Dipping My Toe in the Audiobook Stream

Photo is book cover. Title: Unleashed in Oregon. Author: Sue Fagalde Lick. Image is a reddish-gold Labrador retriever at the beach.

Everyone says audiobooks are the thing. You gotta do an audiobook. I don’t listen to recorded books myself. They put me to sleep. Maybe that’s conditioning from falling asleep while being read to as a child. Also, I just don’t have time to listen. When I go for a walk or exercise, I want a break from all the words.

But I have two friends who are legally blind and can’t read anymore, and I know a lot of people who prefer audiobooks. They have no time to read, but they’ll listen. Plus, I was curious about how it would work.

I worried about the technology, having visions of hunkering in a closet speaking into an expensive mic and hoping the sound was good enough. Tech is not my jam, although I can usually figure it out in a couple dozen tries. Finding and paying a professional studio to record a book takes time and money I wasn’t ready to spend.

But then Amazon’s KDP—Kindle Direct Publishing—program, which I have used for several of my books, offered to convert any of my ebooks for free if I would try their beta audiobook program. I decided to try it out with Unleashed in Oregon: Best of the Blog, published in 2017.

KDP provided an assortment of virtual voices, male and female, with and without accents. I tried each one and ended up with a woman’s voice I’m going to call Kate. She sounded so real I let her read the whole book. Now and then I needed to stop her to correct pronunciation—my name, the name of the bridge just north of here (Yaquina), wind as in a breeze not wind as in winding up a toy—but she got most of it right, even words I would struggle with. Her voice never tired. She never had to stop to cough or clear her throat.

In the process of listening to all nine hours and seven minutes, typos were revealed, errors I had not noticed in earlier versions. I marked all the mistakes and made some other changes, based on what I have learned in the last seven years. Shouldn’t I say Native American instead of Indian? Do I really need that line that sounds so whiny? Maybe that photo isn’t worth the space. Those margins should be wider and the type bigger.

I also discovered I really like this book, and I love the way the stories sound when Kate reads them.

It took a week of intense work—I logged 15 hours last Tuesday—but Unleashed in Oregon in its new spiffed-up version is now available at Amazon in print, ebook, and audio formats, and I would love for more people to read it. I may even put together another blog collection next year, just to preserve my stories.

I am not an advocate of using artificial intelligence to do our writing for us, nor do I want to put professional actors out of business, but wow, these virtual voices can do what no human can do as well. “Kate” was not as expressive in some places as I might be, and I think I should use my own voice on my novels and my upcoming memoir. I would never let a computer voice read my poetry. But as a quick way to produce an audiobook for people who are unable to read a book on paper or a screen, this is pretty fantastic. That mellifluous voice reading my words is just computer coding at a whole new level, but it blows my mind.

Where do we draw the line with AI? We have been using it for years, long before it became the latest buzzword. What about Alexa, autocorrect, or the voice in our GPS? Will technology take over? I hope we don’t become people who don’t know the difference, but it is fun to play with.

I don’t know the future of Amazon’s new beta program that uses virtual voices. For years, they have offered ACX–Audiobook Creation Exchange–which links authors with professional studios to record their books. Amazon is not the only company or the best company producing audiobooks. Findaway Voices, Author’s Republic, and SpeechKi are a few. Having not tried them, I am not endorsing any of these, but they are out there. You can also do it all yourself and upload your books to Audible, YouTube, Spotify, etc. Now that I have done one, I’m eager to make audio versions of all my books.

Tell me. Do you read audiobooks? If you’re a writer, have you published an audiobook? Do you think it’s okay to let a computerized voice do the reading? What about using AI for writing or other tasks? I would love to hear your comments.

Meanwhile, Unleashed in Oregon is now available in print, ebook, and audio formats.

Happy spring, happy Easter, happy reading/listening.  

By clicking submit, you agree to share your email address with the site owner and Mailchimp to receive marketing, updates, and other emails from the site owner. Use the unsubscribe link in those emails to opt out at any time.

Processing…
Success! You're on the list.

Sometimes You Need to Make Your Own Birthday Party

A few days before my birthday (Saturday, March 9), I posted on Facebook that I was worried about spending the day alone. As comments started flying in, I regretted the post. A) I sounded pitiful and B) most of the comments were along the lines of “throw yourself a party.” What I really wanted was someone to be moved to do what my family used to do when I was a child: treat me like a princess all day long, shower me with presents, and not require any effort on my part. 

Suggestions included: throw yourself a party, host a jam session, go for a long walk, invite friends over for pizza, take a train ride, go to a gallery, and do whatever makes you happy.

Ultimately, my post worked. A nearby writer friend who had just had her own less than perfect birthday suggested we go out to lunch. We did, and we had a great time. In the afternoon, I had an online poetry reading, and lots of friends showed up. Several people telephoned. My neighbors brought cheesecake, a CD, a card and big hugs. Facebook “happy birthdays” are still rolling in. I also had a dinner invitation, but declined because my dance card was suddenly full. In the gaps, I played piano, and I did not feel alone at all–because I let it be known that it was my birthday and that I did not want to be alone. 

