let it add a few items to my grocery list.

Being able to create a story from beginning to end was never a gift I asked for on my Christmas wish list when I was a child. But being able to create a story from beginning to end is something I will cherish for the rest of my life. Let it flow!

A fitting day for a book announcement

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If writing novels has taught me anything, I have learned the most important lesson for an author is to know creativity will find you when you are least expecting it. It will also pull away from you and hide in the furthest recesses of your mind when you need it the most. Being a woman of a certain age, when the dreaded menopause entered my life, it changed the trajectory of my writing habits. I will not go into details, but the six months I spent trying to finish the last book in my series was deeply affected the brunt of Mother Nature’s devious plot, and she derailed my plan to have the last book in my series published in 2024.

I rallied. I fought for the voices to find me. I spent sleepless nights longing to hear the voices that had once been such a part of my daily reality. But I was stymied. I stared at my keyboard. I stared at the ceiling. I stared at my white boards. And I stared at any stationary object, waiting for the words to come. But nothing came.

On the days leading up to today, something drastically changed. The second book in The Relative Series is called One Eleven, and the stars aligned to bring a change to my perspective. The remaining words I yearned for to finish this book series tentatively presented themselves, and I was able to put the finishing touches on Abbey in the Oakwood and reveal that the series is complete. Today is January 11th, One Eleven, and the relevance is more than significant, it is a full circle moment for me.

Soon, I will be able to post a picture of all six of the novels in The Relative Series, as well as a photo of the cover for Crossing The Lines, which is my first stand-alone novel. The salt of my erratic seas buoyed me up to meet the challenges I was meant to face, and I was eager to float in the water of the creativity I had been missing, and to truly absorb the tranquility I feel in those waters.

Life may be more than willing to throw us a few curveballs, but we must remain reticent in our stance. We need to look the pitcher of that curveball in the eye and let them know we have not given up. This is my journey as a writer. This is my platform to share my truth. And this is my moment to share my stories. Throw me what you got, but I will always come out swinging. Abbey in the Oakwood will be available on Amazon soon!!

The end of another year

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This blog site has been sadly neglected, and I wanted to end the year of 2024 by adding something to this space with the hope it encourages me to spend more time here in 2025.

This past year has certainly had its ups and downs, but it has also given me many moments to reflect, and to understand how every single thing I have experienced has given me the opportunity to grow as a person, and as a member of my small community.

My greatest joys of 2024 have come from my family, my friends, and my ability to give back to the people in my community who struggle, for so many reasons. My freezer crockpot meal program that benefits the clients of our local food bank is my biggest joy. Every Sunday, from November to April, volunteers come to the lodge and help us prepare meals, and the reward of knowing that families will have a home-cooked, nutritious, meal once a week is so heart-warming.

Recently, I have been making soup for our local hospice, Andy’s House. Knowing that residents, families, and staff, will have a warm bowl of soup to enjoy during the most difficult time in their lives gives me a great sense of peace.

The calendar year of 2024 may have been filled with challenges, but it has taught me that I still have the resolve to rise to those challenges, and meet them head on. After many physical and emotional setbacks, I am ready to tackle 2025 with the strength and tenacity I had in my thirties.

To all of you still willing to follow my musings, I thank you. Whatever 2025 has in store for the world, I hope we can embrace it with compassion, understanding, and humility. I don’t usually make resolutions, but this year, I resolve to continue to be kind. Happy New Year to you all.

I lost myself

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Women of a certain age face many challenges when it comes to our well-being, both physically and mentally. The past eight months have been fraught with many personal hurdles that have made me question, not only my sanity but, my ability to hold on to my image of my true self.

I cannot pinpoint the moment the pieces of me began to slip away. It was not until recently I was able to recognize the imposter living under my skin, and her willingness to strip away everything that gave me strength and happiness. The things that once gave me joy, bared their teeth and sent me scurrying away from them. The things I took pride in soon had me questioning my abilities. And the life I loved seemed to be nothing more than something I once read in a novel.

