Showing posts with label writer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writer. Show all posts

Saturday, April 20, 2013

The Healing powers of Your Story



I have always been a firm believer that everyone has a story to tell.  Why do I think that?  I know this to be true because even if people have shared similar experiences, like war, poverty or family tragedy, each person's experience is unique to them.  

I could be in the same war, same natural disaster but I will see it totally differently.  My experiences will cause me to see things in a different light than even a person standing next to me. 

That being said, it is good to write about our lives, about what we personally have been through, how we may or may not have handled the situation.  By writing, by sharing, we just may touch on the heart string of another reader who has or is now, going through something so similar that they are changed, forever, by what we have written.  Is everyone an excellent writer?  Maybe not, but writing your story isn't as complicated as you might think.  With self-publishing these days, I know that what you might see as ordinary in your lives, can now reach hundreds maybe even millions of readers.  I love self-publishing because I think the reading public is not stupid.  I prefer to let the readers decide what they like, not some publisher who chooses for them.

I have assisted people in editing, arranging and telling their stories.  I enjoyed it very much.  Why?  Because while helping a writer arrange their thoughts and notes, I have read some very touching stories.  I am going to show you some great examples of that.

My husband's book is at the top of this blog.  While I may be a bit biased on his, I can assure you it is somewhat a universal story about war.  About one soldier's experiences of a war that has been such an embarrassment to the United States government, that for a very long time, the government tried to bury it and pretend it never existed.  Kind of like the WMD fiasco that has now drawn us into wars where we do not belong, to this very day.  Steve tells about his experiences in Vietnam, how it's so easy to be drawn into a war and hate faceless enemies.  But once there, once he got to know the people of that country, it became increasingly harder and harder to hate people who did nothing to us personally.  He tells of the fears soldiers face when fired upon, how most soldiers, from both sides, will shoot others more from fear than from hatred.  How propaganda about the perceived enemy, is the driving force behind all wars.  He tells why he chose to make the military his career and why he chose to become a Drill Instructor to be able to teach all soldiers how to survive when faced with combat.  I'm sure anyone will love his story. 



 Poems of a Forgotten War is a series of Steve's feelings about a war he participated in.  They express how he felt.  Sometimes torn, sometimes he loved the country, sometimes not so much.  But they can certainly express how many people in a war feel about those sometimes mixed emotions.  Did he have regrets?  Well, does anyone ever experience anything as emotional as war and not have regrets?  Vietnam may be in the past, but stories he has read about concerning our recent wars are similar.  So he has come to the conclusion that war is war, no matter the era in which it takes place.  These are poems that modern military people can relate to.



The nursing home book is my story.  I guess you can call it my baby.  I've worked with the elderly in nursing homes for a long time.  I've worked with the elderly in the community for a long time too.  This is a book about my observations of the situation that many elderly find themselves in when they are too frail to take care of themselves at home.  It is a tale of many people facing this situation.  Some like nursing homes, but far too many hate the experience.  I try to explain why people hate it, what causes them to feel like it's hopeless.  But I also tell how and why, it can all change, if people stand up and demand changes for the better.  I explain how the Federal Government and state governments think throwing money at the problem should change it.  It doesn't.  But I also tell of the Culture Change movement taking place in America right now.  I explain how it can change for the better and why it should change.  I'm hoping everyone will read it, learn from it and I hope they will demand changes and understand that the government is not the hope for changes they might have expected them to be. 



I have one more story to share.  I'm hoping this writer will not mind my sharing it.  I chose it because it is so powerful, I think everyone should read it.  This story is set in a time when home health for someone who is dying of cancer, did not exist.  This writer tells about a time when a woman, her own mother, had to experience the shame of having a child out of wedlock.   She tells of growing up and feeling she was hated by her own mother.  How she, as a very young child, had to care for a mother who was so sick, she almost felt overwhelmed by it all.  But most importantly, it is a story of healing.  A story of coming to understand that it was not her that her mother hated, but it was the situation her mother found herself in, that was the object of her hatred.  She tells of a mother who was so proud and strong, she felt like she lived in her mother's shadow as a child.  A very unique story that anyone who may not have the perfect parent, can relate too.  I hope you will take time to read it.  The author related to me how just telling her story has given her the emotional healing she so desperately wanted and needed.  A good author, a powerful book.

I hope you have enjoyed reading about the healing power of stories.  Do you have a story to tell?  If so, I'd be happy to help anyone compile their story into a manuscript.  Yes, I charge, but I charge far less them others and far less than you might think.  I can work on a sliding scale. 