I’m embarrassed that I did that, but I have spent too many March 9ths on my own, some in hotel rooms eating takeout, some at home whining because nobody loved me. 

The truth is it’s different when you’re an adult. My father and my brother would both say “it’s just another day,” but I can’t accept that. Can you? Maybe I’m just spoiled. 

I always do things to treat myself. In fact, I took myself on a mini-vacation to Salem and Corvallis, OR, the two days before my birthday. I attended a poetry reading, did some writing, bought a new outfit, and bought myself a new printer. The weather was beautiful, and it felt good. But it’s not the same as being surrounded by people all singing “Happy Birthday” while you blow out the candles on a cake.

When you have no family or “best friend” nearby and you don’t have that mythical posse of friends who seem to show up in every novel, movie, and TV show, birthdays become problematic. If you don’t make a lot of noise, it is quite possible you will spend the day alone. 

Back in San Jose, we had a Filipino friend who used to throw his own birthday party every year. Those parties were huge. He cooked for days, hired a band, and invited everyone he knew. They started at dusk and went on to the wee hours of the morning. He did have siblings and nieces and nephews to help, but wow, it was a lot of work. I don’t think I could do that. Okay, I could, but I don’t want to.

However, I do want to celebrate that I have made it to 72 relatively healthy and still full of dreams and plans. A lot of people don’t make it to this age. I thank God I have.  

How birthdays are celebrated depends a lot on age, family situation, and cultural background. Some cultures go all out, while others barely note the day. Most Americans gather for a meal or at least for cake. They light candles and sing “Happy Birthday.” They offer gifts. That’s what most of us expect. But  “elder orphans” like me need to make some noise if we want it to happen.

Lessons for people who live alone like me:

  • Make sure people know about your birthday.
  • If you don’t have plans and want to do something, say so.
  • Don’t be afraid to ask for cake or whatever you want.
  • Take charge and invite the people you would like to have with you.
  • If you’re okay being on your own, make it a day of hiking, meditation, reading, writing, or whatever makes you happy.
  • If you’re going to be alone, plan for your favorite foods, buy yourself some flowers, and watch a movie you’ve been wanting to see. 
  • When other orphans’ birthdays come around, help them celebrate. Don’t assume they already have a plan.

Your turn. What do you do on your birthdays? What would be the perfect birthday? What do you suggest for people who are on their own and might be forgotten? 

I am so grateful for everyone who stepped up for my birthday. It was the best one I have had in years. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

For some fascinating facts about birthdays, click here.

Photo by lil artsy on Pexels.com

By clicking submit, you agree to share your email address with the site owner and Mailchimp to receive marketing, updates, and other emails from the site owner. Use the unsubscribe link in those emails to opt out at any time.

Processing…
Success! You're on the list.

I Need an Ejector Chair–and Other News

I sit way too much, and my back is paying the price. Where can I buy a desk chair that ejects me after a set amount of time and will not let me sit again until I move around for a while? I don’t want to fly up through the ceiling like the guy in the cartoon. I picture spikes coming up through the seat or the seat suddenly becoming unbearably hot or cold, something that gives me no choice but to get up immediately.
 
I already use timers to remind me to take a break, but I tend to ignore them. Just this morning, when the timer dinged, I shut it off, and kept working. Then an urgent email caught my attention, and soon I had been sitting way too long. I’m visiting the chiropractor again on Wednesday, but I wouldn’t need him if I’d just MOVE.
 
Inventors, get busy. Lift chairs already exist for folks who have trouble getting up. I need one for the relatively able-bodied who need to be forced to stand and move around. Ideally, we could set a time, say 30 minutes, and for the next 10 minutes or whatever you cannot sit in that chair. Call it the Timed Office Chair Ejector, TOCE for short.
 
Meanwhile, things are happening, and I want to bring you up to date.
 
* Between the Bridges, the third novel in the Beaver Creek series, is out and available right now at the bookstores in Lincoln County, Oregon or from your favorite bookseller wherever you live. Support your local bookstore if you can.
 
* Blue Chip Stamp Guitar, my poetry chapbook, will be out March 15, which is very soon. Dining Al Fresco with My Dog, my first full-length poetry collection, is coming in April, and No Way Out of This: Loving a Partner with Alzheimer’s will follow in June.

 
The schedule is getting busy, just way I like it. Here are the book-related events currently set for the next few months.
 

