Today – for a long time – I’ve pondered the idea of when to say something and when to hold silence and I just don’t get this one.  I tend to hold my tongue more than not.  And so often my silence is misinterpreted.  People think I’m being judgmental.  Or that I simply don’t care.  I’ve been considered manipulative.  And yet, when I speak up…so often I’m misinterpreted.

I’ve learned hard lessons due to speaking up.  And I’ve learned hard lessons due to keeping my silence.  I look around me, at the role models in my life.  One of my key role models is Pollyanna.  You’ve met her.  She refuses to acknowledge the bad as long as she can as though, if she can refuse long enough it will settle itself.  Kind of like ignoring the bad behavior of a child in the hopes that if you don’t reward it it will disappear.  And I see a situation where this has caused so much confusion and harm.  And then I look at another major role model, Frank.  She is often criticized for saying too much.  She speaks her mind and sometimes hurts people.  They go away.

Maybe this whole question of to speak or not to speak is a girl thing.  I don’t know.  I was told as a child that if you can’t say something nice don’t say anything at all.  If someone asks you if you like their new dress, you are supposed to find something nice about the dress, even if it’s just that it covers skin, rather than come and out and say the dress is hideous.  I would never want to uselessly hurt someone’s feelings.  If my speaking up will hurt someone and what I say has no chance of creating a better next moment, then I will not speak up.  I’m clear on that.  But what about the rest of it?

If you know that your friend’s husband is cheating on her, do you speak up?  If you know your boss is sleeping with the CEO’s wife, do you speak up?  If you know your sister is lying to your mother, do you speak up?  When do you tell all and when do you hold your silence?

I think about the women in my life.  There have been several instances where they just don’t talk to each other for long periods of time.  Long long periods of time.  I can think of three such instances just off the top of my head.  I’m not talking about being mad for a few weeks.  I am not speaking here of people with problems that are spoken and still unresolved.  I am not speaking of the instances where one just won’t listen and isn’t willing to open his or her heart to their own mistakes in an effort to resolve situations.  I am speaking of the cut off.  The unspoken.  I’m talking about long, extended periods of time.  I don’t understand how people can do that to each other.  I don’t know what to do with the situations.  Where to put them inside myself.  How to find peace or do the best thing.  I don’t believe the silence best serves life.  I don’t know what to learn from it.  I don’t understand why some people cannot just speak their hurt, or anger, or fear, or frustration, to face head on whatever is being buried.  There is no way to heal or move on when the problem is buried.

On the other hand, if I talk about situations that are upsetting, or give my opinion on things, if I say what I think, then I risk becoming a gossip.  Or sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong.  I risk hurting feelings and being mean and spreading viciousness instead of love.

I have been living with a five year silence within my family.  I have tried every way I know to end that silence.  I have given months of total silence.  I have tried occasional contact.  I have made certain that the love in my heart is spoken.  I have apologized for everything I can think of that I might have done to offend or hurt.  I have been patient.  I have offered everything.  I am blocked at every turn.  It is unnatural and unhealthy and it is killing me one day at a time – more I am watching it eat away at another family member.  I don’t even know why the silence exists.  I have never been told.  What horrible thing have I done?  I’ve talked to others, or rather, they talk to me, and every single person I speak to says that the problem is with the other person.  So many are being hurt.  But no one speaks up.  Is there any way to rectify the situation?  At this point, I would give my arms and legs, literally, to make this better.  What good is the body, the shell, if the life inside is not right?  How do I at least get understanding?  I am out of answers. 

I read an article this morning about being happy in this life.  It spoke about doing what matters most to you.  The author states that we are all unique individuals with our own unique things to offer the world and our own unique experiences to have.  The way to live our individual lives to their fullest is to listen to our inner voices – not the external voices of others – to know what matters most to us.  (As opposed to living our lives the way others would have us live them.)  The article stated that if we can find out what matters most to us and then make our choices so that that which matters most is our priority, then we will truly have lived.  People matter most to me.  Making things right with those I love is what matters most to me.  It always has.

These past few months I have slighted you all with shortened and hurried blogs, making my writing my priority over all else, when, you, the people I have come to know and care about in our Storybroad community, as well as the people in my family, should have been the priority.  I apologize.

My last trip to the bookstore I promised myself that I would pick a book by an author I’d never read before.  I knew that was going to be a challenging task.  As much as I love browsing bookstores, finding a new author cold, without any recommendations, means going through aisle after aisle, reading back cover blurbs, first pages, quotes and author bios until you’re cross-eyed.  I realized after the fact that I should have limited the search areas, say to the New Releases table when you walk in the door.  Or better yet, in a recession, the discount table! 

