The tax man cometh

 

Not my picture
but isn't he adorable

For some reason today, the saying that kept repeating in my mind was, “The Lord loveth a happy heart.” Well, I qualify! My heart is happy tonight because I spent much of the day organizing my tax information so that when my accountant sends his annual questionnaire I have it (almost) all ready to go.

I suppose everyone’s tax information seems complicated, but mine always has for years because as a free lance writer I have income—none of it large, mid you—from several sources. And then I must keep track of all the expenses that qualify for deduction, and I end up with ridiculous questions for my accountant, like “Can I deduct the new tree I bought as property improvement?” Maybe I could detect the value of the hundred-year-old tree that had to be replaced. OH, oops! If you count depreciation, I guess a hundred-year-old tree has lost all its value. But losing it was such a traumatic thing for us and made us so sad, I really think we should be compensated for sentimental value. I doubt the IRS would see it that way, and I’m not about to tempt them.

The tree is sort of like my car—a 2004 VW convertible bug—which is now back in the driveway after spending months in a repair shop of Christian’s choosing. Christian kept telling me this was a good guy, but I began to have my doubts after the car was gone so long. Was the guy driving it himself? Selling it? All is well, because one day it just reappeared in the driveway, in much better shape than when it went away. Jordan and Christian want to keep it for an alternative for a while, because both their cars are old, and Jordan’s needs some work. Meantime, Jordan and I ran an errand in it the other day, and I realized it is so much easier for me to get in and out of than climbing into her SUV. I have requested that we take the VW to all future doctor appointments, etc. But the truth is my little pale-yellow bug has much more sentimental value than actual worth. Like the tree.

And I am headed into a series of routine doctor appointments that I rescheduled when omicron was rampant. I hate it, because now I have all these visits breaking into my work schedule. And I’m always a bit hesitant about some doctors—will the cardiologist find something wrong? Will the dentist find a cavity? How about the eye doctor? I’ve had enough eye trauma to last a lifetime. Probably I’m not so worried about the ones I should be worried about.

My heart is also happy tonight because Jordan and I had a good visit with my neighbors who usually come for happy hour on Tuesday, as long as everyone’s schedule permits. We talked of plumbing problems—Mary has major work being done, so much so that she and Joe are staying in a hotel. And we talked of kids, primarily Jacob’s triumph at a golf tournament today—five schools, and he came in at 77, third place, two strokes behind the winner. I am so proud of that boy. And of course we talked of food and recipes.

After the ladies left, I ate a quick bowl of leftover chicken soup and tuned into a Zoom program sponsored by the Chicagoland chapter of Sisters in Crime on social media. I prepared myself to learn a lot, but what I learned is I am probably doing it all right with a visible presence on Facebook, a less active presence on Twitter (I mostly retweet and must learn to post original content), and some presence on BookBub and Goodreads. The one I’ve left slide is Pinterest, and I went exploring tonight, made a little progress, but need a tutor. And I really need a tutor for Instagram—hmmm, I’m wondering if Jacob can help.

Enough. I’ve had a full day, and I’m going to take my happy heart to sleep and pray for the people of Ukraine. That situation scares the bejabbers out of me—which I guess is what Mr. Putin wants.

Taking a long look at myself

 

Tonight I jumped into a discussion of why writers blog, confessing that I don’t blog about the craft of writing much but more about whatever crosses my mind. Someone responded saying that’s what blogging started out to be—a sharing of thoughts. And so I’m sharing some thoughts that have been on my mind.

Mostly, I try to save political thoughts for Facebook and keep them off the blog. Maybe it’s because at least one person dear to me is on the opposite side of politics, maybe it’s because I fear I’ll sound shrill. It is not because I fear losing readers for my books. I figure the people who disagree with me probably wouldn’t read my books anyway, and I’m not going to bend to their prejudices.

