Wrapping It Up - Las Comadres Writers Conference

Second Annual Comadres and Compadres Writers Conference, Medgar Evans College, Brooklyn, NY.

In one word, awesome. From the beginning of my trip from West Virginia to New York City and back home last night, my experience was awesome. If you are a writer, I highly recommend any writers conference if you've never attended one!  Since this was my first writers conference, I had nothing to compare it to, but from the feedback I received from fellow writers and my own experience, this writers conference was a class act. From beginning to end.

Months before the Conference, I already felt like I was taken into the fold by Nora Comstock, President and CEO of Las Comadres para las Americas. You won't find a warmer, more beautiful human being than Nora. She kept us all in the loop on transportation, the 1 on 1 agent/editor sessions, and when needed, Nora put writers into contact with other writers who were looking for hotel roommates. I was very pleased to meet her in person. She was as lovely in person as I thought she would be.

After an easy registration, the participants were offered a great breakfast and time to meet new friends and mingle with long-time friends. We were welcomed by the four dynamic women running the Conference: Nora Comstock, Adriana Dominguez, Marcela Landres, and Dr. Brenda Greene, Executive Director of the Center for Black Literature at Medgar Evans College, where the Conference was held. Kudos on a job well done to everyone involved, including the volunteers!

This fast-paced writers conference was worth every penny. I met fellow writers in every genre, published and non-published, and enjoyed listening to keynote speaker, Reyna Grande who spoke about her humble beginnings and how she became the author of a memoir and three novels. Reyna was open, gracious and a wealth of information to those attending the writers conference.

I especially enjoyed listening and meeting Karen E. Quinones Miller, a presenter who spoke about self-publishing. Karen is who I will remember most when I think back to the Conference. This woman stole my heart with her vibrant energy, raw courage, tenacity and accomplishments in the publishing world from her beginnings as a self-published author. Amazing woman!

There are those among us who enter this life destined to be life teachers and mentors for others. Karen is that teacher for me. I knew it instantly. Myself and several other writers practically begged Karen to continue her presentation on self-publishing in the cafeteria and she graciously and enthusiastically shared with us. Seven of us sat around Karen as she took us step by step from creating a book cover to downloading our images for the back cover and book spine. I was like a sponge to her knowledge and information which seemed to have no end. I also enjoyed meeting her assistant, Brenda, a kind, soft-spoken woman who lovingly attended to Karen's needs and our own, as we listened and furiously wrote down every word Karen uttered. I look forward to seeing Karen in November in Philly for her self-publishing workshop. I also look forward to keeping in touch with the many wonderful writers I met on Saturday, now friends and mis comadres.

In my life, I've encountered two types of creative people and teachers: those who guard and keep their learned experiences in a sealed box only available for their personal use and gain and those who freely offer of themselves and what they've learned to others. The women I had the pleasure of meeting on Saturday fall into the latter category. I was blessed to meet them.

Over the years since I wrote, A Decent Woman, my historical fiction novel, I have been fortunate to befriend many beautiful women and fellow creatives who have loved and supported me, my children and my writing. Adding a dozen more new friends to my comadre circle this past weekend has enriched my life beyond belief.

My warm thanks and gratitude again to Mayra C., Irene H. and Junior for helping me get to NYC! I love you all.

Ellie xo

Lilly Pulitzer's Reading Glasses

I'm into this enlarged font today. It's so much easier on my eyes. I'm hoping to reduce the time I read with reading glasses because lately, I've found myself using them way too much. Last night I realized I had them on while eating my dinner. Not good. I'm too dependent on them, so hence the enlarged font this morning.

There's usually a positive and a negative side to any activity, depending on who you are and how much you do it. Perhaps there'll be more than a couple of ticks in one category in which case, you might want to look into that activity or choice. If there are way more negatives, you might need to quit what you're doing as in smoking, eating an entire rhubarb pie in one sitting, or drinking a pot of tea at midnight..not a good idea. This pot of tea at midnight is clearly not good for you or anyone else who comes in contact with you and especially not for the person next to you who is trying to sleep. Highly annoying.

Take writing for example. I write and/or blog every day. I love it. When I'm into my writing, I can sit here for eight to ten hours a day and in that time, my little reading glasses are perched on the bridge of my nose. Every now and then, I take my glasses off to clean them, when I run to the kitchen for a cup of tea or coffee, or let the dog out, but pretty much, they're on my face.

I have reading glasses in my car, by my bed, in the bathroom, by my laptop and in several purses should I feel the need to change purses. Actually, I should leave a pair at my son and daughter's houses, too. I can think of no other item that I have as many duplicates of...well, okay...I have a helluva lot of shoes. 

My reading glasses are light aqua and brown (stolen from an old boyfriend because I just loved them), brown, tortoise-shell, black, silver and gold and I used to own a pair of reading glasses in Lilly Pulitzer colors. Remember her preppie pastel-colored vacation clothes? Yuck. I must have been insane to wear those clothes. 

