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November 30, 2023 by in category Quill and Moss by Dianna Sinovic, Writing tagged as , , ,

Leaves, leaves, and more leaves—the fall chore overwhelmed Kelsie each year, ever since she’d lost Tanner. It wasn’t the yardwork that ate at her, but more the season, the slide from a glorious summer into an end-of-growing-things autumn, followed closely by the chill of winter, when everything was either dead or in a deep sleep. That inevitability reminded her she’d been powerless to stop Tanner’s death—once the cancer was diagnosed, he’d had exactly three months left, those three months falling during a turbulent autumn.

Her friends worried for her. “Five years out, you should be bouncing back,” they said. “He would want you to live your life, not stay buried in grief.”

But they didn’t know—hadn’t known—her brother. After their father, and then their mother had died, Tanner had been her lifeline. For that bittersweet decade after their deaths, he had served as her confidant when her personal relationships soured. He’d always, always led her toward the positive, even after he got sick.

“You’re a tough woman,” he’d said when she expressed doubt that she could carry on without him. “You’ll survive. That’s what we do. All of this loss makes you strong.”

But she knew different. Loss left holes. Large ones that couldn’t be filled, no matter how many days, weeks, or years passed. Couldn’t be filled, no matter how many dead leaves you stuffed into them.

And so Kelsie raked. The piles grew, and she allowed the ache in her arms and shoulders and back to counter the pain in her soul. Her thoughts butted up against the endless question: Why had she been spared? Tanner should have lived, not her; even after all this time, she was still not up to the task of facing her life alone.

When the sun sank below the trees, she put up the rake and went indoors for a hot mug of hard cider and a hearth fire. She dozed in her chair, hearing over the crackle of the flames the wind gusting. I should have moved the leaf piles into the woods. Now they’ll be scattered.

The following morning, Kelsie pulled on her jeans, boots, and sweater to tackle another round of yard work. Glancing out the bedroom window, she stepped closer to the glass, to better see.

The wind—or something—had indeed moved the leaves, but instead of scattering them, they were arranged on the grass in a pattern, one that spelled a name: hers.

“Tanner,” she whispered, feeling suddenly lighter. The darkness within her retreated with the day’s full sunlight. “Thank you.”

Books with more of Dianna’s stories

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I was a Doughnut Dolly…another tale from my wayward youth for Veterans Day by Jina Bacarr

November 11, 2023 by in category Jina’s Book Chat, Writing tagged as , , ,

I love this fabulous painting outside the Salvation Army Building in Tulare, CA re: the photographer © Karinoza – Dreamstime.com

.————–

I was a doughnut dolly.

Back in the day, I served with the U.S. Army Special Services in Livorno, Italy. My job was to make coffee and play pool with the troops, set up entertainment and gourmet restaurant tours.

And make cookies.

I whipped up hundreds and hundreds of cookies. Chocolate chip.

And doughnuts, too. I got help from the mess hall sergeant, a bespectacled guy from the Midwest who let me commandeer his big pots and huge ovens. Along with my Italian liaison, Maria, we’d cook up hot doughnuts and top them with powdered sugar we got from the PX, a sweet favorite with the boys.

Those were the days.

I’m proud of the time I spent with US Army Special Services — I made turkeys, fruitcakes, hot chocolate, and tons of cookies!

So on this Veterans Day I think about all the Doughnut Dollies who help bring our servicemen and women a touch of home.

Over the years, I’ve come to realize the amazing effect my time with the service affected me. I had some difficult times, like being assaulted on the street by a thug and my pants ripped, also in an elevator (story for another time), but I had some heartbreaking and soulful times, too.

Like the sisterly bond I developed with another American girl on base that lasted far beyound my time there, the wonderful Italians I worked with who took me in like I was family and taught me about music and photography and how to properly eat pizza.

I drew on these experiences when I started a series of historical novels set in Wartime Paris about the brave women who fought in the French Resistance.

An actress, a parfumier, a Philly debutante and my latest, SISTERS AT WAR.

On this Veteans Day, I want thank the brave servicemen and women who have served our country. If you were stationed in Livorno and dropped by the service club once up a time and saw a girl with long hair from California handing you a cup of coffee, it was me. 

Jina

PS — For fun, I put on my old uniform with U.S. Army Service Clubs patch.

I lost the hat years ago somewhere in Italy.


Sisters At War:

US https://a.co/d/eZ25gZb      

UK https://amzn.eu/d/0LEWy2z

Who are the Beaufort Sisters?