But I have given thought lately to my voice on social media. If you know me at all, you know that I’m a yellow dog Democrat. I have a friend who is, if it’s possible, even more of an activist than I, and she told me once that she also posts about her garden and her beloved grandsons so that folks will know there is a warm, fuzzy side to her. I thought that some of the best advice I’d ever heard.

Today, a good friend referred to me, not in a critical way, as “Biden happy.” I thought about that a long time. I do defend Biden, especially in this Afghanistan tragedy. And I admit I think of him as a basic, honest, decent guy who has devoted his life to this country and who wants desperately to do what is best for America. He’s also knowledgeable about our history, our government, and our international relationships. I also see him as almost a tragic figure, beset by overwhelming problems not of his making about which he can do little but his best. And he’s trying.

But that doesn’t mean that, like trump followers, I’m a cultist. It’s not that I’m Biden-happy, but the truth is that I believe in morality and the truth. My fervent defense of Biden would be given to anyone in his position. I am outraged by the lies and distortions of the truth, the armchair military experts who are quick to claim he’s done it all wrong. Come on, folks, he’s safely evacuated over 100,000 people in less than a month—the biggest humanitarian evacuation in history.

When Barack Obama was president, I was quick to defend him. In retrospect, I see some things I wish he had done and didn’t, including pulling out of Afghanistan once Osama bin Laden was out of the picture. All along I thought he treated his opponents with kid gloves when he should have had an iron fist, but that’s the kind of guy he is—restrained and classy, not a bully. Will I feel the same way about Biden in future years? Maybe so. Maybe I’ll look back and see things he could have done better. But who am I to judge a man of his expertise and dedication?

There are several distinctions among those who criticize Biden. Some are knowledgeable about the Middle East, have perhaps served in Afghanistan and made friends, and see a better path to victory. Among their number are the many who grieve, as we all do, the deaths of Americans (and Afghans, who died in much greater numbers) outside the Kabul airport yesterday. I too grieve for the lost military men (I don’t think there were any women) and their families. But I would point out I also grieve for the 901 people who died of covid today in Florida under the watch of Ron DeSantis.

Then there are those who oppose Biden and look for any excuse to blame everything on him because they are either all-Democrats-are-evil Republicans or the remnants of trump’s followers, may their numbers decrease. Their opposition is irrational, and they will not listen to reason (though I keep hitting my head against that brick wall). They are the people who insist the withdrawal could have been done better, but when you ask them how, they have no answer. Include Kevin McCarthy in that number, as he whines about 5,000 Taliban prisoners released and overlooks that it was trump that negotiated that release. They are probably also the people who are taking ivermectin.

And finally there are the people who just have to criticize. It doesn’t matter to them who’s in power, because they are automatically against that person, sure that we are being cheated, scammed, lied to, robbed of our rights—you get the picture. I am reminded of the unvaccinated man who, dying of Covid, said, “I don’t like being told what to do.” American freedom and individualism have long been traditional values, but these people take that idea too far. If you told them the sky was blue, they’d have an argument.

This is getting way too long but let me close with a thought of what each of us can do: look at yourself, examine your beliefs, and then become part of the solution, not the problem. What is within your capabilities to do? Write your congressperson with support, not a complaint; volunteer to help those who need it, including welcoming Afghan immigrants. Look around—you’ll find an opportunity.

And do try to avoid being shrill. That’s my resolution.

Walking on the sunny side of the street

 

Jordan's Cobb Salad for our dinner
So good, and a great way to use what's in the fridge;
with a quick, creamy dressing I've just discovered

For many of us, internet exchanges these days are too often confrontational. There are so many outrages in our world, so many lies and distortions, that I cannot resist commenting. So a couple of recent pleasant exchanges were wonderful surprises.

