tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34553992804153043442024-02-02T16:37:13.261-08:00Duffy Barkley's "Mom"I am Dixie Dawn Miller Goode. My favorite protagonist is a young boy with Cerebral Palsy. "Duffy Barkley walks on four legs," the kids tease, because he uses crutches. There are many things Duffy has to work extra hard to accomplish, but no-one can tell him "No!"
This Blog has things that somehow tie into my Duffy Barkley books, or into my writing, including the time twisted, Double Time: On The Oregon Trail and my various kids picture books. echohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05161069949227164302noreply@blogger.comBlogger157125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3455399280415304344.post-58022156692116619552021-10-24T19:56:00.000-07:002021-10-24T19:56:37.339-07:00I Love The Christmas Pig<p> A Book Review</p><p><br /></p><p>The Christmas Pig</p><p>By JK Rowling</p><p>Illustrated by Jim Field</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-tADTa-keMXYIqq3CPHX_iur2rojqpUNakGarB8Yu7wbhi1H8Cdux53b6xR3USykWOilO-FNverfbC22qZmPwC4RdmsJuhNGDh3PnfX-2c43Pa0scUj1iXq2lz3Ff6gYJ8MjDQ45o1iY/s2048/E2A1C6F4-BC71-4459-825C-5880A465A652.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-tADTa-keMXYIqq3CPHX_iur2rojqpUNakGarB8Yu7wbhi1H8Cdux53b6xR3USykWOilO-FNverfbC22qZmPwC4RdmsJuhNGDh3PnfX-2c43Pa0scUj1iXq2lz3Ff6gYJ8MjDQ45o1iY/s320/E2A1C6F4-BC71-4459-825C-5880A465A652.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH7F4CTnJVFX908RSN9VlqE_ICVUfKy4CuwXhnXbIQAFNgCC8X6tfKSB2BH8vwCvtRvt3Y_stSvgpYLL5dIocVP17hYD0_hLKk4Fe2f5ysWembNPdoFmX3WmeKSmlkku7Kwg98qYl9qmI/s2048/19024679-17FC-42CD-BEBC-914884B60376.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH7F4CTnJVFX908RSN9VlqE_ICVUfKy4CuwXhnXbIQAFNgCC8X6tfKSB2BH8vwCvtRvt3Y_stSvgpYLL5dIocVP17hYD0_hLKk4Fe2f5ysWembNPdoFmX3WmeKSmlkku7Kwg98qYl9qmI/s320/19024679-17FC-42CD-BEBC-914884B60376.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">When I was a child, I had a steadfast friend in the stuffed chimpanzee which once graced my mom’s college bedroom. I renamed it Judy after the chimpanzee in a tv show called Daktari, and soon I could not be separated from my friend. I played with her and cried with her and when nothing else could help, her hugs always did. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My parents quickly became expert at the game of hide and seek required to discover the many places our adventures deposited my Judy. I never remembered by bedtime where she had been snuggled last, but I knew I’d be eaten by the monster in the closet if she wasn’t holding my hand as I slept. Our milk was delivered to an insulated silver box on the front porch and Judy thought it was the perfect place to catch a nap.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">“Der Pig, DP,” is so much like my old friend. And my friend, Judy now wears her Harry Potter Gryffindor robes quite proudly in spite of controversy surrounding JK Rowling. I have to say, I love Hogwarts and the world of magic as much as I loved Judy. I don’t agree with Rowling’s stand on the issues of gender identity, but I still love the world she created and where I spent so many hours with my two sons as we read all the books and saw all the movies together. Now my granddaughter is starting to find her way to identifying with the book loving Hermione and I will be happy to watch that journey wether or not she later decides that she isn’t as feminine as the winter ball version, but perhaps finds herself in one of the other shades of the gender rainbow. I have so many friends who felt hurt and betrayed byJK Rowling’s words that I have to acknowledge that here. The more they loved Harry Potter and found themselves in Hogwarts, the more her failure to defend them hurt. I see them, and have tried separating that betrayal from the stories and movies she created. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">From the moment I finished reading a Harry Potter story, I longed for the next, and once there were no nexts arriving, I tried the other books written by this author, but while they were well written, they were not magic. I never wanted to reread one. I liked the characters but forgot them once I closed the book. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">But in the Christmas Pig I found it again; The magical stuffie that could be so filled with love and tears and secrets that it was alive, The characters who stayed with me and had to be shared with my sons and the grandkids, and the book that begs to be reread again - out loud, with friends and family. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Jack and Der Pig share so much love that it is heartbreaking tragedy when they are separated and only a night of miracles, and sacrifice and hope can turn that tragedy into something that makes everything better. </div><br /><p></p>echohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05161069949227164302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3455399280415304344.post-87327704526361676992021-08-19T11:28:00.012-07:002021-08-22T10:08:28.609-07:00When I am Fading as Fast as Summer<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9icFMiud_EJ0huYpKNois3Ja6ZT2GdC2Ltm3KFqcwyORx_EXQolu3d26CQASvTf3c-aI7CdDQIG0p5e8FIf7zwkQCbOvrs3kxFNVteb5lZRmRmoNpIiyrqQjZXthwB43k6T-NUPMnlko/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1525" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9icFMiud_EJ0huYpKNois3Ja6ZT2GdC2Ltm3KFqcwyORx_EXQolu3d26CQASvTf3c-aI7CdDQIG0p5e8FIf7zwkQCbOvrs3kxFNVteb5lZRmRmoNpIiyrqQjZXthwB43k6T-NUPMnlko/" width="179" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /> Today it is still summer, but school has begun in many places, and will in 11 days here. <p></p><p><br /></p><p>I am as always, still reluctant to give up the warmth and water and grandchildren time that is summer to me. I usually opt in for parades, river time and then give myself time to write. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMQlILOmIkA0VaQcG7rD32FDEqCEbUEI4z4WL7XGpB1jlE4uW8xAMB0CcJtPBEecYwGcZtRnV_bklWFN13bfHblIDrnchhFKSY_8kUwf_Ewc8XeFnYTrEsy9K4h7oTZrRdT3yin37HHnQ/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMQlILOmIkA0VaQcG7rD32FDEqCEbUEI4z4WL7XGpB1jlE4uW8xAMB0CcJtPBEecYwGcZtRnV_bklWFN13bfHblIDrnchhFKSY_8kUwf_Ewc8XeFnYTrEsy9K4h7oTZrRdT3yin37HHnQ/" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p>But I am also still sick, so summer has also been more time at home, more time in bed, more time getting ready and then not going, or leaving early. Even when grandchildren are involved </p><p><br /></p><p>I am never one to say no to a child's birthday party, but I stayed home from my granddaughter's third birthday party. Even now the tears spring into my eyes at the thought. I got up and just showering and getting dressed took all my energy for the day. I remembered 15 months ago, at the same place, and realized that that time I couldn't sit on the ground, so I brought a camp chair. Now I would fall sitting down and not be able to get out of the camp chair. Even my dining room chair is lifted now and my wingback chair, and a love seat and the bed. My home accommodations allow me to pretend to be OK, but a lakeside birthday doesn't.</p><p><br /></p><p>Then last night I took the 7 yo to swimming lessons, and then climbed in the pool to join her for family swim, but my back locked up from cold, even though it actually was pretty warm in the water and after 45 minutes of trying to look ok, I got out and left her with her Dad and Grandpa while I turned on the heated seat in my van.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGuIfqUClusEH9mluQT_64jYO2zMMRtfru_xAQomAHq3wR4a8QoV2ABWgAKDkUJacUiO_xL9W1nZLl-DKozB9QWKi7Cd6XpGnt8LWI49kgHjx5I3yJcdNflNNfDU4RYuz9eO5iWOtPrHw/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGuIfqUClusEH9mluQT_64jYO2zMMRtfru_xAQomAHq3wR4a8QoV2ABWgAKDkUJacUiO_xL9W1nZLl-DKozB9QWKi7Cd6XpGnt8LWI49kgHjx5I3yJcdNflNNfDU4RYuz9eO5iWOtPrHw/" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>I have been left at a blank wall by my personal care physician and my neurologist, and everytime I think of the argument I need to have with them, and I sit at the computer to write a letter, I fade out and can't think.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNeQDczjQfcwFTKxxIAbB4xl0w1OPF7YcOfT9jeUj999vqmlBxfQcNgWQfiTlyjs8lPtPN3sfC053M3PVUAevtINm7o1VZOqmU1Vq_-BXGXqaJM-6EQ74moMXf0oVcrEZK-qxRsVG1V9Q/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1096" data-original-width="822" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNeQDczjQfcwFTKxxIAbB4xl0w1OPF7YcOfT9jeUj999vqmlBxfQcNgWQfiTlyjs8lPtPN3sfC053M3PVUAevtINm7o1VZOqmU1Vq_-BXGXqaJM-6EQ74moMXf0oVcrEZK-qxRsVG1V9Q/" width="180" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p>I don't know what to do or who to see and all the news makes going to medical places seem foolish at best, but this life is only a half life and I need to keep pushing. The two labels that seem to match most of my symptoms are Parkinson's Disease, and a fairly innocuous sounding, but horrible "Stiff Person Syndrome." If you have personal experience with either, I am sorry. </p>echohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05161069949227164302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3455399280415304344.post-24639876881936564512020-02-24T13:50:00.005-08:002020-02-24T13:50:54.810-08:00I have lived a Thousand Lives<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR1-QU4Ev_kbDu0g_Ydm6x3_jFKyfRGy1-nvbuApzlRx31MIjVj-iWwrbBNtCBppcesYwGhZzB80y129udx_vEv_nnfP5D4wpv7naMVM86HvWV34EafZEAnyYAH979lN2Ognpp3sW4118/s1600/IMG_0856.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1254" data-original-width="1600" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR1-QU4Ev_kbDu0g_Ydm6x3_jFKyfRGy1-nvbuApzlRx31MIjVj-iWwrbBNtCBppcesYwGhZzB80y129udx_vEv_nnfP5D4wpv7naMVM86HvWV34EafZEAnyYAH979lN2Ognpp3sW4118/s320/IMG_0856.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_FA2n85862LZ7vdsOTmhmfWH5McZfvtslzklW1Y1yZeu9gcM2h4uMW82uP85U7iD4EYrzumoYC-KVJNNCU8mNLsHFK2AZ1iQv3i1DOkXOTAyTt215YLdR0WHZ-kAAolbjQ0cAAfQZKAQ/s1600/a+1000+lives+B%2526W.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1337" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_FA2n85862LZ7vdsOTmhmfWH5McZfvtslzklW1Y1yZeu9gcM2h4uMW82uP85U7iD4EYrzumoYC-KVJNNCU8mNLsHFK2AZ1iQv3i1DOkXOTAyTt215YLdR0WHZ-kAAolbjQ0cAAfQZKAQ/s320/a+1000+lives+B%2526W.jpg" width="267" /></a>It's possible that my love of <u>Chicken Little</u> was the impetus behind my Mom's decision to sign me up for the Dr. Seuss book of the month club when I was a child. I suspect that she was beyond tired of my unquenchable first for another adventure where the sky was falling on the foul friends.<br />