Well, I'm always on the lookout for a new color and I'm craving a lavender pair. I know, it's nuts, but I'm addicted to reading glasses. Okay, I said it. I'm owning it, but I don't like it. When I travel, I look for new colors and must pack at least three pair because there's nothing more irritating or unseemly as trying to read a Paris or London subway map with your face all scrunched up. 

And since we're confessing here...I cannot go anywhere without a notebook, a pen, pencils with erasers and mechanical pencils for my crossword puzzles. Never. I pack a fun bag for me just like you do for a kid!

It's pretty clear to me that if I don't stop using my reading glasses so often, I'll be entirely dependent on them. I'm not too far from that now. I'm entirely okay with adapting to my age. I'm adapting to my fluctuating weight, my arthritic knees, gravity, and my more taut than usual muscles that need constant stretching, but my eyes--they need a rest. I don't want to adapt to the change, not this change. I'm not going to go from a -2.00 reading glasses prescription to Coke bottle!

So, since I know that I'm never giving up writing and blogging or painting in watercolor and gardening, I'm going to use my reading glasses less and enlarge the font. So there, old age. 

Who am I fooling? I love reading glasses. I love wearing reading glasses and I am drawn to own every single color and shade under the sun! Have you ever begun to write your blog and ended up uncovering a secret? An addiction? I just did.

I'm Ellie Parker and I'm a reading glasses addict. I'm not even a recovering reading glasses addict. I'm an addict. But, they say that realization and acceptance are the first steps in kicking any habit and I've done that here.

Meh :) I'm off to CVS and Rite Aid to check out their summer and fall collections of reading glasses. I wonder if the lavender reading glasses will come with a cute case?

No matter. I'll be that awesome writer lady in the neighborhood with the funky, kaleidoscope reading glasses. The eccentric author, Ms. Ellie. It was bound to happen and I accept it. But...I'll never wear Lilly Pulitzer reading glasses, ever. That's where I must draw the line.

Peace and love,
Ellie

The Secret to a Successful Writing Career...REALLY??

At this very moment, a good friend and former co-worker is in labor with her first child. I'm very excited for her and her husband and found myself waking up like a nervous Auntie every two or three hours to check my cell phone for updates. I texted my friend about 40 minutes ago, thinking that maybe the baby had been born since her labor began early last night. She texted back that her contractions were every two minutes. I was AMAZED that she texted me back, I thought I would surely hear from her husband and not her! She must have amazing drugs or an incredibly high tolerance to pain or as they called it in my birthing class way back when--discomfort. Yeah, right. Discomfort :) I'm praying for my friend and her baby. What a beautiful time for them.

Several of my younger friends have had babies this year and all returned to their jobs within a few months of giving birth and in one friend's case, after she gave birth to twins. They all seem to have supportive husbands with their own jobs and super daycare situations which you would expect in the DC area. A couple of friends have relatives living nearby for extra help which is great.

This morning I read an article in The Guardian by Alison Flood about author/mother Zadie Smith's criticism of author Lauren Sandler's (single child, mother of one) suggestion "that women should restrict the size of their families if they want to avoid limiting their careers." The suggestion that limiting the children was the secret to success initially raised my eyebrows and annoyed me. But, as I continued to read, I began to vacilate between agreeing with a small point of the suggestion and shaking my head in disagreement at Sandler's suggestion. There are so many sides to this issue.

I began writing my first novel in 2006 when my children were in high school. It wasn't a choice, mind you. I had been an at-home Mom in a traditional marriage (as was my parent's marriage) where my husband worked outside the home and I took care of the house and the children. I was blessed to be able to stay home, I always said that. I was a working artist and a late blooming writer who didn't get the 'writing a whole novel' bug until my kids were in high school. My then-husband drove the kids to school in the morning and I remember thinking that I had eight wonderful free hours to write as both kids played sports after school. My husband didn't get home until 7, so my creative life was productive and seemless. When my kids and husband walked through the door, I closed the laptop and put down the paintbrushes.

At that time, I had a married author friend who had two elementary school children. She managed to write and publish two books, so I knew it could be done. We were both at-home Moms and many times we agreed that it was easier to focus on writing while working at home. I used to say that having children gave me three things I personally lacked--organization, discipline and focus. I knew I had limited time and energy so, I made good use of my time in those days. My husband's income allowed me to write and not worry about the bills. Fact.

Today I'm divorced and support myself.  I write full time. My children have graduated from college and have successful careers. I retired myself from a short career in the social services arena and have free time every day. And, you know what? With a lack of structure and schedule, and no real demands on my time--I find my creative organization, discipline and focus lacking some days! My friends with careers and children at home do more than anyone I know and accomplish great things and, good for them! As a 55 year old, I can no longer run around like I did in my 30's and 40's. Their schedules make me tired, but I applaud them.

I don't think the question should be how many children could possibly interfere and mess up a writing career. I believe it's who we select as the father of our children that's important (since we're talking about women in this blog), if they want children. My girlfriends with children seem to have husbands who support their careers for the long haul. Their husbands seem to be on board with taking turns with household chores, running the kids around and taking them to doctor appointments. As long as the children are well taken care of, it doesn't matter to me who does it as long as it's done and done well. Whatever floats your boat.