One had to do with fast food. When someone mentioned Chick Fil-A, I commented that I liked the food but will not patronize them for political reasons. A woman I don’t know responded that she chose her food for taste and not politics nor friendship and wasn’t that okay. I responded that of course it’s okay, but I just choose not to enrich the coffers of a corporation that espouses inhumane philosophies. The same, I added, is true of Hobby Lobby. It’s okay for people to believe whatever they want, but when it negatively affects and hurts others, it breaks a certain boundary. I can, at least, I said, give my beliefs some weight through action. The woman who asked thanked me for explaining my position and commented that it would be nice if all of us could talk in that way on social media.

The other incident was a few days ago. A woman posted from a very conservative point of view, and when I disagreed (I must learn to keep my indignation to myself) she wrote, “That’s my opinion, and you are entitled to yours.” I replied that while I totally disagree with her, I admired her civility, and she thanked me, said she wished everyone could be polite.

This has also been a day of introspection for me. I have realized that in addition to being outspoken about politics and social culture, I am really good at knowing what other people should do with their lives. It’s hard for me to keep quiet. But with age, hopefully, comes a bit of wisdom. Today a good friend told me she was going to do something I thought totally wrong for her situation, but I managed to say why, once, and then let it go. And I will be supportive of the course of action she chose.

The weather is part of the reason I’ve been so introspective today. Rain has threatened all day but stayed to the west of us. Tonight, it is moving closer, and Jordan says we expect a storm with possible hail by nine. Actually, I have found the last two days kind of depressing—gray skies, heavy humidity, neither hot nor cold. And apparently tomorrow is supposed to be even worse. Ah, springtime in Texas.

Jacob, with the wisdom of fourteen years, said tonight it would be cool if we had a tornado, and I wondered what had become of the little boy who was so terrified of storms. Once he insisted that I hide in my closet with him. Fortunately, it was a long, walk-in closet with plenty of room. He had put a chair, a candle, and a glass of wine in there, getting it all ready for me. Then he settled himself with a pillow on the floor. If I remember correctly, I had a book and contentedly read until he deemed it safe for us to emerge. Other times, in storms, he would silently come from the trundle in “his” room to my bed and crawl in without a word of explanation. Sadly, those days are long gone, but now, Sophie comes close to that, though if she gets on the bed, she is uncomfortable and antsy and soon jumps off, all of which is not conducive to my sleep.

So here I sit, the world growing dark around me, with a glass of wine and a good book. Let it storm—only no hail or tornado, please!

What shall we talk about?

 Last night at a quiet supper table, Christian said something to the effect that we no longer have politics to talk about. It’s true—we had lively discussions, mostly about what was wrong with the trump administration. Jacob asked penetrating and smart questions, forcing us to articulate our beliefs clearly. And then we won an election. I have visions of dinner tables across the country falling silent.

Social media is a new world too. I used to spend far too long prowling through comments. Two things have changed: fewer people are commenting on platforms like Facebook, and I have vowed not to respond to snark and lies and conspiracy theories. And that’s what mostly remains—the alt-right cannot stop complaining, rationalizing, attacking, and lying. Not worth my time. I will never convince such people of the folly of their thinking, and I’m not going to waste my breath trying.

And yet this is probably the wrong time to remain silent. Mid-term elections are in two short years, and the right is pulling out all the stops. Matt Gaetz, Jim Jordan, that awful Greene woman, and others are all over the internet, and we cannot, must not allow them to dominate the conversation. It is crucial for those of us who support President Biden’s agenda to put our views out there in a rational, nonconfrontational way. And for many of us that requires some education—it is no longer enough to post from an emotional, gut-wrenching fear of or dislike of trump.

Christian’s take on it is that he wants to learn everything he can about the Keystone Pipeline that Biden has halted. I’ve been reading about it too. Like pandemic and almost everything in our country, it comes down to the pull between the environment and humanity vs. profits and jobs. The Keystone, so I read, transports sand tar, which is dirty oil, for shipment to China, I believe. It is not destined for the U.S. but crosses our lands, including sacred native lands and those with depleted water supplies. When it leaks, it fouls water and is difficult to impossible to clean.

