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Not What It Seems by Veronica Jorge

November 22, 2023 by in category Write From the Heart by Veronica Jorge tagged as , ,
Female hand with colorful bouquet of autumn leaves. Closeup.

Not What It Seems


by


Veronica Jorge

Memories swirl in the air around my head.


Light flashes and flickers illuminating my thoughts.


Emotions spread a warm blanket over me and shield me

from the wind.

Joy dances around my feet.


Worries scurry away.


It seems I’m just raking leaves.


But I’m really counting my blessings, one by one.

See you next time on December 22nd!


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ATTITUDE OF GRATITUDE: TY’s to Readers and Writers

November 15, 2021 by in category The Write Life by Rebecca Forster tagged as , , ,

I received my first fan letter 36 years ago from a lady named Bev. I wrote back a thank you note. She wrote back. I wrote back. Bev was the first, but she wasn’t the last to write to me. I have met the most wonderful, interesting, smart, and kind people all because we share a love for a good story. Some of these fan-friends even show up in my books (with their permission of course). New friendships are the priceless benefits of writing and the bottom line is that those friendships start because one person reached out to say thank you. This seems the perfect time to offer a few suggestions for readers who want to thank their favorite author for the hours of entertainment, and authors who want to send the love back.

READERS

A follow on Twitter or Facebook is great, but interacting with your favorite author on those platforms is truly special. One of my favorite followers is a truck driver who posts pictures from the road. I love getting a shout out while she is on her travels.

Every author has a contact form on their website. Send your favorite storyteller an email or, better yet, snail-mail. A quick note about how much you enjoyed a specific book and ‘keep writing’ encouragement is priceless.

Reviews on Amazon, Goodreads or any other review platform is the best way to show your gratitude for the months – sometimes years – an author has spent writing a book.

Finally, if the spirit moves you, share your art or passion. I have been honored to receive a crocheted blanket from a reader, another sent needles from her mother’s sewing kit because she knew I sewed and her mother had enjoyed my books. One reader – a woman in the U.S. Army – sent me a pair of combat boots!

AUTHORS

When you get a fan letter, write back. Auto responses or an assistant written messages are no-nos. It’s so easy to discover the person behind the letter, so take a little time to look at Twitter and Facebook profiles. Maybe you’ve been to her* hometown. Perhaps she just got married or has sent her kids back to school. Do her posts show pets or hobbies that you share? Personalize your letter if you can. Always let her know you are thankful that she wrote, and for the time she spent reading your work. Remember your readers are a family of fans, so showing genuine gratitude should be second nature.

Every once in a while, when the situation calls for it, I send a gift to someone special like a homebound reader, or a young writer who has asked for advice. This is usually a book, but I’ve also sent a little glass jar filled with sand from Hermosa Beach where Josie Bates plays volleyball. Of course, we can’t do this for everyone, but sometimes a special situation calls for it.

Finally, if a reader asks you to speak to a local (and I stress local)group or book club, do it. In person interaction is energizing and your fan will love you for it.

So, Happy Thanksgiving all. I appreciate everyone who has spent the time reading this post, who has ever read one of my books, the person who is thinking about reading one of my books, and all those wonderful readers who follow me on my social platforms. And now, since I’m a reader too, I think I’m going to go write a note to my favorite author…just to say thanks.

*PS Men write fan letters too, and being contacted by a fiction-reading guy is really a great feeling! And yes, click Hostile Witness. It’s free. My way of saying thank you.

The Witness Series

HOSTILE WITNESS

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HOSTILE WITNESS

SILENT WITNESS

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PRIVILEGED WITNESS

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PRIVILEGED WITNESS

EXPERT WITNESS

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EXPERT WITNESS

EYEWITNESS

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FORGOTTEN WITNESS

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FORGOTTEN WITNESS

DARK WITNESS

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DARK WITNESS
LOST WITNESS: A Josie Bates Thriller
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Happy Hallothanksgivingmas by D. T. Krippene

November 13, 2021 by in category From a Cabin in the Woods by Members of Bethlehem Writers Group tagged as , , , , ,

In case you missed it, Halloween was the starting gun for blubber season. Nothing like ingesting bags of candy to get things rolling. If you were diet-conscious, bars of hyperactive-inducing sugar were available in “mini” sizes – an oxymoron if ever there was.  Local stores stocked shelves in August, but those who waited until the first of October to purchase might have been disappointed. Space was needed to make room for Christmas decorations. 

What happened to Thanksgiving?  People already have their Christmas trees up before the turkey is bought. When did it become the norm to play holiday music before we’ve had a chance to scrape egg off the front door because we left the lights off on Halloween? I feel as if all three holidays have been smooshed together, with Thanksgiving wedged between the others as a wannabe. 

Thanksgiving is the day we’re expected to watch a New York City parade with inane commentary and vintage cartoon characters nobody remembers. We see relatives that hadn’t graced our door for a year, then remember later why. It’s a sacred celebration where the arrangement of food on an individual plate becomes a science, and we gorge like our prehistoric forbearers when they felled a mammoth.  Would you like leg meat or trunk?  

Food offerings are as varied and quirky as our relatives. What is left on the plate when finished, like Aunt Mildred’s cranberry-scrapple gelatin mold, returns every year so everyone can hate it all over again.  The meal is often mid-day, to allow for slumbering digestion to the spa-like sounds of slamming athletic helmets on TV, followed by an encore visit to the kitchen.  Always lots of cranberry-scrapple gelatin left. 