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It wasn't really the <u>Cat in The Hat</u> and other Dr. Seuss books which made me anticipate the monthly book in the mail, but rather the books by other authors which were often featured. <u>Look Out for Pirates </u>became my Favorite, and later my sons and students had to hear it so many times that my copy fell apart, I laminated the crumbling pages and sewed them back together.<br />
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I still 52 years later, remember the delight of <u>Fish Out of Water</u>, and <u>Robert the Rose Horse</u> and <u>Sam and the Firefly</u> and<u> Little Black, A Pony</u> and <u>A Fly Went By</u> and . . . Endless hours of reading and rereading, first with mom, then to myself, then to my students and my sons and now to the grandchildren.<br />
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From there, First grade became a marvel of weirdness and wonder. We learned in a phonetic program called ITA, that book was spelled "bwk" and school was 'skwl" and Oh, how I argued with the teacher. But there were a plethora of wondrous tales all translated into that muddle, <u>Clifford the Big Red Dog</u>, <u>Danny and the Dinosaur</u>, and many adventures with <u>Curious George</u> and the Man in the Yellow Hat, were waiting for me. Life was fun, but life as a reader was more than one life, it was an endless dance from one life to another.<br />
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Scholastic book clubs became my reward for going to school. I loved books but hated school. I was horrible at social skills and soon my main, often only friends, were between the covers of scholastic readers. I could pretend not to see the other kids avoiding or mocking me, if my nose was buried in a book.<br />
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As I moved on from <u>Magic Elizabeth</u> and <u>The Ghost of Dibble Hollow</u>, to <u>Nancy Drew</u> and <u>Trixie Belden</u>, and then to<u> Jaws</u> and <u>Flowers in the Attic</u>, I began to tell myself stories, and share them with other children and then to write them down. Deciding to teach Creative writing and Literature seemed a natural progression, but after Student Teaching, I kept finding myself teaching Severely Handicapped students instead, and reading the old childhood favorites to them.<br />
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Then I adopted a son and gave birth to a second son, and began writing seriously. My Dad who also loved books, got esophageal cancer, and in a heart wrenching time, one of the most heartbreaking conversations was when he sighed and looked at his "to be read stack" and said, "I guess I've read my last book."<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMY8G6FtzOXi90K98z9brxcrnXorL7b2YZcHCSg-b6qFpBAI9J_bNk6TnDrCwk_qmG_8cWcO80B9wDdovvfmea3VQ67jOJfEhd_JWSpxi5617pb04-pIfFjEIAG-Xtlop7acLVPRaIEMg/s1600/seven+books.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1248" data-original-width="942" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMY8G6FtzOXi90K98z9brxcrnXorL7b2YZcHCSg-b6qFpBAI9J_bNk6TnDrCwk_qmG_8cWcO80B9wDdovvfmea3VQ67jOJfEhd_JWSpxi5617pb04-pIfFjEIAG-Xtlop7acLVPRaIEMg/s320/seven+books.jpg" width="241" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4su37_kWV1EvMFHmRMzMX1hnTQUhyIN0FDxhIHyfLDDHeZj90NIUhx7oZSn3sfEZVlnBUewaqNUg4VuOnFpEdqYQVFTBgEICmCNO86sQbo0J6a3Ejtgt3smS8_CLGitRDsAvPXQ00w6U/s1600/311ujis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="160" data-original-width="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4su37_kWV1EvMFHmRMzMX1hnTQUhyIN0FDxhIHyfLDDHeZj90NIUhx7oZSn3sfEZVlnBUewaqNUg4VuOnFpEdqYQVFTBgEICmCNO86sQbo0J6a3Ejtgt3smS8_CLGitRDsAvPXQ00w6U/s1600/311ujis.jpg" /></a>I'm getting to that point myself and am trying to reverse it. I don't read unless its picture books to the grandkids, or facebook posts. My attention wanders, I rarely even write comments on the photographs I post or about the ones my friends post. I tell myself I'm not dying but often I don't believe me. I have seen so many Doctors and still am working on a diagnosis which looks more and more likely to be Parkinson's Disease.<br />
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But if I'm wrong, and I am dying, I am so grateful for the gift that I have been given of living in a time and place where books are abundant and girls are expected to learn to read. There is only one gift I've cherished more, and those are the people who have shared the best story time snuggles with me.<br />
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echohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05161069949227164302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3455399280415304344.post-79497803694355076742019-08-02T16:16:00.001-07:002020-02-23T10:26:49.312-08:00When Things Don't Matter Which Things Still Do?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When things don't matter, and the only things that matter aren't things, you start looking around at the items you worked so hard to accumulate and realize that they could all be threatened by fire and flood, and you'd grab the people in your life snd gladly let the rest of it vanish in smoke and water.<br />
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Then your mind stumbles on that one, old ragged item that you would cry to lose, and if the people were safe, you would actually snatch up and carry away with you. In my case, it would be a threadbare, faded, stuffed chimpanzee that went from my mom's college dorm room, to my childhood bedroom, and still sits on my shelf, still stained with my tears when first grade proved a scary unfriendly place, and with her ear still holding my whispered hopes the first night I kissed the man I've now been married to for 35 years.<br />
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That makes me think of the other thing that would matter. They aren't the things that can be bought for money, of course not, those are insured and a trip to the market takes care of the issue. The things that matter are those that are one of a kind, hand made, shared with loved ones, passed down through generations. The stories we hear from Grandparent laps to grandchildren ears. each generation gently shaping and adding their own features to a whole that still remains recognizable.<br />
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following the youtube video my granddaughter and I drew Cinderella, and hers became a Cinderkitty so we laughed and created memories along with the paper pictures</div>
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We went to story time and our octopus shared the same beginning but quickly became our own, and maybe in the future, if climate change allows a future, her grandchild might make an octopus and just maybe they won't be extinct. People matter, the humanities that allow us to choose kindness matter, the boredom we experience when we unplug allow us to de-tox from the political trash heap and find the spark of beauty we carry. "We are humankind, and we can choose to be both."</div>
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<br />echohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05161069949227164302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3455399280415304344.post-2208207528271006772019-07-19T11:58:00.001-07:002019-07-19T11:58:15.789-07:00Camping in Nano Land again<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At Splash, Springfield</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Garden Pirates</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">painting Desert Sunrise</td></tr>
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Writing has been difficult for me. Once upon a time it took me ten years to finish a novel, so the fact that I'm in another low energy slump isn't surprising. I love telling stories to kids, and exploring them in my own mind, but the translating to a finished novel is WORK.<br />
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NaNoWriMo with its rigid timeline, helped me publish four novels but the last three Novembers have each been interrupted by the death of a parent or my spouse's parent, and writing ceased.<br />
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Recently I gave myself permission to doodle in paint. Its something I never do, because I know I can paint well, not the best but far from the worst, but I chose other activities to make my life work and my dedicating 20 or more hours per painting was over. Finally, I went to a painting party, a three hour limit, and a lot of that time spent visiting. I only went because my book club was all going, but I loved it. Lately I've been dreaming of compositions for more complex paintings, but Ive also been doing half hour paintings with my five year old granddaughter.<br />
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I decided, after several failed attempts on the same novel, that perhaps my writing needed similar permission to just be, casual, wandering, short stints at the keyboard. Camp Nano allows that flexibility and instead of a word count, I chose to aim for half an hour a day in July, writing mostly inspired by the objects I've carried with me through my life, in a jumble I've titled, "self-storage."<br />
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It's a simple, fun goal and still I've had to forgive myself some skip days. And it's working.<br />
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So I'm playing at writing, Playing at painting, and playing with Grandkids.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tumbling class</td></tr>