Constructrion of the pipeline has created jobs, lots of jobs, but the completed line will create only 35 permanent positions. Meantime the oil is transported by truck and water, which creates thousands of jobs. Once completed a pipeline would eliminate those jobs. So it’s a question of who is employed. Finally, I read a cogent article that suggested that the pipeline was an idea whose time came fifteen years ago. Today it is an anachronism.

My take on it is that we must, we absolutely must put the environment above all else. The doomsday clock is far too close to midnight, and President Biden has wisely recognized this, re-installing the many environmental regulations trump cancelled. We have to learn to live in a new world and stop looking to old models for answers. Jobs lost can and should be balanced out by creation of new jobs in a clean energy industry, but such doesn’t happen overnight, and the transition will be tough. Meantime we will have to help those citizens who are caught between.

Finally, I read the suggestion that the Keystone Pipeline is another way to enrich oil companies. You think? I’ll keep reading, but I am definitely leaning in support of Biden’s cancellation of the project. And rejoicing with the tribes who have fought against it for long, dry years.

Guess we’ve got something to talk about at dinner tonight.

Storms, salads, and a workday

Everything outside my cottage is almost eerily still right now, the ornamental grasses that I so love barely stirring. In the distance I hear occasional thunder that I am sure will move closer quickly. There were wild storms to the north of us last night with good-sized hail, and tonight storms are predicted for us. High winds, possible hail, possible flooding but little danger of tornadoes—praise be for small favors. Sophie is terribly apprehensive and sticking to my like glue. Jordan has laid out a candle and matches for me, made sure I have a flashlight, though none of us can find the good big one I had. It’s foolish in Texas, I know, but I sort of like that feeling of anticipation.

Today was the workday I wish I had every day. Sophie got me up a little before eight—our newfound routine with the crate works well, except that last night I didn’t latch it tightly and she worked her way out. (Tonight, with storms, I won’t crate her, because I know she needs to be close to me.) Anyway, she woke me a bit before eight, and I drank my tea while checking email, two professional lists, and Facebook. Yes, I am a Facebook devotee and ready to do battle with anyone who scorns that social medium. I learn a lot from Facebook, being careful about sources (okay, sometimes I slip up). And I’ve made new friends, re-hooked with old friends.

Today, on another list—professional for mystery writers—I contacted a woman who lives in Chesterton, Indiana. May not sound like much to you, but when I was a kid, we had a primitive summer cabin (really! No plumbing or electricity) at the Indiana Dunes State Park, on a high bluff looking down at the southern tip of Lake Michigan. We had to carry our clothing and groceries in through a mile in the woods, but I cannot describe adequately how wonderful that cabin was nor what great memories I have. Chesterton was the charming town where we went to shop. Author Nancy Nau Sullivan tells me it still retains a lot of its charm today. What a nice surprise.

Back to my workday—after checking social media, I spent the morning and early afternoon writing. Achieved 1,721 words today. Since I’m pretty much a first-draft writer, most of those are probably keeper words. But by two-thirty, I’d written my words, had my lunch, and was free to spend the rest of the day as I wanted, without offending my work ethic. So I read, explored specialty pages on Facebook—the New York Times Cooking Community and one called Reminders of Growing Up in Chicagoland. I didn’t end up with time to read much today, but that also is part of my ideal day. I am reading a novel that doesn’t really grab me and yet I’m determined to finish, which may account for my not working it in to my day. But I have two waiting that I am anxious to read.

To go on with my day: I nap somewhere around two-thirty and get up around four. No, it’s not sound sleep, but it’s a good time for me to doze and dream and plan—and write in my head. Then I catch up with Facebook and, most evenings now during the quarantine, I cook, and the family has dinner in my cottage.

Tonight it was Cobb salad—cut up a rotisserie chicken, fried some bacon, added cherry tomatoes, quartered artichoke hearts, crumbled blue cheese, sliced avocado. All dressed with leftover herb sauce I’d made the other night for salmon. Although I've written about Cobb salad as a composed salad, this one ended up more tossed. Still so good.

