My Latest Novel is Now Available

After working with traditional publishers for my first eleven books, I've decided to try self-publishing my latest novel. Please give it a look! Thanks!

Plot: The last thing Etta Purcell thought she'd be doing at age eight-seven was writing a food blog. And she never expected the project to connect her with her great-grandson Matt, who finds her online. Before she knows it, Etta is jetting off to Hawaii to visit him...and his grandmother, Etta's daughter Linda, from whom she has been estranged for many years.

Linda already has enough to deal with, having been remarried, relocated, and unexpectedly landed with a teenaged grandson to raise. She no longer feels she fits in her own life, and the last thing she needs is her mother turning up uninvited. For Matt's sake, mother and daughter must establish a truce. But can they find a way to move beyond the pain and misunderstandings that tore their family apart so long ago?

"Before You Go" is the story of reconciliation and forgiveness. Perhaps---even at age eighty-seven---it's never too late to heal.

Link to purchase:

Before You Go

Crazy Weather and Lots to Do

On Monday we had snow on the ground. A few days later, I was mowing the lawn and walking around the backyard in bare feet. The tulips opened. Yesterday I was back to wearing a winter hat and gloves for my daily walk. Nutso weather that's hard to predict. The next three days are supposed to be rainy.

We've been tackling a lot of yardwork that has been neglected over the past year. Cut down two mugo pine trees that were dying from rust, pruned the taller pine that was with them to cut away diseased branches (hoping to save it), and put down mulch. Tore out other damaged bushes and hopeless plants and put down more mulch. Got the two fountains going. Spread some rocks. Hacked the front hedge down to a manageable height. Raked a jillion bags worth of last year's leaves that I'd been using as mulch in the vegetable garden. Started pulling out a jillion baby maple trees, offspring of the maple that gave me all the leaves. Started my tomato seedlings. Mowed said lawn and spread topsoil over some sparse spots. Weed-whacked the perimeter. The yard waste collection truck actually came to our place twice this week to empty our bins -- it was a ridiculous amount of material that took up most of our boulevard.

Also took time, of course, to play games and soccer and go for walks with the grandkids, who both have birthdays this month. Read a book. Went to the dentist. Watched entirely too much Person of Interest. Went to church on Sunday. Did some grocery shopping. Drove to Brampton to pick my son up from a friend's. Finished crocheting a teddy bear for a neighbour's coming baby. Trips to Home Depot and Canadian Tire. Dealt with a broken water heater and had a guy come measure for some new windows we need to install. Took a two-hour walk yesterday just to enjoy the briefly nice weather and blue sky, and to revel in not having to join the traffic inching by. It's a lovely feeling, walking past stuck cars with a smirk on my face.

So it's been a good week, all in all. Still lots to do, but we're getting on top of it. When I look at the list of what we did in one week, I don't feel tired, I feel energized. I'll take long hours in the garden over sitting at a desk any day.

A Poem for Spring

I coddle my seedling diligently

but I can't keep it alive.

I behead a weed a hundred times

and it thrives and thrives and thrives.

Some Honest Musings about Self-Publishing

I've had eleven books published by two different publishers over the past 19 years. My main publisher was recently subsumed under a larger company, and my book that was to be published in January 2026 (already typeset and ready to go) was cancelled. My 21-year contract with them was also terminated, though it only had a short while left to go, and that doesn't bother me.

The trick now is to find another publisher for the three manuscripts I've already completed. Two are novels and one is a non-fiction about simple living. I've shopped them around to various places, but so far I haven't found a home for them. I've also approached several literary agents without success. It's time-consuming and disheartening and makes me question this whole process.

I've been considering self-publishing these three, just to get them out of my hair so I can focus on something new. It seems a shame to give up on them, since I've put so much work into them and they're edited and polished and ready to go. I admit to a bit of bias---somehow self-publishing feels like cheating, you know? After dealing with traditional publishers for so many years, I feel like I'm sneaking around the end post.

At the same time, the publishing world is changing, traditional publishers are moving more toward a preference for e-books (igg), and old-timey practices must adapt or die. So...do I get over my prejudices and take the plunge? Goodness knows I'd stand to earn more per each sale (royalties from traditional publishers are frankly paltry), and the idea of having total control appeals to me. I'm confident in my editing skills. But on the other hand, my old publisher consistently sold 4000-5000 copies of each of my books, and I know if the marketing is left entirely up to me, I won't sell nearly that many. My interest lies in the writing, not the selling. 

I've reached the point in my life where I just want to tell stories, and I'm not overly concerned about how many people read them. The glitz is off seeing my name in print. Money would be handy, but it's not my motivation. But are self-published books legitimate? How is their quality perceived in comparison to traditionally-published ones? I guess that's the question I'm asking. What do you think?

So much going on in the world, and yet this is what has snagged me

Two months yesterday since I lost Brio. It still catches me off guard from time to time. I expect to see him waiting when I come into the room, and the spot on the kitchen floor where his dishes used to be seems stupidly empty. I am going about my normal day and feeling completely fine and then suddenly I'm in tears again without any warning. When people see me walking down the road, do they realize half of me is missing?

I fluctuate between being sad and being irritated with myself. There are so many people hurting in the world. Even as I go through this, I know my sorrows are small compared to many people's. I have lost pets and people before. So why is this one so much more difficult? At some point I will lose patience with myself, but until then, I'm trying to grant myself some grace. It will just have to work itself out in its own time, I guess. 

For all those who have lost loved ones, including pets, those who have lost hopes or dreams, those who have lost opportunities or the future they thought they were going to have, those who may have lost faith in themselves, those who don't even know why they are down, those who feel lost themselves...I see you.

Thunderstorm and Great Minds Thinking Alike

I've been going on 2-3 hour walks every day as spring has approached, enjoying farmfield views and the crunch of gravel under my feet, the cool breeze and much-appreciated sunshine, shaking off the doldrums of winter and depression. But this morning I woke up to thunder and lightning and knew my daily walk likely wouldn't happen.

I was thinking of going upstairs, turning on some music, and dancing for exercise today, but I felt a little silly doing it by myself. Not sure why that is. But anyway, I thought about inviting a friend of mine over with her two girls. They live in a Tiny House and don't have a lot of room for doing cartwheels or dancing or even stretching on days when they have to remain indoors.

I went onto the computer to invite them, and behold, there was a message from my friend, asking if they could come over to play today. So ta da! we're on the same wavelength. A nice way to spend a soggy Tuesday.

Still need some more walking

 

"Your grief has expired.

There is a timeline for loss,

then you must move on."

They say to let go.

I’d be happy to oblige,

but it clings to me.

 

I say I’ll try to

shake it off, but it persists,

melded with my bones.

 

I confess I fear

if I release this sorrow,

you’ll truly be gone.