Thank you for reading this blog. 

Sunday, April 7, 2013

Soldier, one day you will grow older

             
                              The soldier then


When young we know no boundaries

We come to war from factories, offices and foundries

Hormones and patriotic feelings abound

That's a mix of energy to be used in leaps and bounds

The youth factor is what the military count on

"Step up here, we will help you release that energy, Son."

We feel patriotic, we think, we will win a war, what fun

Not one recruiting brochure tells you; When you're done, you're done.

That's the important part they always leave out, Son

We survive, we come out alive

We then grow older, we grow much bolder



The veteran now

We finally see war without all the fog

Plenty of memories in our brains we have logged

Don't resent those who don't understand

I highly doubt if anyone fully can

What we've seen as soldiers can only confound it

Even we who were there cannot fully wrap our minds around it

Those who've not seen aren't being mean

When you actually stand on the turf, it isn't so green

Given the small facts we were given back then

I'm sure, as young men, we would all do it again



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Monday, February 4, 2013

Meeting an author

                                   
                                                  He looks agreeable enough.  Don't you think so?



Let's meet an author.............let's meet my husband, Steve.

You know we place the proverbial 'Author's Information' on the back flaps of our books.  But what in hell do those things say about who a person really is?  Those back covers are like a resume, you try to know a person in so many words or less. Simply can't be done.

When I met Steve, I really, really was soured on relationships, namely the institution of marriage.  I felt marriage was highly over rated and each time I would see a seemingly happy couple, I just felt there was a facade, I felt no one was truly happy being married.

We have been married, this year, for 14 years now.  What's it like being married to an author? Interesting at best.  Well, he spends time writing, we spend time riding around taking pictures for our site and we love yard and estate sales.  Problem is, those sales tend to bring out the worst in both of us, sometimes, OK, most of the time.  I've learned it's not a good idea to buy anything too big.  I know Steve loves me, good thing I know this, but he likes to tell me I 'just don't always pick up items right.'  In 14 years I've never really learned the meaning of those words.  So I tend to set the item down and ask him to explain, which kind of irks him. 

What makes up an author?  Well, in this case, a nagging wife who convinced him he does have a story to tell.  So tell it already!  He did.

His story is about a boy (him) from the Midwest, who joins the Army and embarks on an interesting journey in a land called Vietnam.

He is a wonderful husband, but does any wife and husband get along all the time?  I doubt it.  His journey to become a Drill Instructor proved to be because he had and has, a burning desire to control his own destiny.  A commendable quality.  But the rigidness of the DI life can spill over into his personal life, sometimes.  Like the other day we went to lunch and the waitress decided, in the middle of our eating lunch, to try and sell us a coupon book.  She droned on and on and I saw the perturbed look coming across Steve's face.  He was good though and when she finally finished, he leaned over to me and said: "Wouldn't you think they could save that speech for after people are done eating?"  I said they are probably pressured into the speech and selling by management.  I felt sorry for her.  He left her a tip though because he truly is nice.

                           
                         A sweet, hard working young soldier.

We have had times when we were at a fast food drive through window, ordering coffee and after waiting for 10 minutes, Steve has been known to say, loudly: "How many waitresses does it take to pour two coffees?  We may never know because it isn't getting done."  He says some places give the term 'fast food' a whole new meaning.  This is true.  But somehow, I think our unhappiness or expressing it, will do little to spoil the day of a worker making minimum wage and dealing with irate customers only to not make enough to pay their bills.  


                                
                        A dashing young soldier.

Steve is highly competitive and sometimes when we play games, even on Facebook, he will compete with my scores.  Just a little quirk he has.  But that quirk is what helped him climb the ranks to be the DI he wanted to be.  

Sometimes when he asks me to do something, I like to say 'No' because it's priceless to see the look on his face.  A guy who likes to run smoothly so I have to toss a wrench in there sometimes.  I just cannot resist. 

A wife couldn't ask for a more attentive and giving husband though.  He moved across country for me to be able to advance my career and to a place, Indiana, where he couldn't wait to leave when younger.  Just helped me pack up lock, stock and barrel.

He also kept saying how he just did not like cats.  But rescued a little, helpless kitten in our backyard and now they are the best of friends.  

Would I trade this author?  Not for the world!