They’re beautiful

They’re smart

They’re dangerous

They’re at war with the Nazis… and each other.

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How to Do a Year in Review by Kitty Bucholtz

November 9, 2023 by in category It's Worth It by Kitty Bucholtz, Writing tagged as , , , ,

One thing we hear a lot of this time of year when we talk about annual planning is that we need to do a “year in review.” We’re told to make note of what worked this past year, what was more difficult than expected, and to decide what we’ll continue in the next year and what we’ll stop.

But what’s the best way to look at it?

If I sit here and think for a few seconds, I would say this past year has been tremendously difficult. (Just shy of “It sucked!”)

If I think about it for a minute, I remember than I got to travel three times this year – three times more than I have since the Covid pandemic began. That’s a win! But the rest of my life still sucked.

But if I get something to write with (pen and paper, computer file, phone note) and close my eyes and try to go through my whole year, looking at my calendar as well, I see something entirely different.

The root of my financial troubles was me not leaving any savings for slow months, but putting every dollar I earned against my credit card balance. Cash flow trouble. Something I can avoid in the future now that I understand it from first-hand experience. (It seemed like such a good idea to pay down my credit card as fast as possible…unless you get to a month where you don’t have enough for even the minimum payment. Oops.) While the short-term results were painful, the lesson learned for the future was invaluable.

My health was another big stressor this year. While I knew that I was learning how to heal from burnout the last few years, I hadn’t fully realized the impact of peri menopause in addition. I started out the year practically homicidal. But I was put on HRT (hormone replacement therapy) in mid-February and my symptoms quickly evened out. I wasn’t 100% back to myself, but at 80-95% (depending on the day), it was a huge relief!

Unfortunately, that 5-20% still bothered me with brain fog and fatigue, feeling like I couldn’t keep two thoughts in my head half the time. That doubled the amount of time it took me to do client work and my own work, which made me feel like I was getting further and further behind every month. Then after my half marathon, I caught a terrible respiratory infection that knocked me out for a couple weeks. A few weeks later, I caught Covid for the first time.

While between them it felt like I lost a good two months in trying to get healthy again, that time also made me think about how I’m living my life without much white space right now. That’s not what I want. I’ve had a half-finished puzzle on the table for a couple months because I keep telling myself I don’t have time to play right now. What’s that about? That’s something I want to actively plan to change next year.

These are only a few of things I came up with when I spent more than one minute thinking about the year. Turns out, there were a lot of good things in my business and personal life in 2023. In addition, of course, to a lot of lessons learned, and a lot of unfortunate things I couldn’t do much about. But once I could see these things written out, I could start seeing a much clearer picture of what the year truly was like.

That allowed me to start a list of what I wanted to change (quite a few things) in 2024, what I wanted to do more of, and a few things I needed to cut way back on. When I start my annual planning for the new year, I’m going to take this new, more complete, list and look at if from the standpoint of strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, and threats (SWOT). I’ll also compare my bigger life goals against the year – am I living my life with purpose and loving everyone as much as I can?

So how about your year in review? Can you take longer than a few minutes and really think it all through, write it down and take a solid look at it? I think you’ll find some really helpful information to make next year better.

And I bet you see a bunch of things to remind you that this past year was even better than what you remember!

I hope you take the time. It’s worth it.

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CONFERENCE PREP Part Three

November 5, 2023 by in category Writing

Happy Fall. We’re almost with my series Conference Prep.

I have done quite a few pop ups and sales events in addition to book signings and I’ve learned a few things about Event Design.

I come from an event planning and boutique owner background. I realize I am at a slight advantage because design is part of my day-to-day. But what I’m suggesting anyone can do. 

When I do an event, if possible I get as much information in advance as possible about my space. Currently, I’m an unknown author. By that I mean, at present there aren’t a lot of readers actively seeking me out at events. Some day soon that will change, but my event design mindset won’t. 

Here’s how I prepare my table or space for book signings. It’s very important I stay on brand. In my other business, fuchsia, black and white are my brand colors. I carried those colors over to my author world. I like flowers especially pink peonies, pink roses, hydrangea and Casablanca lilies. A staple to my table is a huge arrangement of assorted pink silk flowers. The vase with the flowers is about 3’ tall. This is an attention getter and events. Most women like flowers so when they see the flowers, readers are quick to come see if they’re real. Once they get to my table, it allows me to introduce them to my author world.