I know it’s self-indulgent and spoiled of me in these days when so many are suffering so terribly, but I would love to spend each day like this. I often think that I live in two worlds—in mine, where I am safe and happy in the cottage but out there is another where people are suffering horribly and dying gruesome deaths and medical personnel are risking their lives as are the people who make our world go round—delivery people, mail carriers, grocery workers and so on.

It strikes me that why I am so vehement against trump and McConnell and Barr and their cohorts is that daily my sense of moral outrage increases. How can they, how dare they play politics and satisfy their personal grudges and greed at the cost of the suffering and lives of Americans .what is it now—a million cases and seventy thousand dead? More than Vietnam? I can imagine no punishment great enough for their sins against humanity and against democracy. And because of them, I do not sleep soundly at night. But I do speak out, often and loudly. 

An accidental experiment and other trivia

Last night I accidentally performed a little social media experiment. I posted a blog—nothing spectacular, just cheeseburger soup (so good on the first cool night, even though cool hadn’t yet quite hit), some thoughts that struck me in church yesterday, and comments on a church Connection luncheon we went to. The point was to connect with other members, and I thought it a great idea. Anyway, today I did not get one like nor one comment, and I guess I’ve gotten spoiled and used to feedback.

So I checked. I had neglected to put the post on Facebook. If you want to read it you can find it at https://judys-stew.blogspot.com/2019/10/could-fall-really-be-here.html But it demonstrates to me that a big part of my audience is on Facebook. In Sisters in Crime and other groups, there’s always debate about the usefulness of Facebook, but one comforting bit of social media advice I like is to do what is comfortable for you. So I have given up trying to master Instagram and I don’t do much other than post on Twitter, but I am really vocal on Facebook—and that includes occasional advertising in the form of “boosting” posts. So my experiment kind of confirmed what I do.

Another bit of cyberspace wisdom I picked up yesterday; two friends said they had tried to order So Far from Paradise and were told it was unavailable. So I ordered a free sample as a test—no problem. Then I called Amazon. It seems you cannot always order all books from an iPhone of iPad app. So my advice to readers: if you try that and get word the book you want is unavailable, order it from your computer. As an author, I wonder how many sales lots of us have lost because that fact isn’t commonly known.

Not much spectacular today, except that I got a routine dental appointment out of the way. Dentistry brings out my anxiety, and I tried to explain it to the hygienist: when I was a young teen, I had lots of cavities (poor enamel inherited from my dear father, whom I otherwise loved a lot). Our dentist was an uncle (by adoption if not blood), a taciturn man who scared me. Plus dentistry sixty-five or so years ago was not as smooth as it is today, and I still have a real dental phobia. So grateful that Jordan drove me and picked me up, that Stephanie the hygienist is such a good soul, and that my teeth are good enough the cleaning was brief, and I got a clean bill of health.

My day ended with a most pleasant happy hour with friends—one of those small world situations. I honestly thought we met on Facebook but Mary Kay Hughes tells me years ago she and her mother came to a reading group I conducted through TCU’s Community Education programs. But we also have our church and our politics in common, plus she works with Christian, and her husband proved to share all our convictions and more knowledge than I had about some of them. An evening of lively and interesting discussion.

I am heartsick tonight about withdrawal of troops from Syria and the almost instant bombing by Turkey, though I don’t think we know the truth of the situation yet. What does seem clear is that the orange one, he of “great wisdom,” let himself be hornswoggled again. He has not the faintest idea of the cost in human lives—ours and Kurdish—of his impulsive acts and lack of negotiating ability. But I won’t belabor the point—it’s all over the internet, and we will have to let the true facts sort themselves out. Tonight, my prayers for the Kurdish people and for our troops in the region.

Words from an old fuddy-duddy

No, I don’t think I’m an old prude. But I keep remembering the old adage that if you can’t express yourself without cursing, you probably have nothing to say.