I’ll do that next time. 

The fun part about searching for a brand new author is never knowing what you’ll end up with.  I was looking for romance or women’s fiction and I ended up with a mystery by an author named Deborah Crombie.  I loved the title, Now May You Weep, but wasn’t sure I wanted story in the P.D. James’ vein, which was how the book was described. 

Actually, it wasn’t very P.D. James-like at all.  Crombie’s plot wasn’t as layered or intricate, nor were the characters, but it was an engaging story, thoroughly readable and enjoyable.  Despite a murder and the peril of more murders to come, the tone conveyed a certain homey warmth and most of the characters, including the suspects were well drawn and sympathetic.  These are people you wouldn’t mind having a spot of tea with and a mystery you could almost imagine yourself on the scene, trying to solve.  In other words, the characters and the situation were completely relatable, which is saying something because the story was set in the Scottish Highlands and the author made liberal use of Scottish dialect.  Fortunately, that wasn’t a distraction.  It actually added to the ambience and charm.  Now May You Weep isn’t a British cozy, but close.       

I don’t think it gives anything away to say that the story involves more than one romantic triangle and that jealousy, dangerous secrets and more than a few lies drive the darker side of the plot.  It’s all quite juicy and fun, but there’s a serious side as well, with stormy emotional seas to navigate and lessons to learn.    

I read some reviews after I finished the book and realized that several of Crombie’s devoted fans didn’t think this was her best book.  They complained that it was melodramatic and had too many love triangles.  That may explain why I liked it so much! 

I also enjoyed the thoroughly likeable hero and heroine.  Gemma James is a Metropolitan Police detective and Duncan Kincaid is a Scotland Yard inspector.  They’re not married but they live together with his son, who may not actually be his biological son.  That’s part of the relationship arc of the story, which is not a romance, nor particularly focused on their romance.  Still, there’s plenty of chemistry between them and it’s refreshing to read a story where the hero and heroine aren’t pitted against each other.  These two are a solid couple who have each other’s backs.  And if you like the moody beauty of inclement weather, rolling hills and Scottish moors, blanketed with heather, I think you’ll be very happy with Now May You Weep.  It’s the perfect book to curl up with by the fire on a stormy winter afternoon. 

So, what have the rest of you been reading?  And how do you find new authors?  Do you ever do cold searches or do you find them through recommendations?  For me, nothing is more absorbing than scouring the shelves of a bookstore or the stacks of my local library, but it can be time-consuming.  I usually rely on recommendations and reviews, but there’s no guarantee there, either.  We buys our books and takes our chances, I guess.   

Suz 

Then, at 11, feeling tired, I went to bed, listening to a Nalini Singh novel (Prey to Passion or something like that — one of her Psy-Changeling series.  Very nice).  I kept falling asleep as I was nearing the end and rewinding (or whatever you call it when it’s digital). Finished the book around 1, took off the earphones and tried to sleep.  I might have drifted off once or twice but around 4 I decided enough was enough.  Too off the cpap machine (which usually helps me sleep) and went down and wrote 1700 words.  Now it’s 6:29 am and I think I’m finally able to sleep.

Argh.  I have a book to finish.  I’ve sworn I’m going to be healthy about doing it, factor in swimming and sewing time this week as I surge on through to the end.  But if I go back to bed now when will I swim?  But damn, right now I’m so tired I can barely see straight.

But here’s my plan.  This week I will write approximately 10k words to finish the rough draft.  I will swim three times.  I will eat healthy foods.  And I will go up and sew the pillows I wanted to sew for my mother.  Oh, yeah, and I’ll write up the new idea I have for a historical series and get that off to my agent.

Remaining sane and good-tempered the entire time.

Think I can do it?

Refuge from the Storm

As I enter my mature years, only two things propel me to the top of the cat tree. One is my sworn enemy, the vacuum cleaner. The other is the Can-Opener, when she is attempting (and usually failing) to do something with a mechanical object. Most particularly the computer. Whenever she attempts something new and inevitably screws it up, her language demonstrates that she is the daughter of  career navy man. Oh, my delicate ears.

Truly, she has missed her calling. If tech inventors and purveyors test their manuals and ‘Help’ files on her, they would discover every possible way a customer can misinterpret a simple instruction.

Fortunately, the C-O has friends. Long-suffering friends, most particularly Alicia Rasley, who spend much valuable time sorting out the CO’s messes and salvaging her projects. And my sanity. Their names should be inscribed on the rolls of saints and martyrs.

