Anniversary and A Cure

It's my blog's anniverary month! We're four years old. I started this blog back in November, 2008, back when it was deemed essential for an emerging writer to have one, but I was afraid that nobody would want to read about my bulky manuscripts and fledgling attempts at publication, so I wrote my first post about beets.

Pretty funny, eh?  Let me explain. When I'm not writing, I'm gardening, and I know that everyone loves good food. (As George Bernard Shaw said,  "There is no love sincerer than the love of food.") So I thought I would begin by writing about something we can all agree on. My first post was about the tremendous beet harvest of 2008 with a recipe for Rosy Beet Risoto from my sister, Bett. And then I shared my mother's homemade spaghetti sauce recipe, memories of the season triggered by a November gale and gunshots on opening day as I carried a bowl of sauce down the road to her place.

Back when pheasants were plentiful, opening day of hunting season was a main event. We always made friedcakes, using my grandma's deep ol' fryer and an ancient recipe. It was an all-day process, at the end of which the counter would be full of warm friedcakes dripping glaze or coated in sugar and cinnamon. The hunters would report in at the back door, eat friedcakes, and discuss the hunt.

But back to blogging. I moved beyond food, and suddenly one day I had a follower and more than one comment. Who would've guessed? I didn't know there would be such a thing as followers and feedback. Did I say I knew anything about blogging? I knew nothing, but I got braver and posted an excerpt of my writing and a poem or two.  I met other writers and artists, editors and interns. I started to get more than a couple of comments on a post, I dared to offer advice, wrote about writer do's and don'ts, and posted a book review. I shared experience and fessed up to rejections. I received a few blog awards (remember when those things were all the rage?) and passed them on. I had fun. 

Of late, many have questioned bogging and wonder if the pheonomon has run it's course. But I think that as long as people hunger to share ideas, receive advice and get feedback, there will be a reason to blog and interesting people who will do it. Blogging opens lines of communication between people who would never have otherwise met. I love getting a comment from Australia or Europe or Asia, or from someone in the next county. Some months I may only get up 2-3 posts but that's OK.

I began by singing beet praises, so let me end this post with a story about beets. When my grandmother was a young woman (my father just a boy), she because very ill with what was then called Quincy. We now know it as acute tonsillitis. She became so sick, she could barely breathe. Grandfather sent for her sisters to come and help. The distance was great with nothing but a team of horses to ease their journey, but they made the trip and arrived on a blustery winter night and started chopping up beets. They made a beet poultice and wrapped it around her neck in a cheesecloth. They didn't cook the beets; they simply chopped them in a food grinder and wrapped them in cheesecloth. They changed the poultice several times during the night. In the morning she was better.

In closing, I'd like to thank all of you for reading what I write and thank you especially for all your encouraging words. Even if you only drop in ocassionally, that's all any writer could ask. I remember each and every one of you. I thank you for making blogging fun.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Who's Visiting You?

I recently added a flag counter to my blog and have been amazed at the number of countries represented. I don't know how accurate it is, but I wish I would have done it sooner. If you're just starting a blog, I would recommend adding one. It's easy and fun to see where your readers are coming from. It makes the world seem intimate and small, which in the grand scheme of things, I guess it is.

It's a very foggy morning in the thumb of Michigan, a sure harbinger of fall, but summer temperatures are still with us for the Labor Day weekend. I hope to have time to visit "our" lake. Lake Huron is beautiful still, at least on the surface.

There are disturbing reports of pollution from coal-burning power plants and invasive species lurking in the depths and I hope that the people in charge of our environmental protection agencies know what they're doing.

I say "our" because the lakes are public as are the shorelines and beaches. The public is entitled to access up to the high water mark (an ambiguous boundry, I admit) but private landowners like to discourage the public from enjoying the access they are entitled to. They think of the lake in front of their property as theirs. The lakes belong to all of us and I encourage people who live here or are visiting here to feel free to walk the shoreline. Find an access point and walk.

To not spend time on or beside these basins of beauty is a sacrilege. Fish, skip stones, swim, hunt for shells and driftwood and collect pebbles, capture the beauty on your camera or canvas. All any of us would ask when you visit is that you leave nothing behind to show you were here....except something like this:

FOR WANT OF A TITLE

I have trouble with titles. If I can write a novel, why can't I compose a clever title? Sometimes I can't even think of a title for a post. But March is behind us, and I got through April Fool's Day without being made one, as far as I know.