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I'm still dealing with my health, and no diagnosis, plus now high blood pressure, but Life is still good.<br />
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I hope you, too, are getting away from the news and making time for the activities that refresh you. If you have, I'd love to hear about it.echohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05161069949227164302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3455399280415304344.post-76471340515083802442019-03-27T11:19:00.001-07:002019-03-27T11:19:07.777-07:00I love being her Grandma.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There is this girl I love intensely. She calls me Grandma, and lately she gave me, what is undoubtedly the most wonderful compliment I've ever received. She was standing in font of the mirror and I was a couple rooms away, when she called to me, "Grandma, you know what I like about me?"</div>
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"I like everything about you. What do you like?"</div>
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"When I see me - It reminds me of you."</div>
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I choked up, tears instantly springing to my eyes. There is a lot of amazing beauty in my granddaughter, but there is also a lot of leftover doubt and self loathing in me from my early school days when I was the target of more bullying than I could easily recover from. </div>
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"I remind you, of you?" I questioned</div>
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"Yes, we are both Strawberry blondes, and we have the same freckles and the same pink in our skin, and we smile a lot."</div>
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She came around the corner then, and clambered up on my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck. I've never felt more blessed, or more loved as she nearly choked me with a hug and dropped a copy of "Chicka Chicka Boom Boom" into the chair next to us, "and we both love Daddy and Grandpa and BOOKS!" </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">searching for leprechaun Tracks</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. Paddy's world of beauty</td></tr>
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So Yeah, if the size of our smiles and what we love is her measuring stick, then being the same, is just perfect.echohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05161069949227164302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3455399280415304344.post-18897785464764446172019-01-23T09:40:00.000-08:002019-01-23T09:40:25.086-08:00Writing ???<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Are you still a writer when you aren't writing?<br />
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I see that question often in the writing groups where I hang out online, and I have to tell you, I am.<br />
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I may not be able to answer for everyone, but for me, eve when I'm not writing, I am. I'm listening, seeing, thinking, and stories are simmering in the subconscious mind. I'm a writer because everything translates itself into potential stories, everything connects until the universe is only one story and all those dots are only awaiting the lines to stretch between them and show everyone the big picture that was already there.<br />
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I'm a writer because I believe stories can generate what our world needs most, the empathy to know that under all the surface skin we see everyday, lies a strong skeleton we are all connected through, a river of red blood and hearts that beat separately yet in a tune so glorious we can't hear it and fail to love.<br />
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<br />echohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05161069949227164302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3455399280415304344.post-44963869825480636182018-11-05T09:25:00.006-08:002018-11-05T09:25:50.300-08:00How I've Lost the last Three NaNoWriMo's (But I'm not quitting)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Tonight <span style="font-size: large;">Priscilla June Slack Miller</span> passed away in Berryville, Virginia. She was a woman who lived life passionately and will leave behind a world better for having had her in it. I love you Mom. Rest In Peace. Her funeral will be in Cody as she joins her parents and Husband out in Riverside Cemetery. I will be going back to the service. Thank you for being my sounding board </div>
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I’m trying to write a novel in November for NaNoWriMo, and I’ve done it before fo<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;">ur times, but this one I’ve tried since 2013 and it keeps getting blasted by outside forces. My story and my Novembers are cursed, but the story is good and deserves a chance. November 8, 2016 my mother in law died and I ended up driving 3,000 miles round trip for her funeral. End of November 2017 my Father-in-Law got sick and died Dec. 4 and my family and I took Amtrak back for his Funeral and a Family Christmas. So yesterday I dove into the story again, refreshing some research and writing 2,200 words. And my brother sent me the message that my Mom is comatose in hospice in Virginia. I’m staying home on November 16 when my husband leaves for two weeks in Europe. I know traveling has been really contributing to my muscle and joint deterioration that hasn’t quite gotten a diagnosis yet but the rheumatologist is at least eliminating some options. Not Lupus, probably not RA but maybe, IBM disease, a type of muscular dystrophy. But when my brother says, can you come to mom’s funeral in Wyoming, I just can’t explain that another 3,000 mile round trip will mean more stiffness and pain and lost abilities. He has been mom’s caretaker, and out brother with Down’s syndromes caretaker for five years now and fully deserves a hero award.</span></div>
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<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(29, 33, 41); color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(29, 33, 41);">It’s as good of a family relationship as </span></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, .SFNSText-Regular, sans-serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(29, 33, 41);">things</span></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(29, 33, 41);"> can be with three thousand miles between us. I love them all a bunch. My family all lived in Wyoming since my great grandparents moved there in the 1890's but my husband and I moved to Northern CA thirty years ago, my brother moved to Virginia about ten years ago, and when my Mom star</span></span><span style="caret-color: rgb(29, 33, 41); color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">ted developing Alzheimer’s in 2012 he moved her and our brother with Down’s syndrome out there. I’ve been there to visit but he has done all the heavy lifting, so to speak. Now he wants a funeral and to take her back to Wyoming. I’m glad to try to do things his way as much as I physically can, because he <span style="font-size: large;">really has been</span> our hero through this all.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(29, 33, 41); color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So I am going to go to Wyoming for the funeral, and if I survive that, I'll do my mont of wild writing starting whenever I can. and this is what I posted about it on facebook when I thought that I'd be </span></span></span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(29, 33, 41);">writing now</span></span></div>
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For five years I have researched and written on and off on a Novel that ties together the story of two boys, each living in the months leading up to a volcanic eruption but 1901 years apart. I've researched and researched some more, plotted out each boys story, along with their younger brothers and friends. What I have written is the beginning and end with a few scenes in the middle, but each time I try to write more, I get distracted. It's harder to write historical fiction<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;"> than fantasy for me. So many little details to question, and in five years, the Pompeii history keeps changing as archaeologists discover new things and alter theories. A question of what I need now makes me realize I just need to flesh out the boys daily lives, similarities and differences, but show them clear enough that the readers care about how they end up since from the beginning the reader will know that bot Mt. St. Helens and Mt. Vesuvius erupted, eve though only one boy in my book knows and only about Mt. V.</span></div>
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So here is a thing you might be able to help with, if you lived through the 79-80 school year, and remember things 15 (main Character) or 10 (Younger brother) year old boys would have been into, and not sex or drugs because the readers I'm aiming at are 5th grade on up a bit, tell me ideas, especially in the Portland, Oregon area. </div>
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Wish me luck this <a class="_58cn" data-ft="{"type":104,"tn":"*N"}" href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/nationalnovelwritingmonth?source=feed_text" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;"><span class="_5afx" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; unicode-bidi: isolate;"><span aria-label="hashtag" class="_58cl _5afz" style="font-family: inherit; unicode-bidi: isolate;">#</span><span class="_58cm" style="font-family: inherit;">NationalNovelWritingMonth</span></span></a> <a class="_58cn" data-ft="{"type":104,"tn":"*N"}" href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/nanowrimo?source=feed_text" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;"><span class="_5afx" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; unicode-bidi: isolate;"><span aria-label="hashtag" class="_58cl _5afz" style="font-family: inherit; unicode-bidi: isolate;">#</span><span class="_58cm" style="font-family: inherit;">NaNoWriMo</span></span></a></div>