 It’s no secret that I’m a Facebook addict. Years ago, I was scornful of Facebook, then the new kid on the block. I didn’t need that foolishness. My kids convinced me otherwise. “You can keep up with what we’re all doing,” they said. So I signed up. I soon knew what time one son went to the gym, what time he left the gym, the details of his lunch, etc. I love my kids beyond measure, but that kind of detail I didn’t need. But then most of them melted away—the girls in the family still post a bit, one son rarely, and one son not at all.

But by then I was hooked. I saw the value of Facebook in promoting my mysteries and my blog. I made friends. I learned a lot about current events, once I realize how important it is to check the sources. Facebook is now part of my morning ritual, and I usually check it late at night. These days, with the Kavanaugh mess, I’ve checked it more often.

But I am dismayed, upset, disappointed—choose whatever word you want—at the level of many conversations. On some timelines, if I express an opinion, I am vilified as naïve, stupid, blind, etc. I rarely play this card in my own defense, but I would like those men (yeah, they’re all men) to know that I am not stupid. I hold a Ph.D. in English, and I’ve published over a hundred books. My opinions about the current political situation in our country are no knee-jerk reactions but are based on my sense of honor, morality, and integrity—and they have a lot to do with my faith.

The posts that offend me the most are scurrilous, often in horrendous taste. One recently alluded to Lindsey Graham’s sudden infatuation with trump in such gross anatomical terms—an act between two men that I do not want to contemplate further, but I can’t erase from my mind. The F-bomb has now become common, as have insults of the most virulent kind. So have sexual innuendos of the grossest nature.

What happened to civility? What happened to an honest exchange of ideas? Tonight Christian and I had a discussion about Kavanaugh/Ford—we disagree on some points. He says I want to make it political, and I say it has to be. We were both passionate—and grew loud. Jordan left the cottage. But you know what? We weren’t mad, we kept it civil, and we exchanged ideas.

That’s what I hoped for on social media—a civil exchange of ideas. Okay, here I go being political, but I blame much of it on trump. With his comments about grabbing women in the crotch, etc., he has lowered the bar for discussion. And I am offended—by him as a person if not by his politics.

I don’t necessarily want to go back to the days when if you mentioned something slightly sexual, my mother’s chin went up in the air and her eyes went out the window. That discussion was over. But I would like to be able to exchange ideas in a civil manner. I might stretch my mind a bit, and that would be good. And maybe I could stretch yours.

The Garden of Friendship

Hibiscus Jordan planted by my cottage

She had to trim a tree to get them enough sun for blooms

Several women have said things to me in recent months that amounted to, “You have so many friends. I don’t have friends like you do.” I think they don’t realize you must be a friend to have friends, and you must work at friendships.

They really are like plants in a garden. You cultivate them, from planting the seed—or idea—to nourishing and feeding often. One woman (she’ll recognize herself, so please know you are not alone in this) said a new widow near her mentioned going out to dinner, but it hadn’t happened. I pointed out it wouldn’t unless she took herself over to the woman’s house, knocked on the door, and said, “Let’s go to dinner.”

Over the years, I have had countless dinner parties in my home, mostly small but always people I wanted to spend time with. One friend said something about my guests reciprocating—that old, “If I entertain you, then you owe me.” No, they don’t always reciprocate, but it takes a lot of rudeness to get yourself off my friend/guest list. I persevere, and I’ve decided most people appreciate it. They may not have time to entertain, or interest in cooking, or it may just not occur to them. I don’t take it as a personal affront.

A friendship I cultivated: a young woman (from my perspective) who was once a work-study student in my office. She went to work in a writing-related field, but then moved away. Suddenly she was back, having gone to cooking school and worked in a vineyard. Voila! We had two things of interest in common: books and food. She’s a sous chef at a major restaurant in town. We met occasionally for lunch, and she kindly brought me lunch more than once when I was housebound. Now that I’m cooking, I’ve invited her for lunch—a bit intimidating, but I think I can handle it. Just an example of the two-sided work that goes into a friendship.

