First SNOW!

On Sunday evening, November 16, 2014, it started snowing. It was late, but Facebook exploded with posts about where it was snowing locally and how much was coming down. I stood at the window and watched through the trees where the security light made the flakes visible.

Everyone was in awe.

Because we don't live in the northwest or the New England states where an early snow is fairly common. We live in far Western Kentucky. We don't even see measurable snow every single winter - December, January or February - much less before Thanksgiving.

We knew it was coming. At least ... the weather experts said it was. But as we're all aware, they've been wrong before! Sometimes it feels as if the forecasters get it right about as many times as the folks who predict it using Woolly Worms or tree rings (locally, Dick Frymire used his Rooster named Jack). I remember many times as a teacher when forecasters were "certain" we'd get snow; I admit it, Snow Days were pretty exciting for me then. Unfortunately, the disappointment when the snow didn't come was greater than the sum of all the excitement and hype about the mere possibility! And we all remember at least one time when snow came as a big surprise even to the experts. It didn't even give us time to run out and get milk, bread and toilet paper! So, now days, I always take the forecast with a grain of salt (while secretly hoping that it WILL snow!)

This year the weathermen explained again about the Polar Vortex and how it works and why. They expounded on how unusual it was to reach so far south. But the predictions of our snowfall varied with as many different news sources that were available. All those weather computer models mean different things to the weather prophets, so by late afternoon on Sunday our snow predictions were anywhere from a dusting to five inches. As I went to bed, I wondered if the dusting we already had would dissipate overnight.

It happened while we slept, mostly unseen, so it felt magical to wake up on Monday morning to 3 1/2 inches (I measured!) on the ground.

There's just something about the first snow that harkens back to childhood snow days and going  sledding down the hill with friends.  I grew up on the best hill in our small town. Our house was in the middle block  where the hill nearly flattened out, but the upper portion of the street was steep. With the proper ice and snow cover, a sledder could go all the way to my house and even further. Kids and adults flocked to our street when it snowed. Thankfully, the street was impassible to cars.It was always a cold, cold struggle to tramp back up the street after a dreamlike-over-too-soon journey down, but the moment we reached the top, all that huffing and puffing was worth it; and down we'd go again!  Good times!

There aren't any sledding hills where I live in Western Kentucky, not even small slopes. I remember pulling my children on a sled in the yard when they were little and wishing they could experience the heart-stopping rides of my childhood snow days.

I love snow! Particularly, when there's nowhere I have to go. But these days I'm content to watch it snow and to stay toasty warm indoors!

Sunrise, Sunset ~2014

I'm enjoying my annual fall month at the beach with Mom. There are many things I love about my visit to the Gulf Coast, but one of them is re-uniting with the other "re-peaters." We come every year at the same time. It's usually the only time we see each other face-to-face, but friendships forged over years of these "once a year" visits are delightful. Today, many of us keep up with each other through Facebook, email and Christmas cards and letters. I loved how this year's group asked all about Courtney's book, remembering that it was launched between last fall and this fall. They had read it and loved it (so gratifying for Courtney's mom!) and even reviewed it for magazines. Loved introducing the book to more friends during this year's visit. So thankful for interested friends, especially those who understand as moms what an exciting adventure Faking Normal has been for me!

Mom, in her 92nd year, enjoys the beach as much as ever!

Another great joy is my daily, early morning walk. Some days I walk on the beach and enjoy the Gulf breeze, the warm temps even at six a.m. and the cool sand between my toes. I love finding "treasures," as my friend, Margo, calls them. Unique shells, pieces of driftwood, starfish, sand dollars. I have quite a collection. Sometimes, I add "memory treasures" to my collection - the friendly fisherman, Bernie, who comes early to the beach and exchanges Good Mornings with me, the herons who carefully watch over his shoulder for bait scraps, the occasional sea turtles, playful dolphins and more - even a scary shark exposed by the curling waves. Other days, I walk through the quaint bay neighborhood on the opposite side of the street. These pastel colored houses have become familiar "friends" over the years; I enjoy seeing the seasonal changes and home improvement projects among the dwellings; and rejoice when no recent hurricane forces repair and rebuilding. Two particular things come to mind.