  • Saturday, March 9, 4 p.m.—Zoom—I’m marking my birthday and the launch of Blue Chip Stamp Guitar with an online reading hosted by my publisher, The Poetry Box. To register and receive the zoom link, visit https://thepoetrybox.com/live-03092024.
  • Wednesday, March 20, 1 p.m. PDT—Zoom—I will join Jody Day’s Childless Elderwomen chat with several other fabulous “nomo crones.” Our topic this time is “Caring for the Caregiver.” We will discuss our experiences taking care of our spouses and/or parents and our fears about who will take care of us when we need it. Register at https://gateway-women.com/gateway-elderwomen. The session will be recorded, so you can watch it whenever it works for you. If you worry about anonymity, neither your name or your face will be shown on the screen.  
  • Saturday, March 23, 12-2 p.m.—in-person at the Nye Beach Book House, 727 NW Third Street, Newport, OR. I will be signing copies of Between the Bridges, the new novel in the Up Beaver Creek series, as well as my other books. Come, buy an autographed copy at a local bookstore instead of an online chain. If you are not in the area, the book is available in print and on Kindle wherever books are sold.
  • Thursday, April 25, 7 p.m.—Facebook live and in person at Marco Polo, 300 Liberty St. SE, Salem, OR. I will be the featured reader at the Salem Poetry Project, sharing poems from Blue Chip Stamp Guitar and Dining Al Fresco with My Dog. An open mic follows. Watch the Poetry Project Facebook page for information. https://www.facebook.com/SalemPoetryProject/.
  • Tuesday, May 14, 6 p.m.—Zoom—I will be one of the featured readers at the bi-monthly Head for the Hills series. An open mic follows. Visit the series’ Facebook page, for details or email dale@champlindesign.com to get on the mailing list.

 
AT THE BLOGS:
Childlessbymarriage.com: “Obsessing Over Dogs vs. Obsessing Over Children”
Unleashedinoregon.com: “The Strange Valentine’s Day/Ash Wednesday Mashup”
 
READ AND ENJOYED:
The Squannacook at Dawn by Richard Jordan, The Poetry Box, 2024. As I started reading the first poem in this beautiful chapbook, I felt myself relaxing into something beautiful. I was with the poet on the bank of a river in Massachusetts, breathing fresh air, watching fish ride the current, and listening to blackbirds singing. This winner of the Poetry Box Chapbook Prize is deserving of every accolade. I thought I would not be interested in a book about fishing. I haven’t held a pole since I was a little girl, but it’s about so much more than fish. The language, the unhurried pacing, and the Zen of being out in nature captured me immediately.” I love these lines in “Blackbird Through October Mist”: “It is important/now to lift the paddle, let it rest/across your lap. This is the time to glide.” This whole book feels like a long, easy glide, and I treasure it.
 
House on Fire by D. Liebhart, 9:25 Books, 2022. I stopped everything to read the last 70 pages of this novel, which begins with a mother asking her grown daughter to kill her father. The father has dementia, and caring for him has become next to impossible, but he made the whole family swear they would never put him in a nursing home. The daughter, Bernadette, an ER nurse, knows all too much about dementia and death, but she can’t kill him. Nor can her Bible-quoting sister. Even without that, she has her hands full. Her son Jax has major behavioral problems and has been kicked out of every school in the area. She barely makes enough money to pay her bills, with no help from her sometimes partner Shayne, who lives and works at a commune up in Topanga Canyon. Things are complicated and about to get more so. This is fiction, but so real I believed every word. Five stars for this one.
 
WATCHED AND ENJOYED
 
“True Detective,” Season 4, starring Jody Foster, streaming on MAX. This is one spooky story. They are in a part of Alaska where the sun doesn’t shine at all in the middle of the winter, so it’s always dark. A group of men working at a research station in the middle of nowhere suddenly disappear. Foster is determined to find out what happened. Twists and turns galore.
 
“The Color Purple,” 2023 version, streaming on Hulu and Amazon Prime. This updated version shares the same heartbreaking story, but it’s a musical. The music is fantastic, and the cast, featuring Fantasia Barrino and Taraji P. Henson, does a fabulous job. If you’re not crying at the end of this, you’re tougher than I am.
 
The timer says I have three seconds to get away from this chair.
 
Cheers.
 
Sue

By clicking submit, you agree to share your email address with the site owner and Mailchimp to receive marketing, updates, and other emails from the site owner. Use the unsubscribe link in those emails to opt out at any time.

Processing…
Success! You're on the list.

The Strange Valentine’s Day/Ash Wednesday Mashup

woman with long red hair and black dress sitting alone in a church with rays of light streaming through the windows.

It’s Valentine’s Day and Ash Wednesday. What an odd combination. The stores are full of candy and flowers. Facebook is loaded with messages about love and romantic celebrations. But I’m walking around with a black smudge of ashes on my forehead from this morning’s early Mass, where I played the piano with the choir.

It’s the first day of Lent, the six week-period leading up to Easter. The church was shrouded in purple. We omitted the “Gloria” and sang “praise to you” instead of “alleluia.” Father Joe preached the value of silence, of making space in our busy lives to pray, meditate, and listen to God.

Valentine hearts with sayings on them on a pink plate
Photo by Jill Wellington on Pexels.com

Amen to that. Instead of giving up chocolate or French fries, I’m giving up my video games this Lent. Not that God cares, but I waste so much time playing those games for fear of having an empty moment. My to-do list keeps growing, but when I’m too weary to work, I play game after game of solitaire and mahjong and do jigsaw puzzles online, trashing my left wrist with so much mouse action. So I pledge to eliminate the time-killers and open myself to the silence, the space, the pauses. As Father said, if we don’t have rests in music or punctuation in writing, we have a mess. Perhaps our world would be a little more peaceful if we took time to be quiet once in a while.