But tonight, I felt a shift in the dynamic of my life. It was not something I conjured, and certainly not something I expected to happen, but tonight, I feel different. I can feel a piece of myself clawing out from under the oppressive blanket of menopause, and taking my first breath of fresh air. That heavy blanket that has been forbidding me to enjoy life is slowly falling away, and I am able to tell myself it’s okay.

It’s okay to give myself time to figure this out. It’s okay to push projects aside to allow myself the time I need to process my feelings and put me first. It’s okay to ignore phone calls from dear friends, and it’s okay to pick up that next call when it comes at the perfect time.

I know I’m going to be okay. I know I have slowly begun to collect the pieces of me and put myself back together. I feel the shift in my energy, and I know the universe has things in store for me. I may have been lost, but I am finding my way back to me. Look out world, I’m coming back!

Imposter syndrome

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I am ashamed of myself, in more ways than one. I have willingly neglected this blog for the past three months, and I have recently allowed myself to, once again, bathe in the toxic water known as Imposter Syndrome.

Having just finished the first draft of my sixth novel, I should be elated. I should be patting myself on the back for creating another unique story that has never been told. Instead, I am doubting my ability to write. I am second guessing my talent as a storyteller, and I am apprehensive about reading the rough draft for fear the words have no depth or emotion and hold nothing of value to the reader.

I am sure every author has hit this wall in their writing journey more than once. The fear of not finding an audience for the stories we construct is paralyzing. The thought that I have toiled to combine over ninety-four thousand words and beat them into submission only to have the story fall flat is agonizing.

But somewhere under the somber veil of the debilitating malady known as imposter syndrome lies a beacon of hope. A tiny speck of light looms in the distance, and that light beckons me to continue. Reading stories by other authors has always been a way for me to draw from their strengths so I can become a better writer. But, tonight, I am hedging my bets and reading one of my own books. Of the five stories I have created, it is the one I am most proud to say I have written.

As I turn the pages on my Kindle, I am reminded of the passion I felt drafting this story. I am reclaiming the confidence I felt in myself, and I am slowly letting the water out of the toxic bath and watching the Imposter Syndrome circle the drain before it disappears.

I can do this. I can write.

Soup’s On – Part 3

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Wow, if this blog and I were friends in real life, I would have understandably been given the cold shoulder for not holding up my end of the bargain in our shared communication. It has been over two months since I paid any attention to this cherished space and given myself permission to get lost in its warm embrace. I could blame a myriad number of outside circumstances, but the only thing I have to blame is myself.

It is so easy to become so consumed by life that we let our simple pleasures fall to the wayside. Between work, drafting novels, and spending time volunteering for our local food bank, I lost sight of the things that truly bring me back to myself. Creating things in my kitchen, especially soup, is the easiest way for me to feel grounded again. But, until today, I have regarded my kitchen with indifference. It had become just another room in my house, and I had forgotten how much of my heart beats within its four walls.

Not only does creating something from scratch remind me of my dad’s reckless abandon in the kitchen, making soup sparks a different part of my creativity, and sharing those soups with my family brings me great joy. Like my writing journey, I never know what the voices in my head will tell me to do, but almost every soup is something exciting and new. No two soups, even if I make the same thing again and again, are ever the same because I don’t follow a recipe. That is true freedom.

My writer’s brain has been blocked this week, but taking the time to put my skills back to work in my kitchen has dislodged the obstacle that was quelling my creative writing. There is a reason my characters like to cook, and that reason has reminded me to get back to basics and start from a familiar place to allow myself the freedom to put my trust back in the voices in my head. They are not controlling my brain, they are merely shining a light in a direction I had not anticipated.

Two soups are now being slow-cooked into submission in my kitchen, and the neurons of my writing brain have lifted their noses to deeply inhale the aroma of motivation. Everyone is familiar with the adage ‘stop and smell the roses’, but in my case it is ‘stop and smell the soup’. Just that brief moment of taking the time to allow the familiar smells to permeate my senses has opened a new door into the book I will soon finish writing.

When we were children, my mom’s way of letting us know dinner was ready was to yell ‘soup’s on’. Well, the soup is on in more than one way in my house. The crockpots may be filled with delicious ingredients, but my brain is now filled with a profusion of ideas to get this book finished. Soup’s on, indeed!