Dreadfully Absent in Mind, Body & Spirit #TuesdayswithTaryn #burnout #tiredauthor

I've been dreadfully absent around here I know. I can't even remember the last Saturday recipe I shared or Sunday Snippits, but I had to step away for a while and I might still be spotty when it comes to posting.

Last month I took a huge step for a "woman my age" and finally took the road test to get my driver's license. I failed MISERABLY the first time, so I had to wait, practice and go back the following week to re-test. I passed with only 1 thing marked off the 2nd time, so I'm now a licensed driver- look out world! Some have already been warned, but I'll share here, just to warn everyone else.

I'm still getting used to the knowledge that I can come and go, pick up things from the store, do the grocery shopping- ALONE!- I can do birthday shopping now for family in my household without them being with me or finding out what I got them before I get to wrap it.

It's definitely given me a new sense of self and a sense of freedom, but there are days that I find myself wanting to go driving, or take off to go visit family and friends while the hubby and kids are at school, but it would be a 2 1/2-3 hour drive to do so, which is frustrating and makes me melancholy during a season that usually rejuvenates me. This year I'm torn between the joy of this newfound freedom and the fact that I can't just go visit my close friends and family at the drop of a hat.

Another reason I have been absent around here has a lot to do with my writing- or the lack thereof. Even with editing and getting help from fresh eyes to see where my faults lie in my writing, I feel like a car stuck in the mud, spinning my tires and getting no where fast~ except exhausted and burned out. And unhappy. Discouraged. Disappointed in myself and I'm mentally exhausted and even though I KNOW I don't want to give up writing, I just feel tapped out....I still have stories to write, begging me from the inside out to bring them to life, but I have no zest, no zeal, no desire to write, right now.

I found myself cycling through edits until all I wanted to do is cry because I'm so overwhelmed by the work I know needs to be done, not just on the one I've been editing, but the ones that come after, which are "1st-Draft finished". Talk about that sense that you are drowning. I found myself promo'ing for fellow authors and myself (for the one book that is pubbed) more than working on my own stuff that I intend to pub. When I did look at my own stuff, it just made me sick to my stomach and well, when you no longer "love" what you do, sometimes you have to step back and refocus and reassess where you are and what path you are going down. For me, I feel like a snowball, rolling rolling rolling, picking up speed, but headed for disaster. I've even backed away a lot from my real life social networking as well. I check in ever so often but not like I was before.

Now Mercury is in Retrograde and has been for about a week and will be till mid-November (the 10th actually), so I'm too superstitious (or silly) (or crazy) to pick up and start ANY new project at this time. I'm concentrating more on things I need to do around my house, making lists for holiday treats I plan to make before Thanksgiving to take to family and friends, playing seamstress to take up my daughter's oversized costume for Halloween (She wants to be Sabrina the Teenage Witch, though no one will get that unless she explains it. She got hooked on the show this past summer on Netflix/Hulu and just LOVES it). Normally I would dress up too, but I'm just not feeling it this year.

Now, even in my absence/quiet- I still have a book available- Castaway Hearts, which I'd LOVE LOVE LOVE it if you'd check it out and let me know what you think of it, but for right now, I think I'm going to step back from writing all together, at least until after the New Year. I've tried before to step away but I don't think I ever truly gave myself time to clear my head.

I'm so tired. My mind, body and spirit need time to rest and adjust and find the heart of my writing again. I think somewhere along the way, it's gotten buried deep beneath everything else in my life. It's the "autumn of my discontent" and on a personal/emotional level, I'm trying to figure out what's best for me and eliminating stress and unhappiness is a big big part of that.

Besides getting my license, I have two very busy kids~ stepson's on the Academic Team and has meets, daughter's in Jr. Beta, chorus & joined a run club. I visited family & friends during Fall Break earlier this month and with the upcoming holidays and knowing I'm not feeling up to NaNoWriMo next month at all, I think I'm going to step back into my life and try to figure out how to find true balance again. I know I don't have it.

I'm not sure I'll post anymore of the recipes I had slated for the rest of the year, but will try when I think of it. Same goes for the Sunday Snippits. And I will post from time to time, if the mood strikes me. If anyone is interested in taking a Tuesday or Thursday spot for some promo, please feel free to email me and let me know.

To close out today, here's an inspirational blogpost I JUST happened upon today that brought me tears and reminded me that I am NOT alone in being a TIRED writer. I just hope I find my way out of Tired, as well- very soon!

I'M TIRED

at ROMANCE MAGICIANS

from @LouisaCornell

#MemoryLane Monday- Memories Lost Along the Way

Well, there you have it. For this week, while I'm visiting my family I was going to share a picture I took of the tree in the backyard where I grew up- the one that has my initials carved into it and talk about touching base with my roots. Seems I won't be doing that. Well, not sharing that photo, that is, unless I remember to snap a photo after I get up there and load it up and add it to the post, but not sure I'll get around to it before it posts on Monday)

After viewing a disk the other day that had that VERY image on it, I can't get it to open at all, not on my laptop and not on my desktop computer either. It's showing that there is space that's been "used" on it and says I have more space I can use, but the files? Those Kodak folders? It's like they've vanished...

