THE AUTHOR'S VISIBILITY KIT

The wind is howling across the Upper Midwest and through the Great Lakes region to make driving hazzardous and rattle the windows of this old house. I wonder if the power will hold, if the trees will stand and the animals find shelter. Snow in the forecast for this frozen but barren land and my garlic would benefit from it's insulating layer. 

I've received the cover art for my new novel and my editor signed off on it after I gave my "thumbs-up". It's nice to be afforded some input on this very important step. I know many writers are not given any. As I wait for permission to share,  I think its dark, portentous look will pique a reader's interest, entice them to stop and open it up. That magic moment when a reader steps into another world where they want to stay.

I received an Author Visibility Kit from my publisher, Unsolicited Press. The writer's job might start with the blank page but doesn't end with an ISBN number. From pre-publication, to a book's launch, to six-months out, to long-tail sales, the author's job is a relentless slog. 

Of high importance throughout the process, according to UP, is making use of social platforms. Their suggestion is to pick two or three and stay active, posting at least twice a week. The main ones are Instagram, Pinterest, Facebook, Bluesky, TikTok and X. I am already on Instagram and Facebook, and, with less frequency, Bluesky. Along with this blog and my website and newsletter, I think that's enough. One can only do so much social media and retain sanity and writing time. The newsletter is highly recommended. If you haven't subscribed to mine, here's the link to my contact form.  If you get bored, you can always unsubscribe. Are there any social media platforms you use and recommend? Which ones are you on? I'm curious to know.

Even as I've been writing this, the snow has begun to fall. Snowfall always lifts my spirits, maybe from back when "snow days" were a thing and strapping on skates or grabbing a sled was commonplace. For now, I’m happy to snuggle in my slippers in this writing space

as I wait for the OK to reveal my new cover, first to newsletter subscribers, and then to a wider audience. And about those social  media platforms you use....I'd really like to know.

Peace out and Happy New Year. May 2026 leave 2025 in the ashbin of history to be learned from but never repeated!!

Feed Dogs in the Snow

The limbs of the arborvitae hung with snow bow to the ground like penitents on parade. It came quietly in the night. Even the bird feeders are contorted into something they aren't. This snow looks fluffy and friendly but now we have to shovel the walk and the back of the truck because today was supposed to be our Christmas tree cutting day! Down gravel roads and over hills to Hunt 4 Your Fir! But first the boots, shovel and power up the tractor, lower the blade and off he goes, the big guy that is. Not me. I'm staying inside to catalog it all.

The power is on and what a gift electricity is. So runs the coffee maker and the lights strung around the buffet and this gadget I'm writing on. Speaking of....

I'm waiting for big news from my publisher on the 15th of this month. I'm hoping to get a glimpse of what my cover will look like for Black River, my upcoming novel about trouble in farm country.

    Anyone can be good in the country, there are no temptations there.   

Everyone knows that isn't true! Trouble is and always has been intrinsic to farm country. Oscar Wilde had a cleverly sarcastic pen. 

I've just been notified by dVerse, the pub where poets hang out, that three of mine have been selected for their 2026 anthology. They have invited poets from around the globe to send in their best, so I can't wait to see what the collection looks like and the treasures it will hold. I'm very honored and excited to have my verse included. 

Now, a little something new for Lillian's prompt about sewing. Can you find the terms? Have a happy Wednesday and may your power stay on and the water run. 

Birds dart from branches hung with white
But their seed is covered in blousy drifts.
One small thistle is stuck in a buttonhole
from where once it ticked into the mouth
of a tray. Feed dogs bray from the woods
where whitetail gather to graze but wait

a frenzied retreat—medley in motion.

But the road is empty, 

the hem of the ditch obscured in white.

Inside, Grace the pretty sleeps on my fleece,

snug as a bobbin in the machine.