The two empty spaces are reserved for Yvette and Lucinda, whose stories will be told at a future date.

It was Alicia, her co-author on several excellent (or so I’m told) stories, who guided her through the process of making those stories available to readers machines called Kindle and Nook and Kobo and also on computers. Much of this process took place when the C-O ought to have been writing her Friday blog. And now she has bribed me to cover her patootie in that regard. Instead of napping, I am earning my bits of leftover salmon.

I’ve only had time to skim this book, but one brief portion captured my attention and approval. It appears at the top of the C-O’s story:

Dedication

To Thea Gurns and John Blocker

Great friends and wonderful neighbors.

It is Thea who will see to my well-being while the C-O is gallivanting  around Spain and Portugal, doing research for Lucinda’s story and for a new book, Dangerous Betrayals. I will credit the C-O with this much: she has excellent taste in friends.

We watched the special on Whitney Houston, and I couldn’t help but feel such great sorrow about a talent lost. One of my all-time favorite song sis “I’ll always love you,” and one of my favorite films is “Body Guard.” I intend to watch the funeral today, partly to say goodbye and also because of the music.

Last week I watched as some objected to the New Jersey governor’s decision to fly the flag half-mast today (Saturday). Some of the objections came from the families of our dead warriors. I understand their objection, but I also understand his decision. She was beloved by New Jersey, and her sad choices didn’t change the joy she gave to so many of its residents, as well as those around the world.

We can’t even begin to understand the pressures of a world famous songstress who, at 48, lost some of the power of her voice and watched her career spiral downward One friend on a newscast said she was broke, and that her latest tour was a disaster, that she was booed and some of the audiences walked out. Being a writer who has experienced rejection, I can understand a little of the feeling of failure. Then magnified it by a thousandfold. To go from a world icon to the object of ridicule on U-tube must be almost intolerable.

A voice coach said she’d been working very hard on a voice damaged by smoke and alcohol and drugs, that it was coming back. She’s just finished a film which she hoped would help restore her reputation. There was hope.

But there must have been great despair as well when she attended the ceremonies for the top music awards. She was not among the nominees. She was not among those asked to sing.

It must have been a terrible hurt.

This blog is certainly not to excuse her behavior, her retreat to alcohol and drugs, but no one can ever take away the joy and memories she has given. How many of her songs helped develop romance and how many helped the hurts?.

So I don’t begrudge her the lowering of the flag in tribute to what she had given us. And I bid her a sad goodbye.

What is your favorite Whitney Houston song?

Would you talk baby talk and try to pet this?

Yes, it’s a real headline.

According to pop star Shakira’s Facebook page, and immediately picked up by every media outlet in the country, the pop star was on a nature tour near Cape Town, South Africa, when she spotted some sea lions basking on the beach and minding their own freaking business.

“I thought to myself how cute they were so I decided to get a bit closer than all the other tourists…”

No, I am not making this up.

So is this part of that celebrity mental disorder that twists their brains up until they think they can do things ordinary people can’t do? Like shoplift at will, or not show up for their DWI hearings, or get prescriptions for whatever they’re addicted to, from Doctors who won’t say no to them?  Cause if it is, we need to let our celebs know that this enabling culture of ours does not extend to the animal kingdom.  I’m pretty sure the sea lions don’t read the tabloids or watch VH1, so….yeah. They didn’t get the memo about famous humans being allowed to behave in ways that would not be tolerated in any other human type creature.

And what about all these other people on the beach?  Was no one brave enough to shout, “Hey stupid famous person, you are going to be eaten!”

Apparently not.  Maybe they thought they were being punked or something.  Candid Camera had to be filming from somewhere nearby, or maybe it was a film shoot and Jim Carrey was hiding inside a sea lion suit.

Shakira posted that she  “…went down to a rock trying to pet them doing a baby talk while taking pictures.”

I swear to God, that is what she wrote.

So she saw the sea lions, and she decided that they would let her pet them, and that they would respond well to baby talk. But she missed the warning that’s inherent in the name of these particular critters.  Sea LIONS. Did she stop to wonder why they were not called Sea Teddy Bears? Or Sea Cutie-pie puppy kitty babies?

“Suddenly, one of them jumped out of the water so fast and impetuously that it got about one foot away from me, looked me in the eye, roared in fury and tried to bite me.”

FINALLY! She used some commas. That’s a huge relief. But um, is it just me or is everyone rooting for the sea lion at this point?

But wait, there’s more.

“I believe what happened is that it confused the shiny reflection of the BlackBerry I was taking these pics with, with some sort of fish.”