Saturday, January 19, 2013

A Young Soldier's Journey to Find Himself


I was very conscious of how out-of-place I felt in school anymore. I never really liked high school much anyway, I never really fit in with the jocks. You know, those guys who eat, drink and sleep sports and take it all too seriously. I knew, even then, that beyond high school, those guys, who had once been big men on campus, would just become ordinary people as soon as they graduated. I was never very athletically inclined. I had tried out for the football team once, played one game and immediately decided it was not for me.

 A lot of the kids in high school were headed either for farming or college. Those kids had a purpose for staying in school and graduating.
My parents were poor, we didn't own a farm, just a house and ten acres with woods. I knew my parents couldn't afford college and frankly, the idea of four more years in a learning institution just didn't hold any appeal for me. Too boring.

I was much more interested in cars than sports and books in those days. But in Indiana, sports and farming was everything, especially in high school so that pretty much left me out of the ‘cool’ loop. I had great grades in school until I reached high school and decided what I'd rather be doing in life, which wasn't hitting the books.

Besides, I thought the guys who liked cars were much cooler anyway. I could relate to cars. Cars were something tangible, steel and chrome you could touch and work on. I was able to see and feel the satisfaction of a job well done when I worked on a car that had stopped running. Maybe there were no trophies involved, or a sweater with a letter on it, but there was a feeling of deep accomplishment from fixing and customizing a beautiful car.


In the 1960's cars were everything.
Everybody wanted to be seen in a hot car, even farm boys, jocks and yes, girls too.

The part time job I had recently landed as a bag boy at the local Kroger’s grocery store gave me a small taste of the adult world. In summer, weekends and holidays off, while those other kids were hanging out at drive-ins trying to pick up girls, I was helping little old ladies with groceries to their cars. But even that bit of responsibility was not enough for a boy in a hurry to grow up, the small responsibility of that job only made me hungry to experience more of what the world had to offer.

I felt like most of the crap they were teaching in school was junk I’d likely never be using in real life anyway. I fancied myself as older than my high school peers. Maybe not in years, but in my mindset. Just about everything they thought was important, I viewed as being useless.

I already felt that what was important in high school, would matter very little in the real world. 

Growing up, I had jobs as young as age 12. I picked berries one summer to earn money, later on I delivered newspapers every day after school and on weekends. I was used to hard work, the kind of physical labor you do with your hands, not always your head. 

 I think seeing my parents work so hard all the time, I grew to appreciate the value of it all and the value of money. Oh, I was smart enough, but school just couldn't hold my interest long enough for me to care about it much.




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Tuesday, January 15, 2013

A young soldier's journey


Walking home from school that day, my throat was dry, a sensation of strength washed over me.  I had really wanted to hurt that guy, to see blood.  Right now I figured my blood pressure was like 160 at least.  I was grateful for the eight miles between the school and my house.  I needed this long walk to help silence the blood pounding in my ears.  I knew my parents might be upset when they heard what I'd done but this showdown had been a long time coming.  Right now I didn't care about the possible consequences.  Besides, I felt like that guy had been just looking for a fight and he nearly got one from me.  

  Maybe my vision was clouded as I walked home from high school for the last time on that warm day in 1965, the year I turned 16 and knew I didn't have to take that mistreatment anymore.  Hell, it wasn’t like it was my first trip to the Principal’s office, I had gotten used to that, but on this day, I was determined it would be my last trip there.
I was sent to his office, this time, from shop class.  I had rigged a piece of lumber in the lathe so it would fling out at the shop teacher when he turned it on.  While that action had gotten a rousing laugh out of the class, the shop teacher was far from amused so it earned me a trip to the principal’s office, nothing new for me.  But this time it was different from the three days of detention I usually got. This time he told me he ‘would have to paddle me’ because it was such a ‘serious offense,’ and someone could have been hurt badly or even killed by the flying wood.  He then took a significantly sized paddle from behind his desk and came at me with it, a look of almost delight in his eyes, as if hitting students made his day.  I decided I wasn't going to make it easy for him either.   I had already decided that he wasn't going to lay a hand on me. 

As he approached me, I bit my lip, felt my hands clench and unclench as I moved slowly and deliberately towards him.  As soon as he entered my personal space, I planted my feet further apart to let him know I was standing my ground.  I defiantly said: “If you touch me with that damn paddle, I’ll break it over your f%*@king head.” 

Suddenly he stopped in his tracks, as his eyes widened he seemed to be doing a double take about the whole situation.  He was probably stunned by my language.  Back then, small town Indiana nice kids weren’t supposed to talk like that.   But I had always been a rebel in those days anyway, and I admit I had a definite problem with authority figures. 