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echohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05161069949227164302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3455399280415304344.post-62504318838178687802018-07-30T12:37:00.000-07:002018-07-30T12:37:31.043-07:00Me or Books?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Both Please!</div>
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"Grandma, what do you love the most, Me or books?"<br />
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Well the answer was easy, but the fact that she knows books are one of the major contenders for my heart is no surprise.<br />
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"I love you most of all. I love sharing books with you because the stories matter, but we could share stories every day and never open a book or turn on a screen."<br />
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"We Could?"<br />
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Of course we could. We do. When you tell me about how you are going to work every job when you grow up, and be a pirate and then an astronaut and then teach and then work at Mcdonalds"s those are stories we enjoy right now, long before they come true. And when I tell you about when I was little, or about your Dad as a baby, those are still stories that help you connect to your place in our family.<br />
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"I love being in our family."<br />
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Me too Sugar girl, more than ever now.<br />
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<br />echohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05161069949227164302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3455399280415304344.post-7901175375985608562018-07-05T19:10:00.000-07:002018-07-08T14:08:05.040-07:00Look up and be dazzled<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiieNiY17YplPxhLFpTKBrOASztJWu_kI21-f-keaE2Lv_AAMpo3APRRJaFU9m2HFxI5WqCdiq0s_G2k0AwfFATY_wFGz2tpp0uI0Oh5q3_3plE7TPq7DiGh3dXDBLkPhh2DiZ9IJ6riVM/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1477f.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1232" data-original-width="1106" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiieNiY17YplPxhLFpTKBrOASztJWu_kI21-f-keaE2Lv_AAMpo3APRRJaFU9m2HFxI5WqCdiq0s_G2k0AwfFATY_wFGz2tpp0uI0Oh5q3_3plE7TPq7DiGh3dXDBLkPhh2DiZ9IJ6riVM/s320/fullsizeoutput_1477f.jpeg" width="287" /></a>The fires in California and Oregon have been hungry, violent beasts and I don’t want to see another home, be it human dwelling or wild forest, lost.<br />
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I hear the calls demanding sanity and a ban on all fireworks and my heart breaks.<br />
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I love fireworks.<br />
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The United States of America isn’t very “United” at all right now and that breaks my heart too. I looks at people I’ve always known as loving, generous, wonderful human beings and I see them ready to accept the most inhuman things because ??? I’m not sure why, but it keeps me from being able to see them the same way again. And again my heart breaks. It’s like I can suddenly understand the brother against brother beliefs that made the civil war possible. And I don’t like knowing that lurks under our surface still.<br />
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Then I see the people explaining that the loud fireworks scare their animals, and I know it’s true. I hear the survivors of war zones explaining about their stress and panic and PTSD and I can only imagine how hard that is. I’ve never had to prove I could survive something like that.<br />
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I feel for them, and yet I love fireworks. Let me tell you why.<br />
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When I was a child, visiting relatives back in Illinois and Pennsylvania, I loved their big front porches with gliders, rockers, swings or davenports. I loved the neighbors walking by and on seeing someone sitting out there, escaping the swelter of un-air-conditioned homes, stepping up and taking their own seat, to sip lemonade or iced tea and sit a spell. Chatting over big news and random thoughts was a given.<br />
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Living in my hometown, there were few porches, but the tradition of “yard-saling” created a similar experience. The random person wandering through, conversations taking a friendly turn about the town as connections were explored, “oh, right, I went to school there too.” As a cook book with both families recipes turns up in a dusty stack. And, “I remember playing with one of these.” As an old toy was bartered over.<br />
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Fireworks displays are like that, on a much larger scale. Political, racial, religious differences are forgotten, and faces turn skyward in anticipation as the sunset grows dim. Wandering around through throngs of locals and tourists alike, dipping in and out of pools of conversation and music ranging from Johnny Cash to Kendrick Lamar, one follows the connections and topics of surprising friendliness that stops and becomes breathless “ooh and Ah” as the sky ignites. Having never lived through a battle zone, most of us may owe our freedom to soldiers, but find only memories and hopes of friends and family stretching back and forth through generations.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCZToVZayeYf141FltRS62s9-OIPDaqlp8teo3J-BSBQAM5nPMdEcUV4IEdIQUX1LmtIRQM1Thd1i52tGddb8CrlR20SYODCUqmf0p9o-0-dRHCtIXmJKkQeci12Qp4B5pbs9l_rl0ecQ/s1600/fullsizeoutput_14782.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1134" data-original-width="1600" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCZToVZayeYf141FltRS62s9-OIPDaqlp8teo3J-BSBQAM5nPMdEcUV4IEdIQUX1LmtIRQM1Thd1i52tGddb8CrlR20SYODCUqmf0p9o-0-dRHCtIXmJKkQeci12Qp4B5pbs9l_rl0ecQ/s320/fullsizeoutput_14782.jpeg" width="320" /></a>In the heat of the 4th we leave our homes for parades and bbqs and fireworks and share traditions with strangers who share the same traditions from “Sea to Shining Sea” in a way we don’t for the winter holidays when we blanket our families indoors and shut out the cold.<br />
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I am sorry, for the frightened pets and people, and I understand the need to be carefully prepared for fire risks, but I hope the right to celebrate together, with big, awe inspiring, shut my mouth wide open and make me forget my cell phone delight, shall never vanish from this land that I love, warts and all.<br />
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echohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05161069949227164302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3455399280415304344.post-15039896962629165662018-05-27T19:58:00.000-07:002018-05-27T19:58:17.997-07:00summer goals<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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People can debate back and forth forever on writer’s block and if it is real, or how to cure it. One group of writers insists that if writing is approached like a job, and one writes every day, even if what they produce is garbage, that that “Shitty first draft” is infinitely better than having produced nothing. At least a bad draft can be improved on and polished. But even polished and fossilized shit is still just shit at the core is the counter argument.<br />
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I’m not sure it matters when after months of not writing, I have nothing but a lot of Facebook posts, and if I could have pushed through and written three books in that time is no longer relevant. I didn’t.<br />
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What might matter is the future. A school year is ending and the greater freedom of summer beckons with possibility. This year my husband is retiring as a music teacher after 29 years, and transferring to a year round, General ed. teacher at a huge penitentiary. So no family summer vacation plans. If I do as I hope to, I will discover if I am capable still of the drive needed to finish a novel. Yes, I’ve done it four times before, but this one is its own beast. Im not sure yet that I can tame it into submission while spending time digging out twenty years of clutter from the unused rooms of my house to accommodate play space for grandkids, and also playing with those grand grandkids. </div>
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I just hope that when August comes, and a new granddaughter along with it, that I have figured out the many aches and pains of my rheumatoid arthritis and found a happy medium where I can be productive as a writer, and involved as a grandmother. </div>
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WISH ME LUCK</div>
<br />echohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05161069949227164302noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3455399280415304344.post-64512355776572726022018-02-07T09:42:00.000-08:002018-02-07T09:42:16.217-08:00Being an Iron Writer<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyOex5If7YS5gPhyphenhyphenf-C1xF2jXy49ov0KGLnJMVP1zM-9I1FDeSVWQHI0qCcJK7cRzlWS-xsWrYBiRwUXqwJ6z29ahkzEnKlpP3LyTgfphVGxQliwrBtT8kyZzi1YR8iZsLnF3BsL_OurM/s1600/u4r47dwDRimm6nxrc4yFhQ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyOex5If7YS5gPhyphenhyphenf-C1xF2jXy49ov0KGLnJMVP1zM-9I1FDeSVWQHI0qCcJK7cRzlWS-xsWrYBiRwUXqwJ6z29ahkzEnKlpP3LyTgfphVGxQliwrBtT8kyZzi1YR8iZsLnF3BsL_OurM/s320/u4r47dwDRimm6nxrc4yFhQ.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">B Street Pier, Crescent City, CA</td></tr>
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Recently, I have been sick and sad and not writing, but a writer I met at the South Coast Writer's Conference a couple years ago, has started something he calls the Iron Writer's Challenge on facebook. It seems like it will work for me. The idea is that we are each responsible for setting our own goals in four different areas, and then asking for what we need to help us get to where we want to be. Its a long path, but we divide where we are going.<br />