Or maybe it just thought that some spoiled, entitled human was tromping right up to it, talking baby talk and trying to pet it.  Either way the sea lion was provoked and no court in the land would convict him.  Um, unless the court was in Los Angeles County.

“It probably thought I was teasing it with food and then taking it away from it.”

Yep, I’ll bet that’s exactly what the sea lion thought. Or maybe he just didn’t like her last single. Everyone’s a critic.

“Wow! It’s funny that only half an hour before I was complaining to my guide Andrew that I never get to see wild animals up close on adventurous trips.”

Wow!  It’s even funnier that just the other day I was telling someone that the human race isn’t as dumb as most of us think it is. Thanks for setting me straight.  The most astounding and shocking part of this entire story is that she spelled “impetuously” right.

(I kid because I can. And because it’s funny.  And because if I did something this misguided and then blogged about it, I’d expect some good natured ribbing too.)

Note to self-esteem: Maybe my waistline is bigger around than hers, but at least my descendants will evolve.

PS: My advice book is FREE on Kindle this week.  Free period ends Saturday.  It’ll be coming to Nook by Mid-March and will launch with a free week there too.  And yes, the next edition will include the savvy advice that one should probably NOT try to pet sea lions.

FREE on Kindle Until Saturday

I keep thinking that…next week…I will slow down and have hours to spend here with you all.  (I do read every single comment as they come in.  I have them sent to my phone.  I just can’t seem to get the thing to let me comment back to you.)  And then here it is next week and I am rushing again.  I got the book done and in on time.  And I have a printout due on Friday of this week.  And then revisions due right after that.

I could have had the printout done, but…Tim and I had very special visitors this past week.  You have to choose your priorities in life and I very clearly and consciously chose mine.  Love and people are more important than printouts – even printouts are paying the bills!  I knew what I was sacrificing – knew this week would be a huge crunch if I devoted several days to nothing but love and people, but I also knew I’d get the printout done, I just have little time for anything else until I do.

The days spent away from the computer did more than serve love and people.  They served me.  My well was running dry and now it isn’t.  It’s got a ways to being filled, but it’s definitely no longer suffering drought.  We had a perfect time with our loved ones. 

We were so busy we only got in two meals a day and very little sleep.  We have a list of to do’s for the next visit in a few months.  And we did so much.  Including a trip to the Grand Canyon.  This is a current picture of Tim and I, taken on Saturday.  I used to think the Grand Canon was just a hole in the ground. I took her – and so much – for granted.  I don’t anymore.  We’re planning a trip down into the canyon at some point in the not so distant future.

We ate sushi and Mexican.  We drove up the mountain to one of Arizona’s smallest towns – population less than ten but there is a post office.

We went to Sedona, visited the Red Rock Chapel.  And Oak Creek Canyon. 

We went up another mountain and looked at a mining town.  We went to a lake.

We drank Prickly Pear Margharitas and played Family Feud.  We were all on the same side and it was so fun I tried to download it on my phone.  Another job for another day.

And then yesterday Tim and I had a perfect day alone together to celerate Valentine’s Day.  Yesterday was the birthday of my beloved Arizona as a state.  It was her hundred year anniversary.  I told Tim that what I most wanted to do for Valentine’s Day was go to Arizona’s centennial celebrations.  I am so incredibly grateful to be home, and I really really wanted to be a part of the celebrations of this place on earth that I love more than any other.  He was game and, not knowing what we were really getting into, we got up on Valentine’s morning and drove downtown to the Senate and House lawn.  We opened ourselves to what would come and the people and places of Arizona filled us up.  My heart was filled and at peace as I lingered downtown close enough to a loved one to breathe the same air and see the same sights, as I celebrated Arizona with her people, and did it all with the love of my life sharing it all with me.  The map is one of the great things we took away with us yesterday.  It shows all of the Indian tribes in our state.  We’d been asking for one, searching for one – and there it was.  We got centennial cups, an Arizona flag to hang outside our house, to remind me, every single day, that this is my state.  I am a part of it.  And proud of it.

And then we had the greatest unexpected gift.  Wayne Newton, who graduated from high school right here in Phoenix, was the headliner for the birthday celebrations.  I was familiar with his name and some of his music because my father was of his era and was a musician.  Other than that…no.