What I know--the keys to a successful career are discipline, organization, focus, drive, creativity, money, a supportive spouse (if they're married), family nearby, or excellent daycare (if they have children). There's no one answer here. So why add children to the issue? Children aren't the issue and the number of children isn't the issue.

I can't count the way in which my children enriched my life as newborns, toddlers, grade school children, tweens, high schoolers, college-aged kids and now, as adults!

Did remaining childless make Emily Bronte a superior writer? Were all of Hemingway's children taken care of by a nanny or his ex-wives? Was that why he was such an amazing, prolific writer? Who knows. I believe every situation was/is different and you'll find every possible scenario with any author, male or female. There are plenty of single Dads out there writing and publishing fantastic books with young children at home and women with three or four children pumping out highly acclaimed books. There are single or married writers, men and women, with no children who with all the time in the world, can't seem to finish a book.

After I read the article, I read all the comments (which are sometimes more interesting than the blog post they follow) out of curiosity. Well, weren't my panties in a damn twist by this comment made by a reader I'm assuming is a man:

"On the other hand there is the argument that the quality of women's writing never quite matches that of men, regardless of how many children are involved."

This guy gave me a major wedgie that I'm still having trouble with! Who says that?!

I know that I'll return to that article all day long to check out the comments to this little nugget and this genius' rebuttals.

Ellie

All Together Now!

I took this photo with my iPhone shortly after take off as we flew along the coast of Florida on my way to Washington, DC. I am amazed at these phones and how clear the photographs are. Gotta love modern technology! 

I'm a nervous Nellie when it comes to flying. I've always been like that and I've flown all my life as an Army brat and former Army wife. You'd think I would get used to it, right?  Not. You will find me sitting with my seat upright, tray table up, my cell phone on airplane mode, eyes shut, and I'll be the woman holding the arms of her seat with a death grip. I just never have gotten used to not being in control of my life. I don't enjoy giving my life to another person aka the pilot(s) for any amount of time. Hey, what if his wife just left him or his favorite dog passed away? What if she's decided to quit flying after this flight because she'd rather continue being a barfly? Then, what? Where would we be?? In the Atlantic Ocean if it happened on my flight.

When I board any plane, I always check over the pilot(s). I check for bloodshot eyes, shaky hands, and black circles under the eyes. I do! I could lie to your face here and now and say that I don't, but I damn well do :) As I walk down the aisles, hoping my carry-on doesn't bump someone's arm or head, I'm checking out all the passengers for terrorist(s). Who looks nervous, has shifty eyes and I even check out the grandma's because no one would suspect them. The perfect cover. When I take my seat, I look around for anyone who looks ill or ready to croak. I wonder if it's their last day on earth and we're all going down with him or her. Is it you or you, I wonder as I look over the passengers near my seat.

Yes, I'm a mess when I fly. The photo I took out of the window was taken when we were at cruising altitude, I think it was 32,000 feet and the seat belt sign was turned off. It is then that I can relax and stop reciting Mother Theresa's novena and put away my rosary beads. I've already prayed for my children, my family and friends and I've promised God that I will improve on those things that I don't do well at. Yes, I bargain with God, but He knows me well :)

I don't like not being in control of my life. I just don't. Last year, I flew five times and this year, I've already flown twice. I do it, but I don't like it. I hate connecting flights and will pay for a non-stop flight any time I can.  Much like trying to find an agent or a publisher for my novel, I send out query after query, but I don't like it. I understand that's how it's done these days, but I don't have to like it. My publishing life is in the hands of so many other people and I'm not in control. I find that very annoying when I'm ready now! I've already begun writing novel #2 which I'm enjoying, but I sure would love to see novel #1 published before I finish.

On the flight home from FL, my sister and I were going home after visiting our father and his wife. I sat in the middle seat, my sister had the aisle seat and a lovely young woman sat by the window. When the turbulence hit (damn!), my sister and I linked arms. I chided myself for not drawing up a damn will before I left home! The young woman leaned forward and smiled at us and said, "I'm a nervous flyer, too." So, I did what any compassionate, scared out of my wits woman and mother would do - I took the young woman's arm and we linked arms. I didn't even ask her if she wanted to link arms! I just took her arm and we stayed just like that for about five minutes until the turbulence subsided. My sister screamed at one point during the rollercoaster ride through turbulence which surprised me and I could do nothing but laugh at her! I didn't know she was a nervous flyer, too! It made the moment lighter, but I did have to laugh at her. I didn't scream! I don't know who needed the hand holding more on that flight?

The young woman thanked me when we landed :) When I land an agent or a publisher, I'll thank them, too. It's nice to have someone in your corner, ready to hold your hand through the publishing process. Not that I need major hand holding, but it's a new business to me. It would be nice to have a champion on my side as the writer's life can be lonely and unforgiving and yes, at times, downright scary.

I've decided. I'm taking the Amtrak trains to any future book signings.