Whatever the reason for his abrupt stop I will never fully know, but after lowering the paddle he looked at me through squinted eyes.  Finding his voice again, he asked: “What did you just say?”

 Infusing as much anger into my voice as I could, I answered: “You heard what I said."  Once I repeated myself he then pointed out I would have to be suspended for three days at the very least.  I lowered my head and mumbled something about how it was going to be the longest three days he would ever see.   With that having been said, I slammed out of his office, walked through the big glass doors, away from the building, never once looking back. 

That son of a bi&@h sure didn’t need to tell me twice.  I knew I was never going back to that school.   I really hated school anymore anyway.  For a long time now school seemed to hold little meaning for me.  I had grown restless and failed to see any reason for continuing high school.  

On any other day but today I would not have liked the eight mile walk home because it usually seemed so long.  But today I was grateful for the distance between the school and my house because it gave me a chance to think as I walked.  While walking the eight mile journey home, I mulled over in my head what I was going to say to my parents about my plans to never go back to high school.  I had been thinking of joining the Army for some time and I could think of no better time than now but I would need my parents to sign papers for me because I was only 16.  I would just need to convince them it was the right decision.  




Steve/Author




As a young soldier in Vietnam

Saturday, December 8, 2012

More love



Available on:

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I had never thought I’d like any military lifer,
much less fall in love with one. I never
believed in soul mates before either. But I
hadn’t counted on meeting Steve. I just could
never imagine, before now, living the military
life as an adult ever. But since meeting Steve at
the barbecue my father held for a group of
Army guys, I began to think maybe it was
possible to live this way forever. Steve is the
kind of guy I could very well imagine living my
entire life with, even if it means moving around
a lot, like I did as a kid. I could envision
myself doing anything so we could be together.
Together, as man and wife, talking about his life
in the military, maybe even raising a couple of
kids together.

I have learned though, that life can sometimes get in
the way of a person’s happiness. Right now my
dad is lying in a hospital bed hooked up to a
dialysis machine that cleans his blood.

He collapsed and was rushed to the hospital
when Marie and I got the call. His kidneys are
both failing him and without a kidney donor he
might not survive for very long. Marie and I
aren’t able to donate one for him. We both have
diabetes so we can't help him with one of our
kidneys so we’re both feeling pretty helpless at
the moment. Dad has always been so strong so
to see him this sick is very shocking to me right
now.

To make matters worse, Steve, hasn’t written to
me in months. He is in Afghanistan, working
as an interpreter for the United States Army
there. I’m feeling pretty lonely and sad right at
this moment. But I guess this story should start
at the beginning.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Latest book on Amazon

Many times people who write blogs ask 'where do I find subjects for an interesting blog?'  This book contains many blogs (hubs) from a popular site we write on.  We hope it will be interesting and fascinating for you and will give you ideas as well as being entertaining for you to read.  

 

Sunday, June 12, 2011

Interview with Cheryl from Something in the Blood

Interviewer:  Hi Cheryl. So you're the heroine from the book: Something in the Blood?


Cheryl:  Heroine?  Well I've never thought of myself as a heroine before, but I like the sound of that, it has a nice ring to it.  I'm in the book, so I suppose yes, I am the heroine.

Interviewer:  How did you meet Duncan, your boyfriend and is he really a vampire?

Cheryl:  I met him while working at an ice cream shop, I was trying to earn enough money for a down payment on a used car.  He stopped, to meet me, so he said, and yes, he is a vampire.

Interviewer:  Have you ever believed in vampires before?

Cheryl:  Heck no, does anyone really believe in vampires?  Honestly, it is far fetched, it was for me too, but I believe now.

Interviewer:  Has meeting Duncan changed your life?  Are vampires really the soul less blood sucking creatures we have been led to believe they are?

Cheryl: Yes, and No.  Yes, meeting Duncan has changed my life a lot, wouldn't it change anybody's?  No, they aren't all the heartless creatures you've read about.  I don't know many vampires, I never met any before Duncan, and since Duncan is not a ruthless killer, then I can say not all of them are evil.  He saved my life, and my friend, Karla's life too.

Interviewer:  Do you plan to become a vampire then?

Cheryl:  That's the Big question, I suppose.  I am still considering it, but I haven't made up my mind completely yet.

Interviewer:  Can you tell us more about your life with Duncan?  We'd love to know.

Cheryl:  I'm afraid you will just have to read the books, I can't reveal much more, at least not right now.  I hope you will pick up a book and then you'll understand much more.