The Dome house. In 2004, an angry hurricane named Ivan hit the island; we were privileged to arrive two weeks later. The destruction in property damage was horrendous. An unusual, white stucco, one-story house shaped like a dome did not fare well. It, among other less memorable architecture, was eventually torn down. Coming to the condo several times a year has allowed us to watch the rebuilding progress after the destructive storm. Today, there are still a few lots that are empty, but the blue tarps are gone and the island looks back to normal. Except for the Dome house. We have watched it's very slow progress each year. In 2014, it is still not finished. The owner decided to rebuild the exact same house, except for one major difference. Now the original dome sits on the second floor! The outside is complete, but there are still tools and ladders visible through the large upstairs windows as "finishing" work remains. This house deserves the title of Longest Time to Rebuild a Home! or possibly, Owned by Most Patient Man Ever. But one day we'll return, and the forbearing owner (who is doing much of the work himself) will have a light in the window!

The rock collector. One house I love to walk by features a collection of painted rocks on its curb. The rocks are all sizes (think an Irish potato) and are painted to portray an event in the life of the artist. Some are obviously painted by children, some by adults that are more skillfully rendered, but all represent sweet memories: births and birthdays, anniversaries, great accomplishments and other happy days. One year, as I was slowly walking by - reading the rock faces - the owner of the home came out. I learned that her eight grandchildren visit her each year at various times, and that this is their family tradition. During each visit, they celebrate by adding new rocks to the collection. What a wonderful idea! That year I started a painted rock collection for my daughter and son-in-law, giving them the first rock for their family, and they have kept it up. I search for special rocks to paint anytime I'm outdoors. Friends bring me rocks from their travels! This year, the owner added a new twist to her rock collection. She obviously knows it is a great attraction for the early morning walkers. There are small rocks painted with a letter of the alphabet,and walkers are invited to use the rocks to create a short message! What fun! I have enjoyed seeing the "message" change, and I am pondering what message I want to leave before we go back home!

Unique creatures. Each year, it seems, I learn of some new creature. From garbage lid-sized jellyfish to black and white jumping sting rays, to Satan's Purse pods (sting ray babies), to unusual shells (Penn). This year it was the cannonball jellyfish. The pictures were in the newspaper, but were taken locally. Incredible!

This shows a dolphin tossing the cannonball jellyfish as if it were a beach ball!

Among my greatest joys during my time at the beach are the beautiful sunrises and sunsets on the Gulf. Owning an iPhone means never having to say you didn't have a camera with you. I snap pictures nearly every day. Other, more skillful, photographers will achieve greater quality photos, but I rarely miss the opportunity to record a memory! I'm not alone. Though I meet fewer early risers, many gather on the sand at sunset to get a photo. I'm always struck by the different location of the sun over sand or waves between our spring, summer and fall visits.

Sunrise on Okaloosa 2014

My faithful, early-morning companion!

Sunset on Okaloosa 2014

I love the sunlight reflected on the water.

I can't take credit for these, but they are also my views.

 Through the dune grass.

A zoom view of the pier.

Our 2014 visit is now at its midway point. I am looking forward to a visit from Ron (!) and Courtney this week. Courtney wrote much of Faking Normal sitting on a beach chair outside our condo. Her second book, The Lies About Truth, which comes out in the fall of 2015, is actually set right here on Okaloosa Island! 

More to come! I'll add to this post in the coming days.

The Tribe

This weekend I enjoyed thinking back over all the experiences we've shared since Courtney began her writing career. I've witnessed interaction between many authors who are at far different places on the path to publication: those who are just beginning to put words on paper to shape a story, those whose thought of attracting an agent seems an impossible dream, those with agents but no success with submissions, those who are in the two-year, seemingly forever process of preparing their book for print, debut authors facing their first signing events and tours, those who make the decision to self-publish, successful mid-list authors, those who have phenomenal success right out of the gate, and authors who have become household names due to an established and successful career with many books, honors and royalties behind them. They come in all shapes, sizes and personalities.

The publishing industry has evolved over the years in many ways, but it has changed drastically with the advent of social media. Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr and Facebook have practically made obsolete the image of the author as a loner who sits for long hours hunched over a thick, yellow legal pad or typewriter (or laptop) at a desk in a remote room all by himself. Not that writers don't do this at all - they have to buckle down and put words to paper - but it is no longer just an isolated process that engages them in a terminally lonely place away from fandom and other writers. 

