Friday, November 17, 2017

#CTST

Celebrate the Small Things

If you're looking for a sweet Blog Hop that doesn't have to take a lot of your time, and can post about any little tidbit, then join in #CTST! Go to Lexa Cain's and sign up. 
Lexa's wonderful co-hosts are:
L.G. Keltner @ Writing Off The Edge
Tonja Drecker @ Kidbits Blog


I'm traveling today to Lancaster, PA for an early Thanksgiving Celebration with my son. We rented a mini-van so we could all drive down together. We'll have a car load with my two daughters and my two grand babies. It should be interesting.

On Sunday, for the drive home, the weatherman is predicting a snow storm coming our way. I pray we make it home safe and sound. 

Have a pleasant weekend!!


Tuesday, November 14, 2017

Prah, Constantine, and Baryeh Review The Bookshop on Autumn Lane #romance





November is a month were we think about giving thanks. I'm thankful for my fellow review friends, Nana Prah and Empi Baryeh. I'm also thankful for all my friends out there in blogger land.

This month we chose an appropriate book for autumn.
The Bookshop on Autumn Lane is part of the Truhart series by Cynthia Tennent



Big dreams can come true in a small town…
 
While some young women would jump through hoops to claim ownership of a bookshop, 
free-spirited Gertrude “Trudy” Brown wants nothing to do with the rundown store her late Aunt Gertrude left her.  Having suffered from dyslexia all her life, books aren’t exactly her friends. With not much more than a collie dog who’s scared of his own shadow, and a rusty but trusty ’74 Beetle, Trudy arrives in the tiny town of Truhart, determined to sell off her cumbersome inheritance as quickly as possible… 
 
But Trudy is not the only stranger in town. Christopher “Kit” Darlington, a professor of American Studies at Cambridge, is searching for an elusive manuscript—and he secretly thinks Trudy’s ramshackle bookshop might hold the key to its discovery. As these two opposites spend the autumn days together, cleaning out Trudy’s bookshop, they soon find that uncovering both literature and love can be equally mysterious… 
 
 Trudy’s never been  the type to stay in one spot too long, but something about Kit makes her consider starting a new chapter—and maybe even finding there’s a happily-ever-after…


Cathrina's Review:

When I began to read Bookshop On Autumn Lane I wasn't quite enamored with the main character, Trudy. She came off as uncaring and harsh. I did fall for Kit Darlington immediately. He is sincere, sweet, and I love a British accent.

However, as I delved deeper into the books pages I unearthed Trudy's problems. She had latent memories of her childhood and the small town of Truhart where she was a teenager and they weren't good ones. 

As with most children and teenagers, our memories can get skewed. And when Trudy realizes her memories are somewhat false, her character evolves and becomes quite lovely. 

In the end, I liked this sweet read and it's Happily Ever After.

Now let's head over to Nana and Empi's to read their reviews.

And, still open is my Rafflecopter to Win Amazon Gift Cards. Giving thanks for those who've signed up for my Newletter:

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Monday, November 6, 2017

#GIVEAWAY Thank you for signing up for my Newsletter!

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Wednesday, November 1, 2017

#IWSG



Join Alex J. Cavanaugh and a multitude of writer's in this monthly hop to help support one another!

Purpose: To share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds!


Alex's awesome co-hosts are Tonja Drecker, Diane Burton, MJ Fifield, and Rebecca Douglass!

Due to more rejections that insecure feeling of doubt has been resurfacing and rearing its ugly head. My thoughts are in a downward spiral. What is wrong with my stories, with my writing. Each day I try to talk myself off the tipsy tightrope. 

If you're a writer than you know the long, long hours of writing and contemplation that goes into a novel, and that's only with the first draft. 

I think about taking a break, a long break. I've pondered this idea many times. But then I continue on~ saying to myself, I'll just finish this one final book. I have a few chapters left on my WIP. 

My intention is to take a sabbatical for the month of December. Whether I'll stick to my plans or dive into a round of edits, I don't know for sure. 

Perhaps this is true?