It’s good I didn’t give up candy for Lent because a guy came in as we were practicing for next Sunday and handed out bags of candy, courtesy of the Yachats Lion’s Club. The label called it a random act of kindness for people who do so much for others. I am grateful. Valentine’s Day is hard for those of us who don’t have a sweetheart to celebrate with, and I was hungry after all that piano-playing and singing. So yes, I ate chocolate in my car with ashes on my forehead. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, but not right this minute.

My neighbor, who does not do church, shakes her head at “Catholics and their rituals.” I try not to let it bother me. We’re all free to believe what we want to believe. I know that when I’m playing the piano at church, it feels right and good.

Scrabble letters laid out on a table with the word "silence" in the middle.
Photo by Markus Winkler on Pexels.com

We have a ritual on Fridays at our church (and many other Catholic churches) called “adoration.” I can feel you cringe, but stay with me. The host/Blessed Sacrament is displayed on the altar. We sit or kneel with nothing to do but pray, meditate, and let our minds wander where they will. I find it difficult. Sometimes at home I tell myself I’ll sit and do nothing for five minutes. After about a minute and a half, I’m up and doing something. I’m like the little kid who can’t sit still. But at church with other people, where it’s so quiet we can hear if someone sighs, there’s no choice. Quiet. Silence. Stillness.

I’m looking for more stillness in my life. When I feel the itch to click onto a game, it’s going to be hard to leave my device and do something else—or do nothing at all. But that’s my plan.

How often do you sit still and do nothing when you’re not sick or forced into it? Try it. Walk away from your screen. Soak in the quiet. I dare you.

***

Random notes: Last week I posted on Facebook that I had had a surgical procedure and was grateful it turned out well. I got so many comments and a few calls from people worried about me. It was a colonoscopy, folks. Colon cancer runs in my family, and I have these tests every five years. This is the first time they did NOT find anything in there to cut out and biopsy, so I’m happy. I did have a little something removed yesterday at the dermatologist’s office, but again, no big deal. Thank you, friends, for your concern. I’m thinking I won’t mention my health online anymore.  

I gave a reading and talk at Oceanview Senior Living in Newport, Oregon last weekend. It was the debut of Between the Bridges, the latest novel in my Beaver Creek series. The people there were great. They fed me lunch, they were an attentive audience, and they bought books. Author friends, do not overlook places where seniors hang out. They are smart, friendly, and they read. Plus, OMG, the coconut cream pie. I’m tempted to move in.

Church photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

By clicking submit, you agree to share your email address with the site owner and Mailchimp to receive marketing, updates, and other emails from the site owner. Use the unsubscribe link in those emails to opt out at any time.

Processing…
Success! You're on the list.

Splish-Splashing My Way to Ona Beach

Ona Beach park, chopped off trees, trail under water, brown sigh pointing to beach access and restroom where you clearly can't get there that way because of the flooding.

Ona Beach, about two miles south of where I live on the Oregon coast, was barely recognizable yesterday, with flooded trails, fallen trees, and other trees that had been chopped off up high so they looked telephone poles or maybe totem poles.

On this rare day without rain, snow, or ice, I needed out, but where was the trail to the beach? It always floods at the northern end. I once tried to convince my dog Annie to wade through the water with me. Being wiser than I, she refused. Now the only way to move forward through the picnic area was to follow the edge of Beaver Creek, my sneakers slapping wet grass.

The creek was wide, gray-green, and still, its edges spilling over. Would I be able to make it to the beach? And why were the trees chopped off like that?

Ona Beach park. Picnic table sitting in the middle of a flooded lawn, trees in the background, stormy sky.

So many memories are attached to this place, my own and the memories of my character PD in my Beaver Creek novels.

Fred and I kayaked here. We played badminton on the grass at an aquarium picnic where nobody brought paper plates so we ate off the lids of our potluck containers. Years later, I sat on a bench here weeping after a visit to Fred in the nursing home while Annie chewed on a bone she found in the barbecue pit.

PD kayaked here, too. She got caught by a sneaker wave. She found jewelry that had traveled across the ocean from the tsunami that hit Japan in 2011. She met Ranger Dave here. It was her place to relax when life got too crazy.

Determined to get my walk in for the day, I kept moving toward the ocean and eventually came to a passable trail, crossed the bridge and emerged on the beach, where a congregation of gulls was having a meeting. Sand, sea, and sky were all shades of pale gray. Driftwood and puffs of foam littered the black-streaked sand. The beach had shrunk to a small half-moon.

Beach littered with driftwood and seaweed, stormy sky.