As a child and even as an avid adult reader, I never dreamed of a time when I'd one day meet a favorite author of mine. Authors were not my heroes (they should be) because it never occurred to me to wonder about the people who put the magic in stories. Yet they allowed me to become the character in the book, they let me live between the pages and experience what I'd never know in reality, which was so important to me. Books and story were as necessary to me as breathing, yet I never met an author and never saw one (of my favorites) interviewed on TV or featured in magazines. In my childhood, there was no such thing as author school visits or writing camps for young writers where authors came to put dreams into the head of young aspiring writers.  And there certainly was no internet to facilitate access.

When it did happen, it was rare and felt like a miracle. One of our friends credits her inspiration to succeed as a writer to a telephone conversation - the result of winning a grade school writing contest - with her favorite author. What an amazing experience for that time (it wasn't THAT long ago as our author friend is still a young woman). What a marvelous thing for her teacher to arrange (in fact, I can't imagine how she accomplished it). We, the general public reader, had no access to information about authors. The best we could do was send a fan letter to the publisher and keep our fingers crossed that it might reach the author. A reply was much more iffy. It hardly seemed worth the effort.

Today, it is more common, though none-the-less special. Many schools take advantage of literacy grants and provide students with author appearances, both personal and through Skype. Book festivals abound, and they are filled with authors who make themselves available for face-to-face conversations with readers. This past year I saw firsthand the excitement of a very young reader who got to meet the author of her favorite book series at a book festival; it was spine-tingling. Now, social media makes it simple to reach an author. I loved it when the grandson received a Twitter answer from an author to a question about the book he was reading; it was "cool," he said. I've seen many Faking Normal fans reach out to Courtney on Facebook and Twitter. She cherishes their responses to her words. She soaks up their appreciation and uses it to refuel her confidence and to refresh her excitement at being allowed to live her dream. 

We can now match a face, a name, a family, and possibly a day-to-day routine to our favorite authors. We value their random observations. We get to "know" them the way we used to think we knew actors and actresses on TV as we saw their characters unfold week after week. 

Authors are no longer invisible.

I see at least one difference when comparing writing to other artistic industries such as music and drama. In the writing world, a successful author - no matter at what stage in the publishing process- does not view himself as diminished or threatened because of another author's success. There seems no need for a cut-throat attitude, for arrogance and condescension and back-stabbing among writers. They know they must cherish their talent and share it on all levels and spread it around in order to grow as authors. Writers lean on their writer friends, those who are or have or will go through what they are going through at a given time. And they understand how hard it is. Strong, loyal friendships spring from the true sense of purpose and unity they share.

It does, as they say, take a village.

Authors call this The Tribe. 

And it is a marvelous thing.  I witnessed an example of sacrifice and unselfish giving between writing professionals last week; it made my heart full of gratitude for such caring friends. Authors share the joy when one of them gets that dream agent. They rejoice in that book deal, that award, that honor, and the recognition that comes to other writer friends. They post loads of congratulatory Tweets when one of them arrives on the NYT Best Seller list.They weep with authors who experience the frustrations of the revision cave or writer's block or when rejection rears its ugly head. They become cheerleaders,
encouragers, plot-fixers, and hand-holders as needed. And this is just among authors who are friends through the wide reaches of the internet. Among close, personal author friends, it is even more special. Though I am not a writer, I count it a privilege to see and to be a vicarious part of The Tribe through Courtney and her author friends.

Human nature being what it is, there are a few exceptions. I become aware of rare examples of this, as others do, through social media. Books are an art, and art is subjective. As such, books appeal differently to readers who automatically bring their own images, experiences and preconceived notions to the story. That is as it should be. But the author's words are the baby he has conceived and protected and nurtured and watched grow. The book is part of him, and it is painful to see it criticized, whether kindly or harshly. Unfortunately, some people (in any industry) exercise little control over a desire to spew seat-of-the-pants reactions, observations and/or defensive retaliations over social media. The very advantage of being accessible to so many then becomes the disadvantage when wiser heads do not prevail; the result is not pretty. Writers and publishing professionals would be wise to remember that the publishing world is small, and memories are long. And we should all - no matter the circumstance or profession - remember that the Tweets, Posts, Comments and photos never totally disappear, even when deleted, and could come back to haunt us. 

The next time you are in a book place - be it library, chain, discount, second-hand or Indie - take a moment to appreciate the authors who make such magical places possible. And remember to be thankful for that amazing sense of community that they call The Tribe.

It is All the Feels, as book lovers say.