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We are supposed to encourage each other in these four areas;<br />
1. Writing,<br />
2. Health,<br />
3. Relationships<br />
and<br />
4. Finances<br />
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I still most want to finish my Pompeii/Portland blended time tale so that is being broken down into steps, but I also need to find out why I'm aging prematurely and losing the ability to do some pretty basic movements. My family and friends and co-worker area is my strength, so I'm not changing that up, just celebrating. Financially, ugh!!!<br />
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So anyway, less facebook time, more talking to Dr.s and more research. If you are interested in joining us, and can't find the closed group on facebook, let me know. Dixie Dawn Miller Goodeechohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05161069949227164302noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3455399280415304344.post-16297590695591429562018-01-04T11:01:00.001-08:002018-01-04T11:01:37.975-08:00A Goode Man Remembered<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So instead of going to take the great granddaughter to spend Christmas with her Great Grandpa Harvey, we ended up traveling back for a family reunion/funeral/Christmas. It was one of the most perfectly, joy filled Celebrations of a wonderful life that I have ever attended. To Life, To Harvey Goode, to doing it even half as well as he did.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the five remaining siblings</td></tr>
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the following is the obituary my Sister-in-law wrote</div>
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originally published in Newcastle Wyoming's Newsletter Journal</div>
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<div style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 26px; margin-bottom: 26px;">
Harvey D. Goode, 88, of Newcastle, died Monday December 4, 2017 at Rapid City Regional Hospital.</div>
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He was born February 8, 1929 in Olney, Texas to Harvey C. and Effie (Powers) Goode Carter. He grew up in Texas City, Texas on the Gulf of Mexico helping his father shrimp. After his father’s death the family moved to Hitchcock, Texas where he graduated from high school. Harvey was co-captain of the football team. He worked as a shrimper and mechanic during that time. He served in the Army during the Korean Conflict, stationed in Germany.</div>
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Harvey D. “left nothing in Texas” and headed to the oil fields of Wyoming. He met Mimi Ward, the cutest soda jerk at the Newcastle Drug and the rest is history. They married in June of 1950. The couple raised six children and had been married for 66 years at the time of Mimi’s death.</div>
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Mr. Goode continued working in the patch for many years and drilled in many places. Harvey and Mimi were fond of telling stories of packing up the babies, tying the crib to the top of the car, and going to the next hole. They settled in Newcastle with Harvey working at Ward’s Lumber Company, Updike Brothers, and other companies. He owned and operated The Goode Standard Station on Main St. for several years. He retired from Western Productions.</div>
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Harvey and Mimi were active in Jaycees with Harvey serving as state president. They were members of bridge club and the Weston County Democrats. Harvey liked to fish and took his children on many trips to various creeks in the Black Hills. He enjoyed bowling in leagues, but his passion was cards. He loved most card games especially Texas Hold Em. He was a regular participant in Tuesday Prayer Meetings and played at the Old Style #10 until the very end.</div>
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Survivors include two daughters, Laura Goode of Lake Powell, Utah and Wendy Goode (John Rindler) of Laramie, Wyo.; three sons, Harvey H. (Francie) of Newcastle, Matthew (Andrea Tuijl) of Tucson, Ariz. and Gregory (Dixie) of Crescent City, Calif.; five grandchildren, Connor and Colton Rindler of Laramie, Austin and Emerson Goode of Crescent City, and Remi Goode-Tuijl of Tucson. Also four great-grandchildren. Harvey is preceded in death by his loving wife Mimi; his parents, and two sisters JoAnn Lee and Mary Grisham. Also preceding Harvey in death is his daughter April Goode (Vince Gillette) and a grandson Cody Raben.</div>
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There will be an interment of the cremains at Greenwood Cemetery at 1:00 p.m. on December 21, 2017. The family requests friends to gather for cake and coffee immediately afterwards at the Weston County Senior Center in the Michaels room.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">so close to meeting her great grandpa</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love you, Harvey</td></tr>
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<br />echohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05161069949227164302noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3455399280415304344.post-39261380453082261692017-12-13T09:11:00.002-08:002018-01-04T11:02:12.149-08:00A very Goode Man<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I bought Amtrak tickets to go spend a Christmas with my Father in Law, and take his great granddaughter to meet him at last, but last night my husband’s oldest brother was with him as he died from a sudden pneumonia only half an hour after we got the call that he had been taken to the hospital. At nearly 89, Harvey has had a really good life and will be missed so much. It’s definitely one of those, sadder for all the people who will miss him, than for him himself times. He announced last year on the day before Thanksgiving at his wife of 65 years funeral, “I’m only going to live one more year.” And he had a DNR on file and was ready as anyone ever can be. Still, I am grateful for every moment I was lucky enough to be part of his family. RIP Harvey Goode, Feb. 8, 1929 - Dec. 4, 2017</div>
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<br />echohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05161069949227164302noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3455399280415304344.post-71035801598894551722017-11-07T13:06:00.002-08:002017-11-07T13:06:49.905-08:00The love of Libraries<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Recently I saw a meme that read, "A truly great library contains something in it to offend everybody." There is truth is that of course, but I've also seen studies recently that say that while the Millenials are killing off several traditions that older folks thought would always be with us, they are also saving one that many people would have bet was on its way out. Libraries. </div>
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Libraries deserve to survive. They are not just book storage areas, but are community centers, media has made a home there in many forms, but most importantly to me, libraries are the place that still welcomes children.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chetco Library Storytime includes rounding up the rainbow balls</td></tr>
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We are lucky here to be in close proximity to two county libraries. One is the Chetco Community Library in Brookings, Oregon and the other is the Del Norte County Library in Crescent City, California.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Del Norte Storytime making Fall wreaths to match the book they just heard</td></tr>
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Stories are read, art is crafted, puzzles are shared, movie showed, characters like Belle pop in to visit, the turtle swims and a big Mummy case stands guard. Beginning computer skills are explored, more stories are read, music is danced to, slime is made, and preschoolers learn to share and listen and dream.<br />
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Many times I have seen High School kids participating in their own art, or doing their homework, while a homeless person gets warm and checks the computer for job postings. Young families give each other advice and share exhausted stories and the noise of the children is welcomed on certain days, while others are reserved for more quiet studies.<br />
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So this month, thinking of what I am thankful for, Libraries topped my list.<br />
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<br />echohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05161069949227164302noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3455399280415304344.post-55462434661358200132017-08-10T16:43:00.000-07:002017-08-10T16:43:01.001-07:00Summer Reading Program<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I should have been writing this summer, but the last book I wrote was still my Redwoods book. Instead of writing, I have been traveling From the OR/CA Border Pacific Coast, to visit family in DC and then we had company visit us here and spent a lot of days playing in the Redwoods, exploring the lighthouse and the sea animals.<br />
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Then I had to rip old, ugly carpeting out of my room, and while doing that, thin out the books crowding my bedroom library. The granddaughter thought I should keep all the books and just not put a bed back in. She assured me her dolly said the floor was comfortable to sleep on.<br />
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but her grandpa assured me a bed was necessary so she was out-voted.<br />
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I did keep the first books I ever wrote<br />