I was not alone. An older couple played with their Jack Russell terrier along the edge of the water. A younger woman struggled with a giant white dog who had his own ideas about which way to go. Two women passed with three big dogs. My heart ached for my own dog, who passed away in September. We had some good times here.

Clearly the past weeks of stormy weather had taken a toll on Ona Beach, part of Brian Booth State Park. High water, wind, rain, and ice had thrashed it. I learned later that the chopped trees were part of a late 2023 effort to remove dying trees before they fell. They were cut at varying heights with slanted tops in the hope of creating places for birds to roost.

Closed up in my house while ice froze the streets, rain streaked the windows, and wind blew the cover off my hot tub, I did not see the changes happening down the road. Changes are part of life. No place is exempt. I look forward to a day when the sun shines on thick green grass, all the fallen trees and branches have been cleared away, dogs and children run along dry paths to the beach, and gulls perch atop the chopped tree trunks, laughing.

Have you gotten out in nature to see what changes have occurred this winter? Please tell us about it in the comments.

By clicking submit, you agree to share your email address with the site owner and Mailchimp to receive marketing, updates, and other emails from the site owner. Use the unsubscribe link in those emails to opt out at any time.

Processing…
Success! You're on the list.

Praise the Blessings of Light, Heat, and Internet

What a luxury it is to touch a switch and make light. To turn a knob and make heat. To keep food safe in a refrigerator for days, weeks or even months. To type a question on my computer and have an immediate answer.

We forget how blessed we are, but many Oregonians got a terse reminder over the past few days as an ice storm sent temperatures plummeting into the 20s. Trees fell, transformers blew, and power lines dangled in the wind as ice coated everything, making the roads impassable, even as it etched beautiful designs on plants, puddles and windowpanes.

Some people were without power for four or five days. Schools and businesses closed. The recreation center was turned into an emergency shelter for those living with no heat or lights. Garbage pickup and mail were delayed. Government officials declared a state of emergency and begged people to stay home.

I was relatively lucky. Everything was working at my house in South Beach last weekend, but at St. Anthony’s church in Waldport, where I play piano and lead the choir on Saturdays, the lights went out just before Mass, taking the electric piano with it. We lit candles and carried on. I led with a borrowed guitar, and the people in the pews sang more boisterously than usual, perhaps feeling more confident in the dark. It was beautiful. But I kept thinking about the homemade clam chowder I had waiting for me back in South Beach and hoping I had electricity to heat it up.

I did. It was delicious. Mom’s recipe.

My power went out for a few hours during the night but returned in time for me to carry on my usual Sunday chores.

I was watching “Ugly Betty” on Netflix Monday night when the internet quit. Suddenly I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was so used to going from one screen to another—computer, tablet, TV, phone—that I didn’t know what to do with myself. I moped for a few minutes and went to bed.

I still had no Internet yesterday morning. I could not check my bank account, answer my emails, work on book promotion, or post on Facebook. I would miss my weekly poetry workshop. But I still had electricity. I could write and I did. I could play music and I did. I could bake muffins and I did. I could satisfy my craving for eggs and bacon by cooking them for lunch. I ate them with a warm pepper jelly muffin dripping with butter.

And then, while I was sitting by the fireplace reading emails after lunch, the great silence and darkness fell. No internet, no stove, no TV, no lights, no way to know who else was sitting in the dark. I went for a walk. It was 36 degrees plus wind chill but not as dark as it was in my house. On the street, everything looked the same as usual except for the ice designs in the puddles.

Back home, huddling by the fire again, I pulled my guitar over and started playing through my list of instrumentals. Coming to the ones I had written, I got an urge to look at all of my original songs. I haven’t written many songs lately, but some of these older ones were really good. I came upon a song I had never played in public because it didn’t quite work. I spent the next couple hours rewriting it, struggling to see, groaning in frustration when I couldn’t quite get it right. By dusk, the song and I were happy with each other.

I decided to wash my baking dishes while I could still see by the light from the window. As I sponged batter and jelly off the muffin pans, I planned my evening. Forget the Zoom poetry reading and open mic that had been on my calendar for weeks. I would eat a cheese or tuna sandwich for dinner, with my melting ice cream for dessert. I could call a friend or relative on the old princess phone I still keep plugged in. I could write by candlelight, do yoga, play some more music, and go to bed early.

But then, the stove clock squeaked and the lights came on. The internet soon followed. I felt teary with gratitude. I could cook real food, attend the poetry reading, watch TV, or do anything I wanted. I was so lucky. Some of my friends had been without power for four days. Some were trapped in their houses by ice and fallen trees. But here, the lights were on, and the temperature was rising. It would go up to 52 by bedtime.

The schools are still closed today. It’s going to take a while for things to get back to normal. I’m just hoping to buy groceries and make a dent in my to-do list. There’s also that song waiting for me on my piano. I need to make sense of my scrawls and scratch-outs and get comfortable singing it. The title: “Save This Moment.”