I research design ideas and once I settle on a look, I test it out. I want to see how long it will take me to set it up and tear it down. When I set up my table, I’m arranging everything so I can see how it looks to the reader walking by or stopping to purchase. I want to see if they can reach for something without knocking anything down. I utilize every inch of the tabletop for display. 

I handle my sales and book signing at a small collapsible table I hide behind my sign.

I use small signs with trope cards, series order, prices, newsletter sign up and any other information I need posted. I scatter loose swag on the table and use glass bowls for saleable swag. Stacks of postcards are placed near their respective books. I also use a plain tablecloth in one of my signature colors. 

My design For Steamy Lit, was beautiful if I say so myself. However, I wouldn’t have done this design if I had to fly to an event because there were a lot of elements. A tall vase with flowers, gigantic pink and cream flowers attached to the front of the tablecloth, risers, a small table and my retractable sign. The flowers on the  tablecloth looked like they had fallen from the vase of flowers. This was an elaborate design which required a couple of hours to assemble. 

This design can be modified for a travel event by eliminating the flowers on the front of the tablecloth and the small table. Instead of silk flowers, I recommend purchasing fresh flower and later use as a giveaway or thank you to the event host. I could pack the silk flowers and trick up a vase, but I would prefer to use an extra suitcase for books to sell, plus the ones I bought.

Funny story. At Steamy Lit, I had broken down all my empty boxes and put them next to my table. The cleaning people thought they were trash and took them. Thank God, I’d sold books so I didn’t need those boxes.

There are exceptions to every rule. Now if your signing space is limited, I suggest you stay as close to your brand as possible. Maybe instead of a tall vase of flowers, get a small one and a floral garland. Use a tabletop retractable sign and possibly a table banner. Print a price list and had it to readers or put it in a frame. Still stumped for a design idea…visit Pinterest. Set up a board with looks you like and when the time comes, you’ll be set to shine and hopefully, gain new readers and sales.

To sum up. Make your signing space representative of your brand.

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Turning Point

October 30, 2023 by in category Quill and Moss by Dianna Sinovic, Writing tagged as , ,

The pumpkin foretold the event—the dare, the maze, the fire, all of it. If only Gregg had known to heed the warning of that orange jack-o’-lantern on the porch: The flickering slits for eyes, the leering mouth with mold grown over the gourd’s carved incisors. He’d laughed when he spotted it. So Julian

Photo by Burst on Unsplash

But then Breslin stood in the doorway, with her beestung lips, the look in her eyes that invited him—demanded that he come into the cabin without delay. 

“You’re late,” she said, pulling him inside. “We’ve started.”

She joined the three others at the wood-planked table: Julian, Monty, and Claire. One chair sat empty, and Gregg claimed it.

The windows were draped with dark fabric, and the only light came from candles that flickered on the mantle and the stained kitchen counter. In their dim glow, Gregg glanced at the quartet. The room smelled of unwashed bodies and beer. 

“Drink up,” Julian said, pushing a bottle of IPA toward Gregg.

“It’s still on?” Gregg opened the bottle and hesitated before raising it to his lips. If what they’d planned was still a go, he wanted to be alert, fully sober.

“Fuck, yes.” Monty wrapped a scythe with tape, winding the sticky strand round and round the handle. “You’re not backing out, are you?”

Gregg shook his head. He was there and he would stay, even though his better sense urged him not to. 

Julian pushed back from the table. “Let’s go.” He stared for several moments at Gregg. “What happens tonight stays with us. Anyone who talks is dead. Anyone who runs, we’ll find you.”

*

The five walked up the wooded Poconos hillside to the large expanse of open field at the top. Monty carried the scythe, Claire held an unlit torch, Breslin grasped a dagger, and Julian led the way with a backpack on his shoulders. Gregg, empty-handed, trailed behind—not far enough to invite Julian’s wrath but a good ten feet behind Breslin. Had she ever really liked him? Gregg wasn’t sure. What she did love, he knew, was the rush of the dare.

Julian’s challenge that evening: They would brave the hilltop corn maze, cut to resemble a spider’s web. Once through the maze and if they survived its gallery of obstacles, they would destroy it by fire. The cabin they would torch on their way out. No one would be able to pin the destruction on them. So Julian said.

How had Gregg gotten himself mixed up in all this? It was Breslin who’d invited him. Julian was chilly to the idea of Gregg’s presence, but they’d all hung together in high school, and why not continue the friendship circle? Gang, Gregg corrected himself. He remembered the hazing. And Breslin was a looker. He would follow her anywhere.