Peace and love to you,

Ellie

Pictures, Words and Stories

Happy first day of Spring!  I know friends have snow on the ground as I write this blog post and I'm hoping that it's at least sunny for them today. It's a beautiful morning here.

"A picture is worth a thousand words."

The adage refers to how ideas can be conveyed by a single photograph. In writing novels, however, we need the thousand words or more to convey the idea. My historical novel, A Decent Woman, clocks in at 85,950 words. That's a lot of words :)

I took this photograph last Spring and I could tell you so many stories about this photograph. You might think it's just a nice photograph taken of a cat lounging on an overcast day and of course, that's true. It's much more than that to me.

The wicker table sat in my maternal grandparent's white clapboard country house in Cacao, Puerto Rico, high up in the mountains where they grew coffee, banana and plantain trees, oranges and lemons on their large farm.The ceramic pot belonged to my girlfriend K's father who passed away a few years back in Winchester, Virginia.The black cat I've named Noir belonged to my next door neighbor, Mr. Don who passed away a year ago. My friend M and I found the unpainted wicker chair next to a dumpster in Northern Virginia.The mountain laurel in the pot on the small retaining wall came from a holler in Front Royal, Virginia. A man I was seeing brought me the plant on our first date.

The little wicker table belonged to my maternal great-aunt Paquita who gave it to my grandmother. I don't know who owned the table before that. My grandparents took it to their coffee farm where it sat for decades before the farm was sold. My cousins and I played on that table, used it to play school and had tea parties on it. My mother packed this little table in brown paper and tied it with rope like a present and checked it in as luggage on a TWA flight from San Juan, Puerto Rico to Alexandria, Virginia in the days when we could travel with two pieces of luggage.

In those days, my grandmother and mother traveled back and forth from Puerto Rico to the US with plants with clean roots, plant clippings, food, clothing and anything else that fit in two suitcases. My Polish grandmother used to visit us bearing huge kielbasa, Polish sausages, in her luggage! A suitcase to us kids always meant it was Christmas. We couldn't wait to see what our relatives had packed and whether or not the items for us was still exciting.

The well-traveled little table. It traveled by jeep from the mountains of Cacao to the city of Ponce where my grandparents lived and then, to Alexandria, Virginia where my parents lived. The little table traveled with me to California, Austria, back to Virginia and when my mother passed away, we headed to Belgium where the table lived for 13 years. I packed the little table and drove it to France where it continued to be an end table in my daughter's bedroom. When my kids and I left Europe, the table traveled to Maryland, Virginia and now, it sits on my patio in West Virginia. The little wicker table has traveled almost as much as I have!

I hope one day that the little white wicker table will sit in one of my children's nurseries, so I think it's time for it to come inside. I know Noir will miss it :)

Peace and love,
Ellie

Thoughts of Dogwoods and Life

The sidewalks and streets in my neighborhood are wet and my garden is green again. I looked out the window this morning and smiled. No snow and the sun is out. I instantly felt energetic and wonder if the lack of sun affects me or is it just that I love the sun and sunny days. I immediately feel more energetic even if I'm home and don't go out in the sun, just seeing the sun makes me feel better. My neighbors must feel the same way as I hear my neighbor's children playing in the yard and all this week, I've heard birdsong around dawn. Spring has arrived.

After breakfast, I walked through my garden in my white robe, sipping hot tea and checking on all my babies. I hope that the perennials I planted last summer bloom again. I spotted two robins along the back fence and noticed new growth on the hydrangea plants and the astilbe. The daffodils and lilies are six inches high now and the ivy in the pot is as strong as ever. I still have this month to prune my ancient grapevines and the little dogwood tree my friend D gave me last year has tiny buds on the branches. That made me happiest of all. 

Last year on Earth Day, my friend D was offered two 'twigs', dogwood trees with roots in a plastic bag of dirt. She surprised me with one 'twig' last year as a house warming gift and couldn't have known how happy that made me. D said she didn't know if the 'twig' would survive, but I was hopeful and so pleased.

You see, dogwoods were my mother's favorite tree. They will always remind me of my mother who passed away in 1992. She also loved lilac bushes. I love both. My parents had several flowering dogwood trees on their property in Northern Virginia. Beautiful dogwoods in creamy white and shades of light and darker pink. They're delicate-looking, compact trees that don't grow huge like an oak or a maple, perfect for a smaller yard like mine. Well, I was thrilled.

A Virginia dogwood had ended up in a West Virginian garden. Just like me, a Virginia transplant in a new home, I told D. I too, had been delicate, fragile, and had replanted myself many times after my divorce. My kids, family and many friends feared for me in a new town and state, worried that I'd hate West Virginia and that I'd made an awful mistake in moving. It didn't matter that it hadn't been my choice to leave Europe, end my marriage, and move across the Atlantic, but here I am.

I immediately planted the little dogwood in a large clay pot and decided that we would no longer call it 'twig'. It's a dogwood and I babied that tree all last spring. Midsummer D visited again and we planted the dogwood in my yard. I decided to plant it along the side fence away from the wind that always blows like crazy through the side yard. She reminded me that I would have to move it, but I was dead set in protecting it first. I staked the little dogwood and it has thrived there. The dogwood grew four inches last year and I'm praying that it survives the winter and continues to thrive. But, I might have made a small mistake with my precious little dogwood...