I think of the people suffering from the weather everywhere–some places have seen temperatures way below zero with many feet of snow. I think of the people living in war-torn countries where they can’t even get food or medical care, where they don’t know if their loved ones are still alive. That I can’t get on the internet or heat my tea is such a tiny inconvenience. Be grateful, friends, and treasure the moment.

How has this stormy time affected you? Have you lost trees, power, or heat? Did you have to evacuate? What has been the hardest part? What are you grateful for now that the rain is melting the ice here and things may be improving elsewhere, too?

I welcome your comments.   

By clicking submit, you agree to share your email address with the site owner and Mailchimp to receive marketing, updates, and other emails from the site owner. Use the unsubscribe link in those emails to opt out at any time.

Processing…
Success! You're on the list.

New Beaver Creek Novel Almost Here

Beaver Creek Road. Photo shows a gravel road leading into trees that hang over the road like a canopy. There's a long narrow shadow from a signpost.

PD is walking up Beaver Creek Road with her dog Rocky when he runs off into the trees. She splashes over the mud and across the creek calling for him, but the big, dopey golden retriever doesn’t come. She has never been in this part of the forest before and worries about getting lost. Then she hears singing. Singing out here? She follows the sound and finds her dog making friends with a woman people call The Witch.

Thus begins Between the Bridges, the newest book in my Up Beaver Creek series featuring the adventures of PD Soares and her friends. They went through so much in the last two books. What else could possibly happen? Well, it’s early 2020, the beginning of a year none of us will soon forget.

After a fun year of writing, many (!) revisions, and a good going-over by my wonderful Beta readers, Between the Bridges is close to publication. On New Year’s Eve, I finished the final rewrite. Now, I’m in what I call “formatting hell,” worrying over spacing, page numbers, copyright notices, and such. My cover designer is working on the cover. I’m hoping to release the ebook on Feb. 1 and the paperback soon after. You will be able to order it not only from Amazon but from all your favorite booksellers through Ingram, the distributor used by most bookstores.

It has been 11 years since I started the first book, Up Beaver Creek, which I fully intended to be just one book, not a series. I spent years on that book, writing, rewriting, and trying to sell it to an agent or traditional publisher. Finally, I decided that since nonfiction was my main career focus, I would self-publish my fiction as the fun thing I did for myself. Readers liked the first book so much I published a sequel, Seal Rock Sound, in 2022.

Self-publishing these days does not mean paying a printer and storing hundreds of books at your house. Print-on-demand technology means we can write and format the books online and have copies printed when orders come in. We can use the power of social media, Goodreads, Amazon and many other online venues to sell our books.

Anyone can self-publish a book these days. Doing it through Amazon’s KDP program is free, and the royalties are higher than most traditional publishers offer. The trick is to publish a book that is just as good as those put out by traditional publishers. Books that are poorly written, edited, and designed make self-publishing look bad for all of us. Books that we don’t promote like crazy go nowhere.

Doing it yourself is not easy, but it does have advantages. You can write the book you want to write without worrying about whether it will sell. You can release the book on your own schedule. The average traditionally published book takes two years from acceptance to publication.

The publisher has the final say on editing and cover design. By self-publishing, you make all the creative decisions. You’re also responsible for the creative mistakes. That’s why revising, having other people edit and proofread, and hiring a skilled cover designer are so important. I have a whole talk I could give on that subject, but let’s move on.

PD and her friends are as real to me as anyone reading this blog. I have to keep reminding myself that I cannot drive up Beaver Creek Road (shown in the photo) and see the Rainbow House and Donovan’s cabin on the right because they aren’t really there. I realized with a shock last night that I’m older than every character in the book and would not fit into their world, not in reality. But in my imagination, I’m 43, just like PD, singing harmony with her and Janey.

I don’t know if I can let them go after this book. PD’s stories have been well-received, and I already have ideas for another sequel. It might be different, perhaps from another’s character’s point of view, but there will be troubles, there will be love, and there will be laughs.

As soon as Between the Bridges becomes available, I will share the cover and links for purchase. Stay tuned for news about launch events and readings. Meanwhile, I have to check the page numbers and margins again.

Thank you to Pat, Samantha, Bonnie, Nancy, Stacy, and Kathryn for your eagle-eyed examination of the Between the Bridges manuscript. I’d be lost without you.

Happy New Year! May God bless us all in 2024.

By clicking submit, you agree to share your email address with the site owner and Mailchimp to receive marketing, updates, and other emails from the site owner. Use the unsubscribe link in those emails to opt out at any time.

Processing…
Success! You're on the list.

When What to My Wondering Eyes Did Appear . . . Elk?

Street in the forest. Three elk in front of a tan house. Power pole, garbage carts.

The elk came back Monday night. The mail was late, it had been an overloaded day, and I was ready to crash for the night, so I wasn’t paying attention when I walked out the front door and down the driveway—until I heard the pounding of hooves on the pavement as a herd of elk ran right past me. If I had been 30 seconds earlier, they might have run over me. Considering the big males weigh over a thousand pounds, that wouldn’t be good.