Almost anywhere.

At the entrance to the maze, Julian looked at his phone. “One hour,” he announced. “If you’re not out by seven, we light the field anyway.”

Monty held up a hand as though to put Julian on pause. “Wait. Send up a flare if we’re not out in time. We can whack our way through to you before you burn it.”

Julian laughed. “I’ll think about it.” He looked up at the sky. “Clear and calm. This is your last chance to say no.” He smirked. “Of course, if you do, you may not see tomorrow.”

Then he was through the entrance and around a corner before anyone else could react.

“Motherfucker,” Monty muttered, and he, too, was gone.

Breslin and Claire put their heads together for a beat, then set off into the maze at a sprint, but not before Breslin looked over her shoulder at Gregg. 

Maybe she just wanted to make sure she wasn’t the last one in.

*

Twelve minutes to seven, with the October daylight fading, and Gregg stood at the junction of two paths, absolutely lost. He had not seen or heard any of the others—had they made it out? A slight breeze made the dried corn stalks scratch against one another, and he heard the distant cawing of a murder of crows.

His palms were slippery with sweat even in the coolness of sunset. Somehow he had a machete in his left hand. He didn’t recall picking it up, but the last fifty minutes had passed in a blur. Out, out, get out, his mind urged.

“Fuck it,” he said aloud. He would never finish by Julian’s deadline, not unless he borrowed Monty’s idea of hacking his own path. But which way? With the corn stalks a good foot above his head, he couldn’t see the tree line or anything but the sky. His phone was no help.

A series of loud pops and a scream straight ahead made the decision for him. He dashed up the righthand path toward the cry, holding the machete in front of him as a kind of shield. When the path turned, he nearly hit Breslin. She stood frozen, silent, staring at the ground, where Julian lay, the dagger Breslin had carried buried in his chest. 

Gregg moved Breslin to one side and knelt to feel for Julian’s pulse.

“He’s . . .” Breslin whispered the word.

Gregg nodded and closed Julian’s blank eyes. “What did you do? Where’re the others?”

Her face cycled through conflicting emotions. “He’s . . . a monster.” She crumpled to the ground. “I had to . . . stop him.”

Gregg wanted to comfort her but wasn’t sure he believed her. The evening was skewing far off course, and the main objective now was to get out of the maze before it was too dark to see.

“We’ll chop our way out,” he said, standing. He could do nothing more for Julian. Swinging the machete, foot by foot he cut a path that he guessed would lead him out. If he stood on his toes, he could see the top of a bare tree in the distance. That would be his landmark—until it was dark.

“Gregg.” Breslin was behind him, and he whirled to make sure she wasn’t about to stab him, too. Her face was pale in the dimness, and he could see her shaking. “It was self-defense,” she breathed.

Once again he nodded. “We need to get out of here, now.” He returned to his task of clearing a path.

She touched his shoulder. “Do you smell it?” she said. “The smoke.”

He caught the scent and battled his impulse to freeze in panic. “Jesus,” he said. “The field’s on fire.”

His chopping became a frenzy. Whenever he glanced over his shoulder, the light of the flames danced against the roiling smoke above the maze. 

At last, the stalks thinned, and they were standing in the shorter field grasses. Gregg’s shoulders ached from the effort of swinging the machete. Breslin moaned and sucked in a gasp: The maze fire was advancing rapidly toward them.

“Breslin? Gregg?” Monty emerged from the darkness, Claire a few steps back.

Gregg squared off to face them, the machete still in his hand, the flames glinting the blade. Someone had started the fire—someone who hadn’t checked to see if he and Breslin were still inside. “We’re safe. And you?” 

Monty held up his hands; he no longer held the scythe. “We didn’t start it. Julian must have planted some igniters ahead of time.”

“So we’d all die,” Gregg said. “Good of him.” He raised his voice above the crackle of the flames. “We’ve got to get off this hill. The fire’s going to overtake us if we don’t.”

Claire stepped forward to hug Breslin. “What a fucking nightmare.”

Breslin pushed her away, shaking her head. “He’s dead,” she said. “I killed him.”

“Because you had to,” Gregg said. He believed her now, but still he shivered. If they’d been a few minutes longer in the maze . . . “Let’s go,” he said, echoing Julian’s earlier command. 

He jogged off to reach the graveled path back to the cabin, and the rest of them followed. 

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