I planted it along the side fence, way too close to the fence, actually. In my attempt to protect and save the sapling, I'd forgotten about trust and allowing things to progress as they are meant to. I'll have to move it to a location where it is able grow as large as it wants. The spot is confining and not conducive to future growth...I forgot to trust.

as I write this blog post, it feels eerie. The comparisons between my new life in West Virginia and this little dogwood are amazing to me. I've always felt in tune with nature, so this shouldn't surprise me.

Two springs ago, I moved to West Virginia to start a new life. I bought and move to a house that I could well afford and to a location that would allow me to write full time. At the time, I saw no other option. Friends and my children encouraged me to look at other houses, but I was so afraid that I just made the decision and did it. West Virginia isn't forever, but it sure has been a soft place to land and I've been able to live my life as I envisioned it. I've felt safe and protected in this place. The experience of moving on my own has been difficult at times because I'm away from my two adult children, but I've healed here. I'd put down tender, shallow roots and they spread. I've grounded myself in this town and I feel I've thrived...

but, I now realize that I've planted myself real close to the fence in an attempt to regroup after divorce. I wonder what would have happened if I'd trusted and been a bit more patient? Well, I'm not one to dwell on the past nor agonize over decisions. I did what I thought was right for me. I finished my novel and have begun to write my second book. I've made friends and feel a part of my crazy and colorful neighborhood. I've also protected my heart in many ways...there it is.

Is it time for me to move away from the fence? What will moving away from the fence mean for me? What will it look like?

It looks like book #3, that's what it looks like :) The outline is already written because I've lived it. That book will be the sequel to the book I'm writing now or the ending...and I didn't realize it until just NOW. Just this second.

Trust.

Peace and love,
Ellie

Thoughts on Divas and Egos

There's nothing like a good ol' winter cold to zap your energy and turn you into a whiny, nostalgic hermit. Actually, I don't need a winter cold for the hermit in winter part, it's too cold to venture out for too long this week. I'm talking frigid, kill everything in its path cold. I have three layers on, the heat is on and I'm still cold.

I get nostalgic when I'm sick which is probably why I wrote yesterday's blog post. I always miss my mom and grandmother and much more when I'm sick. I remember their arsenal of home remedies that worked along with many warm hugs and kisses. There's nothing like Mommy Love and Vicks Vapo Rub - my mother's cure all!

I believe nostalgia found its way into my heart yesterday because I'd also been working on a chapter in my novel, A Decent Woman, where my protagonist, Ana cares for her best friend Isabel who is dying from tuberculosis. Women taking care of other women and in the process, healing themselves. When women help other women, they are never more beautiful in my eyes.

Before I entered the writing life and world, I was (and still am) a working artist. I'm a multi-media artist/photographer who has painted and exhibited for over 25 years in the US and in Europe. I wasn't a newbie to interacting with creative people when I wrote my first novel, A Decent Woman. At the time, most of my close friends were artists, poets, photographers and dancers, and one self-published author who was very kind and generous with me as I wrote my novel.

The art world, much like the publishing world, is a tough, unforgiving and complicated business.  Art societies, guilds and groups can be rife with big egos, petty arguments and jealousy. I've seen it first-hand - artists and divas who complained when they weren't given the best wall for an exhibition, the best lighting was on another artist's pieces, artists who made catty comments about whose name was ahead of whose in the programs, and snide comparisons about their fellow artists. I helped organized several exhibits and I think my gray hairs came in right about that time. Any time you have big Egos involved, there are bound to be issues and conflict. A little Ego is healthy, but there's a delicate balance. Too much Ego can go toxic.

For years, I was on the board of our local art group and I was able to escape scrutiny (I think!) and didn't participate in the pettiness, there was enough around me. Consequently, the diva's pieces were highlighted because they made the loudest noise. The divas, male and female, were tough to work with at times and I eventually left the board position to give painting classes and facilitate creativity workshops to help others find their passions in life. Yes, it took me away from painting and photography, I'd say. What's two days a month in the scheme of life? Being a mentor and helping others helped me.

I hate to admit it, but it's true - when I entered the writing world, I had the preconceived notion that writers would be as closed, jealous and petty as some of the artists I'd encountered in my past. I was the little girl looking through the fence into the playground where the bigger kids played and ran around. I remained a writer/observer for a long time.

I observed for five years by blogging semi-anonymously (that's another story!) on another site before I began this blog about the writing life, my life and my novel. I read other authors, read their blogs and studied their websites, Facebook and Twitter pages. As with art, I found self-promotion off-putting and uncomfortable, but it had to be done. I wondered if I would have to scream the loudest to be published? I joined groups, writing critique groups, subscribed to author's blogs, joined a foundling group of writers who write women's fiction and joined Goodreads. I love reading reviews by women authors about other women author's books and enjoy catching up with blog tours when I see them advertised.