My God, they’re big up close. And yet, the presence of my small self sent them running into the vacant lot next door (the one where they tore down the trees last year and never built anything). The elk lined up and started strolling toward the property to the north.

Maybe they were reindeer. It was dark. If so, they forgot Santa and his sleigh. And Rudolph. Also, it was the wrong night.

When I got back into the house, my phone was ringing. My across-the-street the neighbor had seen them, too. As I settled in to talk to her, I noticed I had elk poo on my good shoes. Oh well. It’s still magical living in the coastal forest, where elk and other wild animals share the land. I can slip into my hot tub and enjoy the hot water, the neighbors’ Christmas lights, the stars, and the sounds of birds murmuring in their sleep.

Sometimes I think I hear my dog Annie circling the yard, but she’s watching the elk from heaven now. It has been a tough year and a wonderful one at the same time. No exotic travel, not enough time with family, but wonderful gatherings with friends to write, play music, or just talk. This year, I lost some people I loved, and I miss them. I had some medical mishaps I don’t want to discuss. Right now, I am dealing with the effects of treatment for pre-cancer lesions on my face. If you have wondered why I look like I’ve been in a fight lately, that’s why. The blisters and scabs are already beginning to heal. Wear your sunscreen, kids.

Workwise, I’m stunned to have four books in three different genres coming out in 2024. How do I promote that many books? I’m planning for one crazy year, followed by a chance to slooooow down. I have had more poems and essays accepted this year than ever before. I may have gotten something right. How do I find the time? No family, no other day job, and an obsessive need to keep busy. If you keep at anything, results will pile up.

I finished my reign as president of Oregon Poetry Association in October, but I just volunteered to help another writing-related organization. Do it while you can, I say.

I’m approaching seven hundred posts at this blog. Seven hundred! Many of the earlier posts appear in the Unleashed in Oregon book. A few people are asking for another collection of posts. Not this year. It’s all here at the blog for you to read whenever you want. I hope you find something that amuses, inspires or helps you in some way.

Merry Christmas! I’m going to say it because that’s what I celebrate. Whether or not you do, I hope you have a terrific new year. I pray that the wars end, the folks in Washington get their act together, and people everywhere treat each other with love.

The photo above was taken last spring. That’s my house behind them on the left. Watch out for flying elk. See you next year.

Sue

By clicking submit, you agree to share your email address with the site owner and Mailchimp to receive marketing, updates, and other emails from the site owner. Use the unsubscribe link in those emails to opt out at any time.

Processing…
Success! You're on the list.

Reach Out to an Elder Orphan This Holiday Season

Have you heard the term “elder orphans”? I am one. No husband, no children, no family nearby, living alone. Some elder orphans literally have no family, while others live far away or are estranged. Either way, they’re alone.

We are many. Don’t go feeling sorry for me. I do that well enough on my own. I do have wonderful people back in California and terrific friends right here on the Oregon coast. Not everyone is so lucky.

While the media makes it look like everybody celebrates the holidays with happy families or groups of friends, there are countless people who dread this time of year because they are alone. They may not have any invitations for Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner or anyone to invite to their own homes. They may not be able to travel. They may be unwell. And guess what, they might not get any Christmas presents. It’s not a matter of finances; it’s a matter of not having people they can claim as their own.

Being alone is not always horrible. My neighbor said she had a delightful Thanksgiving. She read, puttered in the garden, smoked some pot, and ate a delicious all-natural vegetarian meal. She was content with the company of her cats.

I was supposed to go to California to be with family, but due to some health crises down there, I wound up staying home. When a friend from church issued an invitation for any strays to come to her house, I jumped on it, and we had a good time. Thank you, #Phyllis O’Boyle. As it turned out, three different sets of friends invited me to Thanksgiving dinner, and I already have plans for Christmas. I am grateful. I do not do well alone on the holidays. I start feeling abandoned and spend a lot of time crying.

If I chose to be alone, that would be a different story. One of my favorite Thanksgiving memories is the time I stayed home sick with a cold. I ate burritos and watched movies by myself while my husband and stepson spent the day with the in-laws. It’s a question of attitude. I could see myself as sad and lonely, or I could see myself as free to do whatever I want.

I have talked to a surprising number of people who have no one to be with on the holidays. Some of them are outgoing people I would never expect to be alone. But they are.

We don’t always speak up. It’s as if we’re embarrassed to have ended up without people. As in the game of musical chairs, we wound up without a chair when the music stopped.

When you have a family, you automatically know you’ll be spending the holidays with them if at all possible. It may not be as happy as the TV commercials imply, but you know who will be there. You know who will give you presents and who you will give them to. You know who likes turkey breasts and who likes the rear end. You carry out the same traditions year after year. I treasure the memories of my childhood Christmases, which were always at my parents’ house, with both sets of grandparents attending, along with aunts, uncles and cousins. Most of those people are gone now.

If someone in your life does not seem to have family nearby, ask if they have plans. Maybe bring them an inexpensive gift. Two years in a row, I received gifts from a secret Santa, which I think was the Newport senior center. I was so touched because I had nothing else under my tree. Think about that. If you have people, reach out to those who might not. If you are the one who is alone, start talking to people. Make a plan.