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and I took the granddaughter to arts and crafts at our local library to convince both of us that we don't have to OWN every book to be able to enjoy them.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the books I got rid of</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Virdi Goode reading picnic</td></tr>
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But of course I got new books. Three books by R. R. Virdi, with lots of super supernatural encounters, mystery, mayhem and adventure joined my own novels and picture books for a pleasant afternoon under the maple tree.</div>
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<br />echohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05161069949227164302noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3455399280415304344.post-44640088515492382142017-01-27T09:30:00.001-08:002017-01-27T09:30:33.802-08:00Why Writing is Right For Me.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Sometimes I get overwhelmed and depressed, and trying to find a way to connect with other people seems impossible. Lately it has been like that again. The whole world seems to be off its axis, tilting more and more away from being centered. The people in my life who often steady me, suddenly seem to need steadied themselves and I stop feeling like I can draw on their strength, I don't want to add to the burden of their lives.<br />
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That is when I look for ways to replenish my strength from something bigger than me. I am lucky, because I only have to step outside to find reminders that there are things much bigger and more eternal and more beautiful than the mind of man can comprehend.<br />
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I go to the world looking for beauty, and it is all around me, in the ocean, and redwood tree, yes. But also in the tiny banana slug, and the feather in the wind, and the child sifting through the sand for a sun kissed agate.<br />
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Then when I have to return to my home, and my family and the news of the day, I can do so with a well of quiet strength inside me. I can share that beauty and warmth with my family and friends and then quietly sit at the computer, dreaming in words that hopefully bring strength and warmth to a wider world. Yes, I'm an introvert, and sometimes I can't think quickly enough to get the words right in a conversation, and when I can, that interaction exhausts me, even though I also love it. I love teaching and being in a crowd, especially a crowd of children, but I get drained there, and for me, the quiet thoughtful times when it is just me and a blank page, are when my battery is being recharged.<br />
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When I look at the books I like to read, there are often underlying themes of violence and danger, but when I choose what I want to give back to the world, I find the beauty and love and celebrate the differences that make us able to be stronger together than any one of us will ever be alone. The first book I published turns five years old this year, and It still makes me happy that I put the energy into writing it. People who have also learned to love Duffy Barkley tell me that his story has shown them a lot about accepting differences and finding joy together. That is why I write.<br />
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<br />echohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05161069949227164302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3455399280415304344.post-90004685096645412732016-12-12T11:09:00.001-08:002016-12-12T11:09:35.661-08:00The Redwood Tree<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I am happy to announce the release of my third picture book for young children. This one is non fiction but reads like a story as you share photographs of the beautiful and long lived giants of the Pacific Coast.</div>
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It is available on Amazon at the following link</div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Redwood-Tree-Dixie-Miller-Goode/dp/1540304345/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1481569293&sr=1-2&keywords=the+redwood+tree">https://www.amazon.com/Redwood-Tree-Dixie-Miller-Goode/dp/1540304345/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1481569293&sr=1-2&keywords=the+redwood+tree</a></div>
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echohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05161069949227164302noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3455399280415304344.post-65223311762409985462016-09-18T22:11:00.002-07:002016-09-18T22:11:47.133-07:00Reaching for the Redwoods<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Once upon a time I began to live among Giants, ancient, long lived beings of another race entirely.<br />
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And then I began to photograph them and bring my friends and family to visit them and to rest in their shadow.<br />
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Many times I climbed upon their fallen and mourned a loss or stood astonished to discover a new life bursting forth from a fallen corpse.<br />
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My children and grandchildren became so accustomed to their size that only giants appeared nirmL in their eyes. I still seek out their companionship when I grow weary and need peace. For awhile now I have not been writing much, but I'm back at it and sensing the completion of a picture book about redwoods happening in time for Christmas gifts. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdG4unlbDPL_bEGV3lM4FDk9_fdub8e4f_kYVPsLyZSYOUw7iO3tUU_apVRX8tbcVoQEIoBYKtuxztBGjYC9Aja8SmySCJT4URPn9D1ZHCs7PJIe3DxbJ5UnvnQnCUEHOC6i60eanLd1Y/s1600/P5290231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdG4unlbDPL_bEGV3lM4FDk9_fdub8e4f_kYVPsLyZSYOUw7iO3tUU_apVRX8tbcVoQEIoBYKtuxztBGjYC9Aja8SmySCJT4URPn9D1ZHCs7PJIe3DxbJ5UnvnQnCUEHOC6i60eanLd1Y/s320/P5290231.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />echohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05161069949227164302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3455399280415304344.post-50865530270204141592016-04-17T14:48:00.001-07:002016-04-17T14:48:09.117-07:00Winning <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Thank you to the 660 people who signed up for an opportunity to win an autographed copy of my most recent novel in The Tales of Uhrlin, <u>Duffy Barkley: the Third Charm</u>. The Goodreads Giveaway ended on 4/16/16 with three winners.<br />
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Mary from Maryland<br />
Chelene from Ohio<br />
Benoit from Quebec<br />
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It is gratifying to see so many people express an interest in one of my books, and while I wish I could give that many away, of course I can't. Still, I hope that some of you who did not win are intrigued enough to buy a copy, and if, like me, cash is too tight, I hope sometime in the future you remember my hero and his ability to have adventures and make friends in spite of what others would consider his handicapping condition. After having a chance to live without it for awhile, of course, Duffy now knows he isn't strong in spite of having cp, but he is strong and who he is, because of having cp. like Duffy, I have learned to embrace all the things that make me who I am, even those I fought against for years.<br />
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Again, thanks for your time and attention.<br />
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Joy and beauty to all of you.<br />
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<br />echohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05161069949227164302noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3455399280415304344.post-20816841840823102152016-04-05T12:49:00.003-07:002016-04-05T12:49:28.520-07:00Goodreads Giveaway for Third Book in Uhrlin<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">On February 5th, the third Duffy Barkley adventure in Uhrlin, </span><u style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Duffy Barkley: the Third Charm</u><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">, was published. Now through April 16th it is being offered on Goodreads with a chance to win one of three autographed paperbacks.</span><br style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><br />
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/177180-duffy-barkley-the-third-charm-tales-of-uhrlin-3?utm_medium=email&utm_source=giveaway_approved" style="color: #888888; text-decoration: none;">https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/177180-duffy-barkley-the-third-charm-tales-of-uhrlin-3?utm_medium=email&utm_source=giveaway_approved</a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">If you are interested in the other books in the series, they are available on Amazon, or can be ordered by your local bookstore. </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dixie-Dawn-Miller-Goode/e/B004458ES2/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1457742536&sr=1-1" style="color: #888888; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-decoration: none;">http://www.amazon.com/Dixie-Dawn-Miller-Goode/e/B004458ES2/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1457742536&sr=1-1</a><br />