In the process of watching from the sidelines as a newbie, I discovered a beautiful thing -

Women WERE helping other women. Women ARE helping other women in the writing world.

I've made friends with debut and established women writers, marketers, editors and have had the occasional agent take the time to write me a personal note. That speaks volumes to me, we're all busy. But, the main 'thing' is to write, right? Again, it's a delicate balance and I believe I've found a nice balance. I blog first thing in the morning, followed by reading and making comments on other writer's blog posts. I check my emails and two Facebook pages, write a few lines for Twitter and then, it's full on writing for the rest of the day. It works for me.

It warmed my heart to learn I was mistaken about writers and I'm happy to be a part of the writing world. As for my painting, two years ago I joined an artist's cooperative group in West Virginia and so far, the Egos are in check...so far :)

Peace and love,
Ellie

That's Life - Asi Es La Vida

You see this Spanish-style house with the light blue shutters? I used to own it. The house sits between two vineyards in a small French village. It was sold after my divorce when I'd moved back to the US. I loved that house. We have many happy memories of that time in our lives.

There's a house in Puerto Rico with a tiled roof, very similar to this house. My grandparents used to own it. Neither house belong to me or my family any longer. Both houses were sold because life is life and it goes on whether we approve or like it one bit.

My maternal grandparents owned the house in Puerto Rico where I lived when I was a week old. That house was a constant in my life until my mother passed away in 1992 and my grandmother decided it was too much house for her after my grandfather passed away. I think she was running away from memories and the loss of two daughters, as well. I didn't blame her. You can't walk through the house without memories rushing in.

Family Christmas parties and parrandas, summer vacations from May to late August when my mom, sister and I would visit, and the year we lived with my grandparents, waiting for my father to return from Vietnam. The toilet where the iguana came out of and the chaos that ensued, graduation from high school when we lived in Puerto Rico for two years and returning to the island with my daughter when I was pregnant with my son. Another summer when my then-husband, my kids and I vacationed in PR when we lived overseas. So many memories. This house was my home - my refuge, my solace and my love.

So you see, this house isn't just a house to me. It is so much more than that. I'd wanted to buy my grandparent's house. While my then-husband and I considered the purchase, a family member bought it. I was bummed, but very glad that the house where I spent many happy times members would remain in the family. Her in-laws immediately moved in and lived there until she sold the house. I didn't know a thing about the sale until I visited Puerto Rico last December with my friend. I was dumb-struck and heartbroken when I'd found out it had been sold.

I parked the rental car across the street and immediately, I found it hard to speak. The white house was now painted a charcoal gray, not appropriate for a tropical climate. As soon as my friend D and I exited the car, I felt greeted by my departed grandparents, my mother, aunts and uncles and a cousin who died when he was 18. Memories of family photos taken in the front garden when I was little rushed in. I showed D the place where I cut the salamander's tail off to see if the myth was true about the tail remaining 'alive' afterward. The spot along the wrought-iron fence where a boy named Richard said he loved me just before my high school graduation and the enclosed porch, malquesina, where my daughter proudly showed her grandmother and great-grandmother her dancing skills while my son chased lizards in the back patio, under the huge mango tree.

I had tears in my eyes as the new owner's daughter gave me a tour of my grandparent's house. The floor tiles were the same, the remodeled bathroom was still yellow, and the kitchen where my grandmother lovingly prepared food hadn't changed. It will always be my family's house to me. My bedroom was non-recognizable, however. I got ready for my Junior and Senior Proms in that room, I cried there when my boyfriend died in a motorcycle accident, and when the room used to be my grandparent's room. There are stories of me as a toddler, ripping my grandfather's newspaper in shreds before he came home from the bank at noontime and of me as a teenager having a hissy fit that my grandmother was holding me hostage when my parents flew back to the US on business. She had a ring of keys to prove that she was in charge, much like a prison marm :)

I cried for my mother, my grandparents and the past as the tour came to an end. I had mixed emotions, I didn't know what to do with. I wanted to tell the new owner that she shouldn't have bought the house and at the same time, I was thankful that she'd been home and offered us a tour. I felt closer to my mother and my grandparents; there were around me, but I also felt like an interloper. I missed my mother so much at that moment and shook my head to compose myself as we headed to the cemented patio where a lush tropical garden had been.

"The mango tree is gone," I said to the new owner. She looked at me for a moment and said, "I didn't know you ever lived in this house."

Oh yes, I did. And, then some.

Some days, we're more nostalgic than others. Maybe it's all the cold meds I'm taking?

Peace and love,
E

A Little Humility Never Hurt Anyone

I took this photograph of my patio last week and after enjoying my windows open yesterday, I'm kinda bummed that we're back to snow today. Sigh. I'm over winter.

This is my favorite hang out spot with friends, wine glass in hand and a table of hors d'oeuvres to share. We enjoy lovely shade in spring and summer when the grape vines are full of leaves and in late summer marked with thousands of Concord grapes hanging in lovely bunches. I eat grapes morning, noon and night in summer and someone needs to convince my Pug Ozzy that grapes are toxic for dogs because he scarfs down the grapes that fall all summer long. I sweep and collect fallen grapes every morning, but he finds them. So far, I've not seen the effects of this grape toxicity in Ozzy - it's a losing battle with him, he's gonna eats grapes.