When I meet someone I think is interesting or has interests like mine, I’m not shy about inviting them over, maybe first for coffee or wine on the patio. I do cook dinner for friends some, but it’s limited in the cottage with sparse cooking facilities. But entertaining is a great way to make and keep friends.

Letter-writing has become almost obsolete in this day of social media, and I’m the first to admit that I communicate by email and Facebook. Using those tools, I’ve re-connected with friends from my childhood, including the girls who grew up next door. They live in northern Michigan, but one visits me when she’s in Texas—what a rare treat! I also have a couple of friends I’ve kept in constant touch with for fifty years or more. Some are not the frequent communicators I am, and I have to realize that silence doesn’t necessarily mean they’ve forgotten me…nor I them.

Tonight I had dinner at Press Café with Betty, my longtime dinner pal. For years now, we have made it a habit to go out to dinner on Wed. nights. When I was housebound, she brought me dinner. But now we’re exploring new restaurants and having a ball. Press Café is not new, but we both love the fish sandwich—except that it’s hard to eat and I got half down my shirt. But Betty is yet another example of a friend—we work at it, we make sure to keep up with each other. And I know she’s there if I need someone.

Tend to your friends, folks.

Who, me? Waste time on Facebook? You bet!

Since my writing projects are on hold, I decided to tackle Pinterest tonight. When I first discovered it. I spent too many hours scrolling through. I created duplicate boards. I mean, really, what’s the difference between Judy’s Bookshelf and My Bookshelf? Both became a mixture of my own books, other books I liked, and clever quotes about the world of books. But mostly I found recipes—oh, I pinned and copied like a mad fool. And then one day I decided this wasn’t at all an avenue for marketing my books, and I dropped it.

But I read about authors who created boards for each book, using Pinterest almost as a way of keeping notes. I envied their ambition and went on my way. There’s only so much one can do with social media, I told myself, a sentiment echoed by other authors on various lists.

Facebook? When others scorn it and rant because they keep changing the rules, I am an unabashed fan. Sure I use it to tell people when I have a new book, but it is so much more—I post my blogs on it, I comment on other people’s posts, I make observations of my own, sometimes political. My morning ritual consists of reading emails, followed by the newspaper on the days I take it, and then by Facebook. I can easily spend an hour on Facebook and then wonder where the morning went. But Facebook is often the place I learn about breaking news; it’s where I read a lot about politics and politicians—although some of my family will howl, I’m pretty judicious about what columnists, etc. I follow. And friends—I’ve made so many new friends, kept in better touch with acquaintances, reignited old friendships. If I’m going to spend time on social media, Facebook is it.

Twitter not so much, although once in a fit of creativity, I fixed it so my Facebook posts go to Twitter—I have a son-in-law who does it the opposite, so that his FB posts are usually incomprehensible to me. But other than occasionally retweeting, I don’t do it. Linked In is, to me, for people who want to advance their careers in the professional world, and I don’t know about Google+ though I always follow back. Same with Goodreads. Instagram? What’s that?

Now I read that Pinterest is second only to Facebook in terms of traffic generation and way ahead of Twitter or Google+. So that’s why my concentration on Pinterest tonight. I did post a couple of new book covers but the main thing I got was a recipe for smoked salmon dip with bacon and jalapeno. I posted it to Potluck with Judy.

I don’t think I’ll ever master social media, but who really does?

What are you reading just for fun?