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In <u>Duffy Barkley is Not a Dog</u></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;">Remember being with a group of friends where you felt safer and more included than you had ever felt at home, friends you had always wanted, who made you look around with a lump in your throat, wishing you could stop time? They were a lot like the groups in all the popular stories. They were the reason people love MASH, Harry Potter, Narnia, Friends, The Lord of the Rings etc. They were a group of imperfect, overwhelmed and harassed people who became winners because they didn't have to face the overwhelming odds, alone. Even in the face of dark wizards, popular girls, bad hair days or War, they had each other's back. When one of them had a weakness, another had a strength to balance it out. When one was a jerk, someone else saved the day, and forgave them eventually. Now times are turning more difficult again. The world needs that kind of support. We need a source of encouragement so that we can find a way to be that kind of support when we are needed. As times are dark, people look for a reason to laugh, love and hope again. Duffy Barkley is not a dog, a middle grade fantasy, gives you those friends, that escape, that voice of hope in the darkness. Duffy is alone, handicapped, desperate. He is picked-on, lost, & yet, never defeated. In the most alien of places he finds friends. In the most dire of emergencies he finds courage. In the most evil of villains he finds compassion and a solution. In giving away what he most needs, he gains everything. Duffy, a 9 year old boy with cerebral palsy, survives tragedy in the form of a school shooting in which his younger sister is seriously injured. Falling into a new world, he regains his health but finds himself the focus of historic prophecy. While trying to deny his place in their prophecies he discovers his own abilities & changes his life & that of others in both worlds. He enjoys being physically strong but must give it up to save the villain, and find his way back to save his sister, Izzy.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;">and in Book 2, <u>Duffy Barkley: Seek Well</u></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;">Duffy Barkley, The protagonist of </span><i style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;">Duffy Barkley Is Not a Dog</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;">, has returned in the sequel, </span><i style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;">Duffy Barkley: Seek Well</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;">. Now 11 years old, he cannot remember the events that happened the first time that he was in Uhrlin, or a time when his Cerebral palsy was cured, or when he flew. But those memories are breaking through and Uhrlin remembers him and is calling him back. He can't remember why he is fascinated by Guatemala, or anything about a giant, bald, orca colored mer-woman with the voice of an angel. But he has to seek her.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;">and now, Book 3, <u>Duffy Barkley: the Third Charm</u></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;">In this third tale of Duffy Barkley's connection with the portal world of Uhrlin we see that he has twice had to face overwhelming odds, but his friends were there to help even those odds. It wasn't easy but he struggled and prevailed, both at age 9 and 11. He saved his little sister and the two worlds while making new friends and learning to love himself, handicaps and all. Why then, this time, does he seem to have been left behind? Where are his sister and his great-aunt now?</span></div>
echohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05161069949227164302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3455399280415304344.post-28077994302426648072016-03-11T16:30:00.000-08:002016-03-11T16:30:03.740-08:00Camp NaNo and Trying for Lucky 7 while marketing my 6th book<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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On February 5th, the third Duffy Barkley adventure in Uhrlin, <u>Duffy Barkley: the Third Charm</u>, was published. Now it is being offered on Goodreads with a chance to win one of three autographed paperbacks.<br />
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/177180-duffy-barkley-the-third-charm-tales-of-uhrlin-3?utm_medium=email&utm_source=giveaway_approved">https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/177180-duffy-barkley-the-third-charm-tales-of-uhrlin-3?utm_medium=email&utm_source=giveaway_approved</a></div>
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If you are interested in the other books in the series, they are available on Amazon, or can be ordered by your local bookstore. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dixie-Dawn-Miller-Goode/e/B004458ES2/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1457742536&sr=1-1">http://www.amazon.com/Dixie-Dawn-Miller-Goode/e/B004458ES2/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1457742536&sr=1-1</a><br />
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<br />echohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05161069949227164302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3455399280415304344.post-26366420598224839572016-03-02T13:10:00.000-08:002016-03-04T08:46:23.331-08:0021st Annual Gold Beach Writer's Conference<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Now that my children are grown, and Holidays are more about their homes than mine, my favorite holiday has switched and become one I indulge in purely for me. It is always President's Day weekend, which usually coincides with Valentine's Day, but it isn't because of either of those that I love it. Valentine's is great, but Ive been with my husband since 1982, and he loves me every day, and he is a music teacher who is often off delivering "Valen-tunes" with his choir students, or like last year, traveling to a music festival with them.</div>
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So, No. I love this weekend because it is about WRITING. Just an hour north of my home is a lovely, but very tiny town nestled right on the beach, and they host the South Coast Writer's Conference and have for 21 years now.</div>
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Sometimes the beach is very different from year to year, storms move the sand and logs a lot, but it is beautiful under the sun or in a storm. This year, I got lucky. Just outside my motel room, a mere block from the fairgrounds where the conference began, was a deliciously warm beach filled with drifts of seafoam.</div>
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and this year, I had just published the third book in my Duffy Barkley series only 9 days before, so I had a lot to share at the conference. There is the coolest bookstore there in town too, huge and friendly and besides books, filled with local art and a yummy bakery.</div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dixie-Dawn-Miller-Goode/e/B004458ES2/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1456952437&sr=1-2-ent">http://www.amazon.com/Dixie-Dawn-Miller-Goode/e/B004458ES2/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1456952437&sr=1-2-ent</a></div>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi63TdpncqPmWVqMePmy-ejRIFUdQYxS0Oe2p9z4tWaITZ1-ABlxCLnWcFiXOOQnTIe16Ot_ZBCfXU8dAqwJI5SrWKG8ovU6-ZaXuWrk3oePEQrQWGJ6DLOckydg1CPHOGXTgJAEorlHu0/s1600/12657251_10208824801595337_3826533430114418630_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi63TdpncqPmWVqMePmy-ejRIFUdQYxS0Oe2p9z4tWaITZ1-ABlxCLnWcFiXOOQnTIe16Ot_ZBCfXU8dAqwJI5SrWKG8ovU6-ZaXuWrk3oePEQrQWGJ6DLOckydg1CPHOGXTgJAEorlHu0/s320/12657251_10208824801595337_3826533430114418630_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peter Brown Hoffmeister, author of <u>The Intentional Art of Failure</u></td></tr>
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<a href="https://peterbrownhoffmeister.wordpress.com/">https://peterbrownhoffmeister.wordpress.com</a></div>
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<br /></div>
The Friday offers longer, more in depth classes and then an evening with a keynote speaker and shorter speeches from all the presenters. Saturday gives us two classes in the morning, two more in the evening, then book sales, and finally a writer's critique circle. I was lucky enough to get to meet some people in person from a facebook writers group based 90 miles south of me. Previously I had only interacted with them on-line.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anne Osterlund presenting "Sweat The Small Stuff"<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Anne-Osterlund/e/B001JRRLW8/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1456952892&sr=1-1">http://www.amazon.com/Anne-Osterlund/e/B001JRRLW8/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1456952892&sr=1-1</a></div>
<!--EndFragment--><span style="font-size: small;"><br />Anne says, "92% of submissions are full of grammar and spelling mistakes - so if you are not doing that you are already in the top 8%."</span></td></tr>
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<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtfwkJNlWeSuqJwsyyFItDEUBpHq0JnCgddRp5rb4nbDSWLJ1e2ufMMdZQY_SYF6JijLtNt__nUe_6vBErfXf-UjEAXWE9w0QjdrjL1GeFkjISYvbjOM6W7PGqN8vwYZeK6GVc3I5G2Vs/s1600/12734045_10208807964014408_9220794904359196842_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtfwkJNlWeSuqJwsyyFItDEUBpHq0JnCgddRp5rb4nbDSWLJ1e2ufMMdZQY_SYF6JijLtNt__nUe_6vBErfXf-UjEAXWE9w0QjdrjL1GeFkjISYvbjOM6W7PGqN8vwYZeK6GVc3I5G2Vs/s320/12734045_10208807964014408_9220794904359196842_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
it was fun to see that the pile of my books for sale at the bookstore was a lot smaller than the last time I dropped in.</div>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_nwfVKwWaY1DJLE-Ktb5ocvfAvCQvYmJ0WknA-AoaoP6DXZ5-c0M5KULuUfhhJR52lKqPIsHVHqj0NqJrhGmVvWaEUfGtNvKlwrs-XY7mfm-m9EGRYPY-ZeolRdErWXpxxDmRv9_eysg/s1600/12747284_10208824801635338_2240351585422003408_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_nwfVKwWaY1DJLE-Ktb5ocvfAvCQvYmJ0WknA-AoaoP6DXZ5-c0M5KULuUfhhJR52lKqPIsHVHqj0NqJrhGmVvWaEUfGtNvKlwrs-XY7mfm-m9EGRYPY-ZeolRdErWXpxxDmRv9_eysg/s400/12747284_10208824801635338_2240351585422003408_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heidi Schulz, author of <u>Hook's Revenge</u></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Heidi-Schulz/e/B00IHRY05O/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1456952574&sr=1-1">http://www.amazon.com/Heidi-Schulz/e/B00IHRY05O/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1456952574&sr=1-1</a><br />