Did you know that 27 percent of American homes are occupied by only one person—and a large percentage of those people are seniors? People assume everyone has someone, and if they don’t, they put the burden on the lonely one to reach out. Don’t do that. You be the one. Say hello. Check on them. Be a friend.

Do you find yourself alone on the holidays? How do you handle it?

Do you know someone who might be alone? How might you help them?

I look forward to your comments.

P.S. If you are alone, consider joining the Elder Orphans group on Facebook. It really helps.

Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

By clicking submit, you agree to share your email address with the site owner and Mailchimp to receive marketing, updates, and other emails from the site owner. Use the unsubscribe link in those emails to opt out at any time.

Processing…
Success! You're on the list.

No Phone??? Let Me Talk to the Manager

Cell phone sits on green table, some green leaves in right foreground. On the screen, it says, "HELLO."

It was getting dark. I was alone in an unfamiliar section of Portland overlooking the Willamette River. This was the only restaurant within walking distance of my hotel. I skirted the barefoot young man in rags talking to himself and walked into this Asian fusion place, looking forward to a good meal after a long day at the Portland Book Festival.

High ceilings, mirrored columns, young servers in black, large parties of young people, a computer tablet at the entrance to sign in. I started the process. How many in your party? One. Are you willing to share a table? No. Please enter your phone number and we will text you when a table is ready. Uh-oh.

My phone was charging back in my hotel room. I flagged down a worker. “I don’t have my phone.”

She looked at me like I was from another planet. When she discovered I was also a party of one, she had to consult her boss on how to handle this anomaly. Ultimately, I had to sign in on the tablet, including my phone number.

“I don’t have my phone,” I repeated.

“We’ll work something out,” she said, a little flustered.

I waited on a bench next to two young women who were both staring at their phones. Customers came and went, most of them less than half my age. I started to wonder if I should have stayed at the hotel and eaten microwaved pasta in my room.

Finally, the young woman escorted me to a table. It was a four-top with a great view of the river, the Hawthorne Bridge, and OMSI, the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry. I would have taken pictures, but I didn’t have my phone.

I was the only person in the place occupying a table by myself. I was the only person of grandparent age not eating with children and grandchildren. I was the only person without a phone.

For the record, I would have been happy to share a table with someone close to my age who would actually talk to me, not talk around me to their friends or stare at their phone the whole time.

“Have you eaten here before?” the girl asked. No. She explained that I needed to click on the QR code on this slip of paper for the menu and then order with my phone.

“I don’t have my phone.”

Again, she was flustered. She went off somewhere and found an old-school printed menu. “It’s not up to date,” she warned, leaving me a checklist to mark what I wanted.

I checked a few items, not sure what I’d be getting, a young man whisked it away, and eventually I was served salad greens, won-tons, and beef-stuffed “pancakes.” It was all delicious. I watched the busy staff serving loud, happy parties who were laughing, talking, and sharing food. Outside, white clouds in the blue sky turned pink and then gray, and darkness fell. Inside, I stuffed myself with won-tons dipped in chili sauce and pondered the new world.

When I got back to my room, I had a text message: Your table is ready.

Everything is online these days. I bought my ticket for the festival, reserved my room, and set up my Uber rides online. I listened to music in my car by connecting my phone with the car audio system. I checked the time, checked the schedule, and ordered books by featured authors on my phone.

I received a text with a photo from my brother on my phone and exchanged a long series of texts with a friend to arrange a lunch date.

The one thing I did not do was make or receive a voice call on my phone.

A mobile phone is essential these days. How dare I go walking without one?

The Pew Research Center says 97 percent of Americans own a cell phone. Imagine how much money is being spent for all of those phones and all of those service plans. Not everyone can afford it, but the expectation is that you will have a smartphone, it will have all the apps, and you will know how to use them.

I can imagine what my father would say if he were to come upon this restaurant. Forget the fact that he would never eat Asian food. When asked to check in on a tablet and give his cell phone number, his response would be something like “Are you kidding! I’m not giving them my %$$#@# telephone number.” Followed by, “Whaddya mean there’s no menus? To hell with this place!”

But Dad, who died in 2019, was born 101 years ago, when all you could do on a phone was talk to people–if you were one of the few families lucky enough to have a telephone at all.  

To the restaurant’s credit, the food was wonderful, and at least four workers thanked me and wished me a good evening on my way out. I would go there again, with my phone and with other people. I’m proud that I did not hide in my room eating microwaved pasta. I braved this strange new world all by myself and survived.

Have you found yourself in situations where not having a mobile phone with you has been a problem? Tell us about it in the comments.

Photo by Polina Zimmerman on Pexels.com

By clicking submit, you agree to share your email address with the site owner and Mailchimp to receive marketing, updates, and other emails from the site owner. Use the unsubscribe link in those emails to opt out at any time.

Processing…
Success! You're on the list.