I put some of the blame on conscientious health fanatics who chagrin our tendency for culinary excess. We live in a time of Paleo diets and CrossFit training.  Paleo is defined as what our prehistoric ancestors foraged before animal husbandry and agriculture, which to me, suggests anything that moved was fair game.  CrossFit is defined as a conditioning program that employs “constantly varied functional movements executed at high intensity across broad modal and time domains.” I’ve always thought of the annual gorge as a high-intensity workout, but since it doesn’t occur across broad time and modal domains, I’m guessing it doesn’t count. 

Maybe what we need is a different kind of Thanksgiving event that appeals to people like me whose exercise regimen consists of rolling out of bed. Let’s call it the Blubber Trot. Participants hop about with flabs of steel barely contained by Kevlar reinforced spandex. The first hundred finishers get to be first in line at the communal Horn-of-Plenty table. Those who don’t finish have to watch Hunger Games without popcorn. Paying spectators will be allowed to wander the leftover carnage and ask, “Are you going to eat that?”

As always, I’ll be flexing my Thanksgiving consumption with extreme prejudice. Once I’m done filling my gastrointestinal cistern with enough calories to heat a small city, I’ll need a solid concrete cap on that toxic well.  I’m going for the pumpkin cheesecake. 

Hats off to the intrepid writers immersed in NaNoWriMo. I hope your hard-working efforts don’t result in a take-out Thanksgiving meal or relegated to turkey sandwiches with a side order of cranberry sauce that retains the shape of the can it came in. 

Happy Hallothanksgivingmas to one and all. 


Anthologies with D. T. Krippene’s Stories

DT Krippene

A native of Wisconsin and Connecticut, DT Krippene deserted aspirations of being a biologist to live the corporate dream and raise a family. After six homes, a ten-year stint in Asia, and an imagination that never slept, his annoying muse refuses to be hobbled as a mere dream. Dan writes dystopia, paranormal, and science fiction. His current project is about a young man struggling to understand why he was born in a time when humans are unable to procreate and knocking on extinction’s door.

You can find DT on his website and his social media links.
Facebook
Twitter
Pinterest 


Other books from Bethlehem Writers Group


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Not What It Seems by Veronica Jorge

November 22, 2020 by in category Write From the Heart by Veronica Jorge tagged as , ,
Female hand with colorful bouquet of autumn leaves. Closeup.

Not What It Seems


by


Veronica Jorge

Memories swirl in the air around my head.


Light flashes and flickers illuminating my thoughts.


Emotions spread a warm blanket over me and shield me

from the wind.

Joy dances around my feet.


Worries scurry away.


It seems I’m just raking leaves.


But I’m really counting my blessings, one by one.

See you next time on December 22nd!


2 0 Read more

Giving Thanks in So Many Words

November 15, 2020 by in category The Write Life by Rebecca Forster tagged as , , ,

         For Mothers Day my youngest son —the crazy adventurer, Eric—gave me language lessons. This was one of the most inventive gifts I’ve ever received, and one I wished I could return. Thoughtful as it was, this gift spelled only failure. How did I know I would fail if I tried to learn another language? It is because I grew up in a two-language household.
 
            German is my mother’s first language. When she came to the United States as a teenager, she wasn’t allowed to go to school until she learned English. She mastered the language in a year. Since then she toggled easily between German and English without the trace of an accent. I am not so linguistically blessed. Frankly, I count myself lucky that I manage English.
 
            With Thanksgiving upon us, I’ve been thinking a lot about my family. My grandparents, aunts, uncles, and my dad are gone, my mom at 96 does not speak German any longer. Still my memories of holiday meals are bright. My mothers family would gather in the kitchen. As they worked, I heard their quick guttural conversation. It sounded both exotic as they gave direction, warned one another that a dish was hot, and laughed at who-knew-what. In the big family room, my dad made drinks and corny jokes befitting his Kansas roots. The English speakers did nothing more than wonder when the turkey would be done.
 
            At our holiday gatherings, language created two states and the border wall was the long bar that separated the kitchen from the family room: Germany on one side, U.S. of A. on the other. But when it came time to eat, the dining room became our country.
 
            We took our places around the huge table. My father carved the turkey. He offered fleisch and kartoffel to everyone.* Grandpa tried to teach the children German words. We forgot them a moment later. But he taught, we tried, dad carved, and all moved in and out of different languages as if both were understood by all. The ritual was repeated at each holiday gathering. In the end, there was no lack for conversation.
 
            I miss the two ‘countries’ in my mother’s house. I miss my brothers and sisters around a table. I miss all those who are gone. I am thankful to have had them all for so many holidays. I am grateful that the real language spoken at the table was that of love and respect, even if we disagreed.
 
            This brings me back to my son’s gift. I am learning to speak Albanian, and doing pretty well. Maybe age has given me the confidence and determination to learn another language. I might be spurred on because I hate to see anything go to waste (especially a gift card). But in my heart I know that I’m holding on to something precious. I want to go to Albania and visit the friends I have made in that country. I would like to speak to them in their kitchens in a language that is not my first. I hope it will warm their hearts in the way the memory of German chatter from my mother’s kitchen still warms mine.
 
            No matter what language you speak, I know that you will understand this. Have a happy, healthy, and blessed Thanksgiving. Use your words; make a memory.

 

*meat and potatoes-the only two German words my father knew

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