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Heidi write middle grade humor and has a really good sense of her audience and a word of caution. "Surprise and an exchange of power are the keys to humor. Be careful of the kind of humor that takes power from the powerless. It can be an act of bravery to not laugh when everyone else is." Punch up, not at those smaller than you. Humor ca engender sympathy. We laugh with Groot and Rocket and then later we care about them. Her best piece of writing advice, "be brave."<br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Bv5_uzBIoNj5LYCj94i2ZVUbG2bWj1kwLkQ1LbK9zqbt6TrJsG0s_4L8Je0HC1SXbiZqKNw5oywA4uJVfR9eyX7rSwEPdyj0gPrKwZdWaBEvPQmC3GEaKMLpbsgN00kWRxheyJNuVhk/s1600/12768280_10208916452286547_2460918963825304302_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Bv5_uzBIoNj5LYCj94i2ZVUbG2bWj1kwLkQ1LbK9zqbt6TrJsG0s_4L8Je0HC1SXbiZqKNw5oywA4uJVfR9eyX7rSwEPdyj0gPrKwZdWaBEvPQmC3GEaKMLpbsgN00kWRxheyJNuVhk/s400/12768280_10208916452286547_2460918963825304302_o.jpg" width="197" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
thinking back at all the solid advice I got, the simplest, easiest stuff was the best to remember.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Jason Brick said, "The jerk trying to force you to buy a used car is not a salesman. Being so loudly geeky about something you love that you make other people love it too. That's sales." </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
My friend and fellow author R. R. Virdi is a master , plus I honestly love his book, <u>Grave Beginnings.</u></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/R.R-Virdi/e/B00J9PZ1YW/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1456952822&sr=1-1">http://www.amazon.com/R.R-Virdi/e/B00J9PZ1YW/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1456952822&sr=1-1</a></div>
<br />
Jason also had concrete sales advice, "have facebook and 1 more social media place you interact. 3 times a day, share something awesome and share somebody else, because nobody cares about you but they start caring about you when you start talking about them. Then comment intelligently or at least hilariously on at least one thread, ask a question or pick a fight. Post at least 21 times a week, but only mention a blog post and your book 1 time each week, unless you are doing a special promo."<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Jason-Brick/e/B00H4INFBM/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1456952635&sr=1-2-ent">http://www.amazon.com/Jason-Brick/e/B00H4INFBM/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1456952635&sr=1-2-ent</a></div>
<br />
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<br />echohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05161069949227164302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3455399280415304344.post-50036147538643924102016-02-05T08:38:00.000-08:002016-02-05T08:38:12.619-08:00Duffy Barkley: the Third Charm<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrHaw1hM8QyUl2eMGEHvcBH_Qse4Cw9ZUwFNT-Cb0iOfTvHNw8AmXvScO2bmMAtyM-6c9nLWxko20TWVNDd8e_5hyZcuKAA_jmynM-LEjSBDRADleHaNgYy6o-qW95HmwcjStEvzeurXI/s1600/DB+3rd+Charm+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrHaw1hM8QyUl2eMGEHvcBH_Qse4Cw9ZUwFNT-Cb0iOfTvHNw8AmXvScO2bmMAtyM-6c9nLWxko20TWVNDd8e_5hyZcuKAA_jmynM-LEjSBDRADleHaNgYy6o-qW95HmwcjStEvzeurXI/s320/DB+3rd+Charm+%25281%2529.jpg" width="247" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKCW1GeQtnQwk9WTOMF0fzMwswUHJIalCaNpFJ4HssX-XJ85JOb-GZWQziZ8Otn6CdxTI6bWN3kfIvCKfEnVyXuubbcXVB_Oq14JEalbsN7A8rKSqLryAuhGrcsG7tLMOW9XXL2VzVOAw/s1600/1934000_1226035929017_925480_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKCW1GeQtnQwk9WTOMF0fzMwswUHJIalCaNpFJ4HssX-XJ85JOb-GZWQziZ8Otn6CdxTI6bWN3kfIvCKfEnVyXuubbcXVB_Oq14JEalbsN7A8rKSqLryAuhGrcsG7tLMOW9XXL2VzVOAw/s320/1934000_1226035929017_925480_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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It gives me a lot of happiness to finally be able to announce that the Third book in the Tales of Uhrlin is available. This has been one long process, and I had fun working on it, but for awhile I felt like I was telling too many stories and had lost the p;ace where they could intersect. Sometimes I plan the story I tell, but this one seemed to be running ahead of me, telling me I was much too slow in following after and jotting down my notes. Even once the story was completed, I kept making strange things happen in the book formatting so that I was being told it would need a minimum price of $72 !!! </div>
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Finally I got it to $15 for the paper book and $2.99 on kindle. So this adventure begins without Duffy. He is 13 in this third book, and his sister Izzy and his Great-Aunt Peg go missing from Peg's farm. Many of the old friends show up again of course, and Uhrlin as always, has danger and adventure enough to make a tale worth telling, and worth reading.<br />
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The paperback may not be live until February 8th, which is a good day for me, my Father-In-Law has been a second Father to me for 33 years now and it is his 87th birthday.<br />
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This map was the source of my pricing headaches, as trying to have a color map made the printer think the entire book needed to be priced as if the pages were all in full color. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SeaBee meets a tiny Hippocampus</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
echohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05161069949227164302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3455399280415304344.post-8870298311195136592016-01-27T10:29:00.001-08:002016-01-27T10:29:41.012-08:00Another year, more writing and family<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I just signed up again to attend the South Coast Writers Conference in Gold Beach Oregon over Valentine's weekend. <a href="http://writing.shawguides.com/SouthCoastWritersConference">http://writing.shawguides.com/SouthCoastWritersConference</a><br />
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<!--EndFragment-->Hopefully it will be a good weekend to focus on two of the most important parts of my life, my husband and my writing. Last year when I attended it was wonderful for my writing, and motivated me to get back in and finish a book I'd been working on for a couple years now. It wasn't a great time for focusing on my husband however, as I was there, and he was flying up to Spokane Washington with the choir students who had qualified for All-Northwest. For Valentine's Day we sent a few texts and a picture of the view from each Motel, and mine won hands down. But even with a gorgeous hot tub deck on the beach was still me, alone. I did write a lot that weekend.<br />
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and blogged about it here <a href="http://duffybarkley.blogspot.com/2015/02/20th-annual-south-coast-writers.html">http://duffybarkley.blogspot.com/2015/02/20th-annual-south-coast-writers.html</a><br />
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As always, I have been reading a lot, and as it is January, I completed my book a week reading challenge on Goodreads with 64 books read. Looking back at my list, I see that I am a very unfocused reader. I do read a lot of young adult and middle grade fiction, fantasy, stamping, Science Fiction and try to read a lot of books by other Indie Authors because I have found that there is much gold in that pile, often overlooked. I try to write reviews because reviews of my books matter a lot to me, but I refuse to write a 1 or 2 star review. My reasoning there is that if the book isn't for me, I'm going to stop reading once I figure that out. There are too many wonderful books which I will never be able to read, for me to give even one day to one that doesn't entertain or educate me. Lately I have been getting emails asking me to read and review specific books, sometimes I say yes, but I'm not usually willing to take the time unless I am fascinated by the book description, and if I don't read it completely all I give is an email explaining why the book isn't for me.<br />
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I have also read mysteries, biographies, and children's books. My favorite books this year are probably the following ten. Not in any specific Order<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc_Al65DTkSUdcFuCaO9x7k7J5PcTaDQMFhQdXeUdrOtyTsowVwQMucMN94Ufq4Hzg3oF6N5AoUPtkYjmGbVy4B-nEZ_qGl_8v7tzRDR5FsVBKintsXgzWyzvgQWurbHDQ07kBHQBhQVk/s1600/a+1000+lives+B%2526W.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc_Al65DTkSUdcFuCaO9x7k7J5PcTaDQMFhQdXeUdrOtyTsowVwQMucMN94Ufq4Hzg3oF6N5AoUPtkYjmGbVy4B-nEZ_qGl_8v7tzRDR5FsVBKintsXgzWyzvgQWurbHDQ07kBHQBhQVk/s320/a+1000+lives+B%2526W.jpg" width="267" /></a></div>
The Rosie Effect by Graeme Samson<br />
The Mancy Martial Artist (my Chocolate, the addicting series I can't begin to explain why I love) by Richard Raley<br />
Hi, Pizza Man (Picture book with my granddaughter is so much fun) by Virginia Walter<br />
The Boy Who Harnessed The Wind by William Kamkwamba<br />
Floor 21by Jason Luthor<br />
Touching Spirit Bear by Ben Mikaelsen<br />
The Severed Earth by Chris Presta-Valachovic<br />
Grave Beginnings by R.R. Virdi<br />
Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn<br />
Division by Lee S. Hawke<br />
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and then the books I read by Tana French, John Scalzi,<br />
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The cover of the book I'm editing at the moment, book 3 in the Tales of Uhrlin, about a boy with Cerebral Palsy, 9 year old Duffy Barkley (now 13) and his adventures after surviving a school shooting and ending up in a portal world.<br />
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Two of the real life wonders that make being me as important as writing right now. I love my Granddaughter, and have a grandson on the way, and I adore my brothers, my sons and that husband I've been with for 34 years<br />
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and my kid's picture books</div>
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I hope 2016 is off and giving you much to enjoy, challenges and people to love.echohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05161069949227164302noreply@blogger.com0