Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Blog a Review

If you haven’t quite got all your holiday gifts purchased here is a book you can add to the list, Unfinished by Suzanne Gravelle. It is a true account of one woman’s extraordinary trip, taken over the course of a year, to discover the truth. A story that puts you on emotion’s edge, so close to falling off that the reader begins talking to the author. Sort of like the locked door that no one dares to enter, but Suzanne Gravelle does, all the while you are saying, ‘don’t – don’t do that’. Yet, she does because she must.

Unfinished is the story of betrayal, it is an opening of Suzanne’s soul to the unknown. Courageous and daring enough to sell her beloved home in Nova Scotia, to leave her family and quit her job, Suzanne embarks on a solo trek across Canada, a blonde in a Mercedes SUV, to confront her fears. Life is cyclical and if we do not take the reins early on then what haunts us will return. The betrayal in Suzanne’s life is masked by superficial promises, similar promises likely having been made before in her life by some other person, or another lost love.

The betrayal, this time, comes to her in the form of lover, Jack. He is somewhat of an archetype character that represents the many faces of a betrayed past. Some come into our lives for a long time, some short, and still others as teachers. Jack is clearly a teacher for Suzanne. His lessons are harsh and difficult to understand, but eventually she comes around.

Bravo to Suzanne Gravelle for stepping out of skin, for peeling back her comfort zone to track down the culprit of her past and of her present, allowing the author to be finished, and to complete her journey. Her children, grandchildren and the next love of her life will reap the benefits of her exceptional experience.

Blog what you read, think, see and feel.

Live each day well…or write a book.


Friday, November 25, 2011

Blog Giving

I live in a part of the Northeast that is a favorite of many critters including turkeys. Ironically this past week I had several turkey sightings. It was as if they knew Thanksgiving was on the calendar. They are strange birds, a bit arrogant and at the same time oddly clumsy. Tall, giraffe like necks, and bulbous lower bodies, they scurry across roads and congregate on front lawns as if on a mission or on the way to a meeting.

American history recounts our forefathers sitting down with native Indians and sharing a table laden with food. Likely some of these birds relatives were served up along with other tasty morsels. The picture is perfect. How realistic is unclear. Those birds surely gave their captors a hard time-they didn't go peacefully to the table, and the Indians too must have had their suspicions of the white man. Rightly so as it turned out.

One thing I am grateful for, among the many, is that someone of those early settlers or Indians wanted to say thank you. If only for one day, to take the time to give back, to play it forward. My wealth is measured, not by money but by the people I love and who love me back. Thank you.

Blog what you hear, think and see.

Live each day well...or write a book.


Friday, November 18, 2011

Blog Waiting...

Patience is a virtue. I learned that as a child. There is a measure of waiting for everything. As a kid I took to sitting on the narrow stone steps outside my grandparents house to wait. I waited for my father to visit, I waited for my favorite movie star to drive by, and I waited for the millionaire to come and ring the doorbell. Such unrealistic waiting, because one day my father stopped coming and I was seven, Kooky Burns was never going to lend me his comb and the millionaire was a fantasy.

My waiting continued off the step inside my heart as I grew older, waiting for the right moment to get out-of-town, to find my own piece of step. Life took me and tossed me high above that place. My plans never seemed to be among life's plans and the Cinderella story came apart at the seams. I was good at waiting, I'm the best as a matter of fact. Disappointment has often overshadowed the anticipated outcome but that is because I expected too much. Someone later advised me to simply show up-to be present and let the rest happen.

Recently I sent a manuscript to my agent for review. The third of three books I've written over the past twelve years. I've learned so much, and I know that I'm still a student of life. But I believe so passionately in this manuscript, in what it stands for and what it means. I've written into uncharted writing space, into a virtual unexplored subject, 9/11.

There is no stone step outside my house, no place in effect where I can sit and wait. Sitting and waiting is not allowed, I am always on the move, brain and body busy, the target unable to be hit. I pray a lot, I write, I sometimes put my worry people outside of their little box. I pretend I am fine, from the outside I am calm. But inside, I may as well be that little girl again, waiting. Never give up, never give in, this time is the right time.

Blog what you think, see, feel and hear.

Live each day well...or write a book.