I am now a devoted fan.  Tim and I knew Wayne Newton was going to be at the festivities.  We weren’t sure we were going to stay for the concert.  But we happened by the stage half an hour before the show was due to start and we wanted to at least see him.  We ended up landing front row – as in really the very first row – seats right in the center of the stage.  His show was remarkable.  The man is Mr. Las Vegas because he knows how to entertain.  I am his fan because he has heart.  He’s been singing since he was six years old.  During his teen years here in Phoenix he had his own televsion show with his brother.  I don’t know this because he told us. He didn’t.  I read up on him. His awards, his hits, his televsion shows weren’t what caught me – it was his desire to give, not to take that did that.  He is also incredibly talented.  He sat at the piano for a second and I thought it was all part of the show.  (He does stand up comedy, too!)  And then he started to play.  Wow.  He picked up a guitar – and played like the master he is.  He picked up a banjo – I don’t even like banjo music and I liked it.  And then he picked up a violin.  I played violin.  It’s not easy.  His music was exquisite.  And through it all, he was about us, the people.  About his responsibility to entertain.  And to give back to the world in which he lives.  He did a tribute to soldiers.  And then he did an impromtu version of America The Beautiful that was the best I have ever ever heard.  He talked about his love for our country.  About how accepting we are, and about not accepting, for one second, in any way, atrocities that are thrown upon us.  Thank you, Wayne.  You were an unexpected treasure that I will never forget.

Valentine’s Day didn’t end with the centennial celebration.  Tim and I went off on our own, after that, to another experience on our list of things we want to do.  There’s a casino in town that we don’t like.  (Yes, that’s really true!)  But they are somewhat famous for this burger that we kept saying we had to try someday.  We had $20 worth of free play at the casino and we went and played off our free money.  And only our free money.  It wasn’t about the casino.  It was about the dinner we were there to have.  It’s best just to show you:

Of course with modern technology you can blow up any photo, however, if you look at the bit of my wrist and hand that is showing, you might get a bit of true depiction here.  That burger is on a service size platter, not a dinner plate.  It’s ten inches, cooked, and about half an inch thick.  It’s not healthy.  Our refrigerator is now boasting half of it.  Tim managed to make a dent on the other half.  I ate until I was full.  Can’t say I set any records!  But eating it sure was fun!!!

I hope you all had a happy and healthy Valentine’s Day.

It’s our universe from one end to the other, set to music—and I guarantee that you’ve never seen anything like it … unless you’ve already seen this display.

You can go forward or backward and pause on anything you’d like to study in more detail.  But don’t go too fast.  It will make you dizzy!

Here’s the link.  I attempted to make it clickable.  If it’s not, please cut and paste:

http://www.newgrounds.com/portal/view/589217

Enjoy the ride! 

And Happy Valentine’s Day!!!!   I hope that you’re pampered with all manner of Valentine sweetness today … and if not, then be sure to pamper yourself. 

Suz

I particularly enjoyed the Follett book because the book — all 900 pages of  it — so clearly explored the reasons behind that war, and accomplished it with compelling characters and fine storytelling. The viewpoints came from a boy destined to work in Welsh mines, the wealthy and titled family that owned the mine, a German diplomat and two Russian brothers, all of whom witnessed great upheavals of society and world politics. I can’t wait for his next book which carries the same characters and their families into War World II.

The Archer book also involved class distinctions and a changing world. The hero is the poor lad destined to labor in the shipyards until his voice wins him a scholarship, and he falls in love with a girl of a wealthy family. It too will have a sequel later this year. I’m anxiously waiting for that one as well.

Perhaps because of those two books, I’ve become addicted to “Downton Abbey” on PBS. I left the Super Bowl ads to watch Sunday night’s episode. Couldn’t wait to watch it later that night. If you haven’t found it, Downtown Abbey is a beautifully filmed saga of a wealthy family (think of a more elaborate “Upstairs, Downstairs”) during the same years as “Fall of Giants.” The highly acclaimed Emmy-winning series started last season and has continued this year.

The Downton Abby estate is a magnificent example of wealth and privilege, its family enduring for generations. But after the turn of the century, change is coming. The death of the male heir (the Titanic, of course) has thrown the future of the occupying Crawley family in jeopardy. The three daughters are going their own way, one in love with the chauffeur, the oldest threatened by scandal and the third always falling for the wrong man.

There’s romance and scandals and even a few scoundrels. Love flourishes both upstairs and downstairs. And when war comes, the peaceful and traditional existence explodes in tragedy. Men march off to war from both the family and their servants, and the estate becomes a military hospital.  Lives are changed forever.

The acting is outstanding with Maggie Smith as an humorously opinionated dowager, Elizabeth McGovern as the wealthy American wife to the earl and. Hugh Bonneville as the upright and compassionate head of the family. And the series is worthwhile watching for the clothes alone (it won the Emmy for costumes).

I hope it continues for a long, long time.