I decided I want an escape reading book for the weekend--yes, yes, I have plenty of work on my desk, but it's time for a break. I keep a list of books to read but few struck me as right, so I turned to Amazon and searched for cozy mysteries by date of publication. First of all there were at least ten pages, maybe more, of books which I could pre-order. Some as far out as January 2016. I wish I could learn to post mine for pre-order, something I'll have to explore. The one mystery I self-published went live almost the minute I sent it in--which really wasn't what I had in mind.
Finally I got to the new books. I scrolled through perhaps another 15 pages recognizing only one or two authors. Since I really want escape reading for this weekend, I wasn't willing to order a sample chapter of an unknown--though I like to do that to support authors I don't know.
But I was surprised I knew so few--I'm an active member of Sisters in Crime and consider myself fairly knowledgeable about who's writing mysteries. What this tells me is that the field is so crowded that it's a wonder any of us sell one book--except to friends and relatives. No wonder marketing and social media are so important today.
But therein lies the rub. In such a crowded field, how do you make yourself stand out? Darned if  I know. I like social media, like blogging, spend way too much time on Facebook. But I'm a storyteller, not a marketer. I want to get to the business of writing and not spend my day on social media.
I  read several posts today from writers who were thinking of chucking it all. They run into a brick wall selling their work, they beat themselves up trying to keep up with social media--all for little or no rewards either monetary or audience reaction.
What's the answer? What if anything do you say to these discouraged authors? For readers, there are a couple of answers--write book reviews on Amazon and Goodreads, spread the word. And email the author--you can find "Contact" pages on most authors Web site. Let them know you read and enjoyed their books.
As for quitting writing, I can't imagine it. I write because that's how I live. I don't think I could not write. I'd wake up in the morning and think, "Omigosh, what am I going to do with the day?" As it is I wake up thinking, "Okay, what's keeping me from writing today?" Too many distractions. I can see giving up social media--or some of it--but not writing. It's who I am.
So watch for a chili book and a new novel this fall. I'm trudging on--and trying to encourage my fellow authors.

New Year's resolutions

I never make resolutions. I think it's foolish. We set these grand goals for ourselves and forget them long before January ends, partly because they're so lofty we can't attain them.. I've always believed in a more moderate approach--like this year I'm going to be a better person, walk in another person's moccasins before I judge them, an so on.
But this year I've made three resolutions, taking a hint from the man who recently said he was going to make one personal, one business, and one health resolution. I've got mine ready:
Health - I'm going to do my yoga routine at least four times a week, no excuses. I used to do that, but this past year the slightest excuse found me saying, "Not today." My back hurts, I didn't have time, the stars weren't aligned right. You name it, and it was an excuse for me. But I know I'm out of shape, and I know it's important as we age (and I certainly am) to stay flexible and active. Besides I bought a cushy new yoga pad.
Business--I'm going to be more disciplined about my writing. Less time on Facebook, etc., and more time devoted to writing new copy. Although I published three books this year, they reflected in large part writing done earlier. This year I'm going to concentrate on writing new material an finishing the projects on which I have a half start.
Personal - this is the one I'll probably break by January 10, but I am going to resist responding to blindly stated, rock-held (but in my mind erroneous) opinions on politics, social justice, the environment, gun control--all those controversial issues. Sometimes when people post comments that I consider blind belief and not rational exploration I can't resist leaping in. But I'm going to try. The guy who says "You can't take my guns from me" the same day a two-year-old shoots his mother by mistake will get no response for me. Neither will the person who claims climate change is a bunch of hooey. Hardest will be resisting those who blindly hate President Obama and claim he's ruining the country. But I cannot change their minds, and I hope to stop beating my head against a wall.
I saw a post today from a woman who said she will continue to condemn rogue cops, even while she continues to praise the majority of police officers. That, to me, is reasoned discourse, and if folks want to engage in that, I'd be grateful. I want to know when my thinking has veered off the chart of rationality--but only if you, too, are rational about it. Facts, folks, not prejudice.
Yes, I'm a progressive, a liberal, a tree hugger, an anti-gun person--but I'm willing to be reasonable about all--well, most of it.
So there you have it. Wish me luck in 2015. Because I wish you all the best that can be, all that your heart desires. Health, wealth, and happiness for everyone...and, most of all, peace in this sorry old world of ours. I, for one, am most grateful for all the blessings of my life. I hope you are too and that they continue for all of us in the year to come. God bless!