Allow me one more toot of the horn. Author and fellow blogger, Judy Croome posted a lovely review of NOTES FROM UNDERGROUND on Amazon and Goodreads. Her review gives you a brief snapshot of what's under the cover. Speaking of, we were all enticed by the front cover, I, so much, it took me a week to notice the back. Make sure you check out the back cover. No, I don't have an image of that to share, but it's sheer genius from the folks at the Literary Lab.

From the flip side.....I don't know a damn thing about my illness. I am not even sure what it is that hurts....


Michelle from the L.L. recently wrote an interesting post titled Where Have All The Bloggers Gone? Maybe we're just all bogged down. I don't know how some of you find the time to be as prolific as you are. And of course, the more you comment on others, the more comments you will receive, but keep in mind for every comment you receive, ten or more have visited, read, absorbed and moved on. I myself read a lot more than I comment. Sorry. I just don't have the time. The writing comes first.

I write before the sun comes up, make coffee, feel guilty, and write some more. I move my laptop to the couch to escape the blinding rays coming through the kitchen window. I drink coffee and read what I've written and pencil edit and drink more coffee. I feel guilty. I look at my blog roll, dream of agents and editors and what it would be to have a deadline (which I would never fail to meet, I might add). Lord, give me deadlines and a contract and a book of my own. Give me give me give me give me. Selfish little writer. Self-centered, obsessed little writer.

Just don't ask me how that novel is coming. Don't ask me what the current one is about. Oh, the questions people ask us….. Are you still writing that novel????? But what do you really do? Elspeth Antonelli at The Blood-Red Pencil says, “the best answer I’ve ever given to this question is, I kill people."

OK. It's true. I kill them and I bury them in the compost pile, but you can't talk about a work in progress. It would jinx it. The work would dissipate like chaff on a breeze. Talking about it contaminates it, like plutonium in the jet stream from failed nuclear power plants. Radioactivity in the milk and in the vegetables? Oh Lord, save us from ourselves. Man is the beast, as Deon Meyer poignantly shows us in his novel (my current read), BLOOD SAFARI, an adventurous journey through South Africa.

Money controls everything. People are not truly capable of conservation though they make all the right noises. It's just not in our nature. Whether we're talking about pumping oil or chopping down trees for firewood, the environment will be the loser. Nothing can stand in the path of man.


We do what we can. We plant crops and grow vegetables without chemicals and raise happy chickens that can scratch in the dirt and cattle that are free to graze under the open sky, but we can't control what's in the air that we breathe and in the water that comes from the well. No farm is an island, no city dweller alone in their condo, no country in control of their borders. The Earth is a circle of one. What happened in Japan happened to you and it happened to me.

It'll bog you down, if you let it, and there is no title for that.

Blogger Question

I recently got wireless. Really. Can you believe it? But all is not well in Bloggerville. I can no longer upload photos and many profile pictures are little boxes with red X's in them instead of interesting images, and I keep getting these irritating security warnings about whether or not I only want secure web content to be delivered. Have any of you had this happen? I should not have to keep right-clicking to display pictures/page with full quality. Know what I mean?

Thinking fondly of my old dialup...

The Little Man In My Phone Line

My blog has been as dormant as the shrub roses, hunkered down like an asparagus bed. I shall blame this first and foremost on my dialup connection which took a nosedive a couple of weeks ago, going from bearable to exasperating. I must be the last person in the county holding out for affordable high speed internet but if my server kicks me off like a shoddy trespasser one more time I will be at the mercy of whatever wireless is offered here in no man's land.

I have, however, been writing a lot, loving it, getting up in the middle of the night to do it, and my blog has also taken a back seat to that. Yet I worry about bloggyville and think about it more than one would think normal. What's normal? Who was it I recently heard say, "I would not wish the life of a novelist on anyone." ?? Help me. Why would anyone aspire to such angst and self deprecation? Why indeed. But I love to write, even when it exasperates me. It's a lonely endeavor, so talk to me.

Now I better try to post this before the little man boots me off.