The honeysuckle on the side fence and the grapes attract lots of bees in late summer, but they don't bother me...much. I'm of the jump up from my chair and run variety when bees come too close. I've never understood how a person could sit still while a bee or wasp buzzes around them! I just can't handle bees, so I run. I was stung twice in my life by a couple of wasps and I don't want a repeat of that experience, thank you very much.


I must admit that my patio looks beautiful in winter, too. I wouldn't have photographed it if I hadn't seen something beautiful in the scene. But now, I'm over it!  I'm over winter. I'm ready for new growth, the variations of green that pop up on my gardening radar and the first plants of spring that show up when I least expect to see them. My elderly neighbor loves Farmer's Almanac and loves to tell me what's coming up with everything and what should already be here, as he says. He'll tell me when the next full moon and lunar eclipses will happen. When planting season comes around, my friend knows which vegetable to plant, when and next to what. My neighbor seems to know the stars and on summer evenings when we're sitting under the grape arbor, he'll say, "Come here, look at that," as he points to the heavens and we stand there, heads back, mouths wide open.  He's a wealth of natural information, I'd think and smile at how lucky I am to have him as a friend and neighbor.

When I met my 75 year old neighbor, I thought how cool it was that he knew all that stuff. I bought a Farmer's Almanac so that I could keep up with him. I remember one day when I surprised him with a nugget of information that I'd gleaned from the Almanac. He smiled at me and was quiet. How odd, I thought. Isn't he happy that now we have more things to talk about? We both love nature, gardening, flower and plants. Isn't he excited to have an eager student?

Then, it hit me and I donated the Farmer's Almanac to the local library. I'd taken away what had given my friend joy - informing me about the natural world he knows. My friend doesn't write, paint or take photographs. He was a much-loved dish washer at the Bob Evans in town before he retired. We'd found common ground in our love of gardening and that was what he wanted to share with me. His garden is beautiful and his knowledge is extensive. My neighbor helped me dig in my hydrangeas, perennials and annuals last spring and he takes great pride in our gardens :)

What a fool I'd been.  A well-meaning, eager student, but also a young fool (young to him) who'd forgotten about the wisdom gleaned through another's experiences in a long life. So, now I keep my mouth shut. I learn by listening and following his lead. I'm not one to steal anyone's thunder and I've always allowed my kids to learn by doing (well, most of the time!) and so, I'm looking forward to spring and digging up the side garden with my neighbor. I'm one lucky lady.

Still living, loving and learning in West Virginia.

Peace and love,
Ellie

Going With the Holiday Flow

Hi all!

Christmas Day is eight days away and I'm finding it difficult to focus on my novel this week.  Who am I kidding?  I found it difficult to edit last week, as well.  A couple of days of good work a week and other days of...distractions.  That equals two and a half weeks of distractions.  Is this happening to you?  Maybe I should have taken December off, thereby reducing the guilts!

Okay, I did have a week vacation with my friends and family in Puerto Rico which I enjoyed immensely.  I rested the week following my vacation and got my house in order.  I even found time to paint my front door glossy black (after pinning dozens of black doors on Pinterest this fall) and I decorated the outside of my house for the Holidays.  I visited with a sick friend, had coffee with two neighbors and caught up with girlfriends and family by email and telephone.  Yesterday, I gave my neighbor and her family a little tree because I know they are hurting this year and last night, I had dinner with a new friend - our second date.  Distractions?  Yes!

My writing rhythm is shot.  I was doing so well at the beginning of the month and had made great headway with my novel and then, the Holiday pressures were on.  I suppose I put those pressures on myself, but they're valid distractions this time of year.  I have ecards to put together, gifts to buy, a train ticket to Virginia to purchase, and friends I'd love to get together with.  Not to mention, my bedroom looks like a hurricane passed through.

I have kept up with my blog, however.  Bite-size pieces of writing.  I suppose the fact that I'm writing is a good thing.  My mind is jumping around and my heart is already in Northern Virginia with my kids and family.  I can't wait to seem them all!

How do people write, publish and market books while working full-time, part-time and raise kids, I wonder?  Am I that disorganized?  I don't work outside the home, I should be able to do all this with my eyes closed, right?  Priorities, I know.  I know the drill, but there's something major to be said about being present.  I don't know how many Holidays I'll have with both my kids and family; none of us do.

So, I've decided to enjoy my family and friends this Holiday season and when I return, I'm turning off the phone, not answering emails and I won't put the TV on!  That's it.  I'm not wasting time mind you, I'm simply going with the Holiday flow and choose not to feel guilty about it.

Guilt, worry, and anxiety are wasted emotions.  I choose to put all my energy into enjoying my family and friends this Holiday season.  For me, that is what is important - being present and enjoying the gifts that my family and friends are.  True blessings.