Monday, October 23, 2017

Why I Write by Terry Tempest Williams



~.
~
Why I Write 
by 
TERRY TEMPEST WILLIAMS

It is just after 4:00 A.M. I was dreaming about Moab, Brooke and I walking around the block just before dawn. I threw a red silk scarf around my shoulders and then I began reciting in my sleep why I write:
I write to make peace with the things I cannot control. I write to create fabric in a world that often appears black and white. I write to discover. I write to uncover. I write to meet my ghosts. I write to begin a dialogue. I write to imagine things differently and in imagining things differently perhaps the world will change. I write to honor beauty. I write to correspond with my friends. I write as a daily act of improvisation  I write because it creates my composure. I write against power and for democracy. I write myself out of my nightmares and into my dreams. I write in a solitude born out of community. I write to the questions that shatter my sleep. I write to the answers that keep me complacent. I write to remember. I write to forget. I write to the music that opens my heart. I write to quell the pain. I write to migrating birds with the hubris of language. I write as a form of translation. I write with the patience of melancholy in winter. I write because it allows me to confront that which I do not know. I write as an act of faith. I write as an act of slowness. I write to record what I love in the face of loss. I write because it makes me less fearful of death. I write as an exercise in pure joy. I write as one who walks on the surface of a frozen river beginning to melt. I write out of my anger and into my passion. I write from the stillness of night anticipating-always anticipating. I write to listen. I write out of silence. I write to soothe the voices shouting inside me, outside me, all around. I write because of the humor of our condition as humans. I write because I believe in words. I write because I do not believe in words. I write because it is a dance with paradox. I write because you can play on the page like a child left alone in sand. I write because it belongs to the force of the moon: high tide, low tide. I write because it is the way I take longwalks. I write as a bow to wilderness. I write because I believe it can create a path in darkness. I write because as a child I spoke a different language. I write with a knife carving each word through the generos­ ity of trees. I write as ritual. I write because I am not employable. I write out of my inconsistencies. I write because then I do not have to speak. I write with the colors of memory. I write as a witness to what I have seen. I write as a witness to what I imagine. I write by grace and grit. I write out of indigestion. I write when I am starving. I write when I am full. I write to the dead. I write out of the body. I write to put food on the table. I write on the other side of procrastination. I write for the children we never had. I write for the love of ideas. I write for the surprise of a sentence. I write with the belief of alchemists. I write knowing I will always fail. I write knowing words always fall short. I write knowing I can be killed by my own words, stabbed by syntax, crucified by both understanding and misunderstanding. I write out of ignorance. I write by accident. I write past the embarrassment of exposure. I keep writing and suddenly, I am overcome by the sheer indulgence, (the madness,) the meaninglessness, the ridiculousness of this list. I trust nothing especially myself and slide head first into the familiar abyss of doubt and humiliation and threaten to push the delete button on my way down, or madly erase each line, pick up the paper and rip it into shreds-and then I realize, it doesn't matter, words are always a gamble, words are splinters from cut glass. I write because
it is dangerous, a bloody risk, like love, to form the words, to say the words, to touch the source, to be touched, to reveal how vulnerable we are, how transient.
I write as though I am whispering in the ear of the one I love. 

Taken from Wiki:
Terry Tempest Williams (born 8 September 1955), is an American author, conservationist, and activist. Williams' writing is rooted in the American West and has been significantly influenced by the arid landscape of her native Utah and its Mormon culture. Her work ranges from issues of ecology and wilderness preservation, to women's health, to exploring our relationship to culture and nature.
Williams has testified before Congress on women's health, committed acts of civil disobedience in the years 1987–1992 in protest against nuclear testing in the Nevada Desert, and again, in March 2003 in Washington, D.C., with Code Pink, against the Iraq War. She has been a guest at the White House, has camped in the remote regions of the Utah and Alaskawildernesses and worked as "a barefoot artist" in Rwanda.

Why Do You Write? 
I've been asking myself this question lately. This article by Terry Tempest Williams certainly has taken some of the words out of my mouth.