Friday, November 11, 2011

Blog the Power

Render me powerless, a Greek tragedy of a woman, who in this twenty first century should be empowered. No man or beast, no romance shattered, no mournful event forever etched in my mind, alas, the villain is corporate, a utility company without remorse or compassion. I am powerless among hundreds of thousands; we are defenseless, unarmed against a CEO and his linesmen. Our Horton-hears-a who of a selectman sends daily messages that go unheard. The corporate communicator is powerless as well. I toss, yet again, a full refrigerator and freezer of newly replenished food, fresh from the Irene debacle. No generous reprieve at the dump, this time the powerless woman must pay to dump her spoiled food, a sin.

Crews converse just across from the transfer station. They wear brightly colored vests and juggle hot coffee and cigarettes. Trucks line the road with names affixed to their sides that I cannot pronounce. I ask the dump attendant if they are on a lunch break, it is 9:30 in the morning. He says, ‘no, they haven’t started yet.’ God help the guy who flunked his anger management course. It is a certainty that someone, with powerless angst, could ruin their day.

I learn to navigate powerless. I go to bed way too early, flash light in hand, the sound of neighboring generators with one note capacities grinding out their melodies in the background. I have hauled several buckets of water to the door inside the garage. A mighty stack of wood sits next to the buckets for the wood stove. Eggs and milk are on the counter where the temperature is close to what the inside of my fridge should be, and I eat cereal for breakfast and dinner and thank the Gods my office has heat and a shower.

The driveway is impassable because of downed trees. I create an unorthodox access to my garage door through the pachysandra and between the wild apples trees. I hoot and holler, yahoo, every time I emerge from the trees, it makes me feel like I’ve discovered America. A week passes, and late Friday afternoon I slide my hood back and pass the stairs to my loft and what to my wondering eyes do I see? Lights, twinkling, brilliant lights. The power is up, is on, is gushing through the lines and sending messages to my furnace, to my toilets and to my appliances. The prince of power has come, kiss him long and hard. I am a woman empowered, warm, clean, and ready. I make a cup of tea and open the fridge where the light inside reflects off the empty shelves.

Blog what you see, hear, think and feel.

Live each day well…or write a book.


Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Blog an Author Encounter

A few months back, when my manuscript was in the hands of a professional editor and I was again waiting, I indulged my writer’s soul by participating in an invitation to read an excerpt as a member of the writer’s guild. A small group of us met at the local Starbuck’s to discuss this opportunity and how best to organize our participants. We sipped coffee and tea and mulled over the reading selections, the order, and the length of each. About mid-way through I looked up to see a man walking past our table, he looked up at the same time. I recognized him and he me.

I sat awkwardly on a chair against the wall so I rose and stepped forward. We shook hands and exchanged pleasantries and laughed. The young man was Howard Roughan, bestselling author, New York Times top ten, both solo and as a co-author. The latter pairing with one of the most well known crime writer’s on the A-list. Howard and I had met briefly some five years before after I had boldly sent him a request to read and review my novel, Belly of the Whale. I needed a New York Times bestselling author to blurb on my cover and he and I lived in the same town. He graciously agreed and a short time later sent a wonderful review to my publisher.

So there we were in Starbucks, half a decade later, and he remembered my name, and the name of my book. This from a man, who would in the next week, once again be on the New York Times best seller list. I was flattered, to say the least, and if that were not enough to keep this writer’s heart beating, as we parted he added that he still remembered the story, and that he found the book to be one of the best he had read (or something to that effect), because by then I was dizzy.

Thanks so much Mr. Roughan, you made my day.

Blog what you hear, feel, say and think.

Live each day well…or write a book.


Thursday, October 20, 2011

Blog my return...

Eighteen months ago I zoned out with good reason-to finish "the book." I am happy to report-novel finished. Hand off to my agent was on September 22 and now I wait. I read in a book of Celtic wisdom that it is more difficult to spend a day well-then to write a book. Since I've done the latter, while I wait in the wings, I am focusing on trying to spend my days well, not easy.

The other night I attended a Writer's Guild Meeting and we discussed various publishing options and what is popular with readers. Hands down romance always wins, but not just standard romance, romance with a paranormal twist. Go figure. Someone suggested that my novel, while not romance, definitely deals with the paranormal. I call it, mainstream-paranormal, and everyone laughed. There is no such genre. Well that's how I presented it, genre bending, I said, because mainstream is life and real life deals with the paranormal daily. There are no coincidences, lots of unknowns and plenty of unexplained outcomes.

Blog what you think, feel, hear and say...

Live your day well...otherwise write a book.