Peace, blessings, and love to you.
Ellie

Making Sense of a Senseless Act

Good morning,

Yesterday, I didn't turn on the television until late afternoon after being glued to CNN on Friday after I came back from running a few errands.  I was at the laundromat washing my couch slip cover and cushion covers when the woman next to me put her hands over her mouth and muffled, "Oh, my God."  Of course, the women closest to her, including me looked at her to see what was the matter and she pointed at the television set.  I remember the time was nearly eleven o'clock.  I made a mental note that I'd forgotten to add fabric softener to the industrial machine, but couldn't stay away from the television.  Not much was known at that point.

The three women and myself at the laundromat wrestled to process and fathom how a human being could take the lives of children, any one really, but especially children.  Through our brief conversations, we found out that we were all mothers and two were grandmothers. We had tears in our eyes and the eldest woman turned away, she couldn't watch anymore.  She reminded me of my grandmother and how she flew back to Puerto Rico when it was clear that my mother was dying in the hospital.  That stunned me, but I also understood what my grandmother was saying, she couldn't buy another daughter.  I was a mother, I understood, but would be lying if I said that I didn't want her with me during that horrible time.  I couldn't judge her.  I hadn't walked in her shoes.  Maybe the older woman at the laundromat had lost children and grandchildren, as well?

I gathered my laundry, said prayers on my drive home, and immediately turned on the television.  As the night progressed, I became annoyed and surprised that parents would allow their children, students at Sandy Hook to be interviewed instead of rushing home and circling the wagons in safety.  I caught my annoyance and reprimanded myself.  I didn't know the circumstances, the parent did what he or she thought was right. Not the time or place to judge, I thought.  She knows her child. Maybe her child needs to speak to process and heal?

Anderson Cooper was on and he said that the station had decided not to mention the shooter's name any more than necessary.  I agreed with that.  Then, the gun lobbyists and anti-gun folks came on the air, arguing back and forth.  President Obama spoke and spoke about "meaningful" changes that had to be made.  I agree with that.

After awhile, I decided to check Facebook and friends and family were posting status updates on gun control, Autism, sharing prayer requests and news links as more information became available.  I shared a prayer for the children, their families and for the staff of Sandy Hook.  I understood people's anger and frustration about guns getting into the wrong hands, but I felt that maybe it wasn't the time to argue about guns.  Twenty precious children and six staff of Sandy Hook had been gunned down.  But, then I thought...if not now, when?

Were we being disrespectful by talking about guns, mental illness, the shooter and his family and not focusing on the issue at hand - the death of innocent children and adults?  I could understand people's anger and frustration, I was angry and frustrated, as well.  How could this happen?

I believe most people want to do the right thing in difficult situations, but we can only express what we express because of our life's experiences.  Who's to say what's right, appropriate and sensitive?  We all process information and grieve in myriad ways.  Who's to say what's right and what's wrong in any given situation?  It's human nature to judge other's actions, thoughts and beliefs and I believe most people want to do the right thing.

"She shouldn't have said that!"  "Why did he do that?"  We try to make sense of other's actions and without all the facts, we'll probably miss the mark.  We may never know why that young man did what he did.  Some people blamed the press, his mother, others blamed our society, many blamed guns, a few said our President wasn't really crying, only looking for sympathy votes.  A few said they were appalled and outraged that people were posting updates on Facebook yet they themselves had just posted on Facebook.

We are all trying to make sense of a senseless act - in our own way.  With the life experiences we'd had.  We all filter life and what life throws us through our own lenses.  I finally posted something that has bothered me since 2010 - how children fall through the cracks in our schools in this country.  How bullying can affect some children.  How children can check out of residential treatment centers at 18 years of age in Maryland with severe behavioral, emotional, and mental issues.  I could put two and two together because I'd seen it; I worked in one such center.  I took it even further - what if these children couldn't afford the meds they really need and got a hold of a gun?  It made sense to me.

Another person could read my status update and think, "How could she post that?"  "How insensitive in light of what just happened!"  Well, if you've never worked in a residential treatment center, you might not have share my opinion.  It won't make sense to you.  I thought of parents with children with emotional issues, mental issues.  Their views would be completely different than my own.  Perhaps, a parent saved his family because he had a gun when an intruder entered their family home.  The world looks completely different from where we stand.

We're grieving those senseless and brutal deaths. The more information that comes forth, the more vivid my mental images are - of their last moments, their last breaths.  As a parent, it's unfathomable to me.  The parents and family's grief isn't anything I can ever know as I've never lost a child.

People immediately had negative comments about Emilie's father on the news last night speaking about his beautiful six year old daughter.  Who are they to judge?  We all grieve in many different ways.  He's doing what he feels he needs to do.  Full stop.

Is there a right and a wrong way to grieve and process information?  Not in my book.  We're all doing what we can in our own way with life has given us.

Peace and love,
Ellie

Thoughts and Prayers

My thoughts and prayers are with the precious babies and the heroic staff whose lives were taken at Sandy Hook Elementary School yesterday.

I pray for courage, peace and strength for the parents, families, friends and staff of the school

whose lives will never be the same.

Rest in eternal peace.