All I can figure is that I accidentally reformatted the disk before I ejected it from my laptop or something. It won't read it, can't find the files and my heart is broken. There were photos from April 2011 through January of this year. I had copied them to disk so I could free up some space on my laptop. Dummy me- I didn't make an additional copy. What was I thinking?

I only remember a few of the pictures that were taken, so hopefully it won't worm through my mind that I flubbed up so badly. I still can't figure out how I did that except that it's a rewritable disk. I just don't remember "rewriting" it, cause normally a person remembers doing those sort of things.

Instead, I'll post some pictures I have from coming into town and the view of the park from the gazebo (which is no longer in the park- they replaced it with a different one or something). Was still a VERY pretty view.

My friends and I spent a lot of time in that park. Usually we walked through or rode our bikes through to go to the West Park Shopping Center to go to Wal-Mart to buy cassette tapes or cassette singles, or clothes, makeup, earrings- you name it. Or we'd go by IGA or Rite-Aid for candy or soda pop from the outdoor vending machines. Hot summer days were always a good excuse to take some change to go out there and we'd foolishly buy our drinks and sit on the bench near the payphone, watching the bag boys pushing customers' groceries out or watch for anyone we might know to go cruisin' through the parking lot. Sometimes we'd walk over to McDonald's and buy lunch and take it back to the park to eat at the covered pavilion and just hang out talking and reading the vandalism on the wooden picnic tables.

I truly miss those days. It was hot and you had to contend with wasps and flies around the tables where people had spilled their soda or thrown food in the big barrel garbage cans. You'd be hot and sticky with sweat, but a quick spin on your bike around the path would help take the edge off. Later we'd all collapse on a blanket in my front yard, with the old Magnavox with the broken antenna plugged up to an orange electric cord that was plugged in on the porch so we could jam out to our cassettes listening to New Kids on the Block and Debbie Gibson or Lisa Lisa & Cult Jam. Yeah, I'm an 80's dork.

But back in that park, as well as in our yards, there was solitude though, when it seemed like being a grown up was a million years away even though we wanted it so bad we could taste it. And the smell of fresh cut grass and the fumes from gas mowers scented the air. The splashing and screaming of kids at the local pool or the teenage boys pounding the pavement at the basketball courts was the only important sounds you heard, save perhaps the ice cream truck's tinkling little ditty.

Of course, as a teenager girl, nothing sounded as good as the thumping bass coming from some car three streets over, and you'd wait with bated breath for them to round the corner onto your street and then you'd get to see if it was some cute guy in his little truck. You know the one with the tinted windows and fluorescent doohickeys on the windshield wipers or the ground lights and custom details- cruisin' slow through the neighborhoods. Sometimes if you were lucky, they'd give you a slight acknowledgement of a wave or the nod of their head, looking cool in their sunglasses with the windows down, an arm hanging out the driver's side with one hand on the steering wheel and some song blaring from the speakers, and you'd fall into a heap of giggling as soon as they were up the road and out of sight.

Those were the days.

Of course, I don't have pictures from all those times, and I guess I don't need them, because images capture a lot of great cheesy poses, but your brain and your heart capture the emotions and sights and sounds in a way photography can't.

Hope everyone had a great Easter and I hope you have a great start to your week!
Happy Monday!

#MemoryLane Monday- #MyMom #MyCheerleader #Writing #Encouragement

One of my biggest cheerleaders is my mom. When I've felt discouraged or disappointed or lacking, she's my go-to who reminds me I can do anything, be anything, and fusses at me not to give up, especially on my writing.

As a teenager, I lacked a lot of self-confidence. I'd had the problems with school and the tragic loss of my grandfather as well as my weight issues, but after dropping out of school and taking home-school, I also became even more withdrawn and reclusive. I did go a few rounds with typical adolescent depression, probably compounded by the other circumstances in my life, but my mom talked to me—always keeping the lines of communication open—even when I'd rather have shut myself up in my room and pretended I didn't exist. She wouldn't allow me to wallow in self-pity and dislike and she took on the job of being my own personal cheering squad.

When I decided I wanted to be a writer—well, I knew for a long time, but when I told my parents it was something I wanted to pursue seriously, they gave me a Smith Corona word processor/typewriter, a lot of 3 1/2 inch disks and several books marketed to writers and toward the industry (one in particular was The Romance Writers Pink Pages) for Christmas when I was 17.

I dug out the old instructional typewriter book my dad had from his college days and taught myself the basics of typing, while my parents each gave me encouragement in their own ways.

My mom's way? Unadulterated encouragement and praise—

"You can do this."
"You're a born storyteller."
"You've always had a way with words."
"I believe in you."

The best by far was when she told me to hit "send" in my email in February 2011 to submit Castaway Hearts to Turquoise Morning Press- my very first submission. Then she told me she expected me to get published in HER lifetime, because she wants to be able to say "My daughter is a published author."

"I want to see your book and hold it before I'm dead."

I love her to pieces and I'm not sure she'll ever know just how important she is in my life. I tell her, but she brushes it off, never taking me too serious, but maybe one of these days she'll understand what her encouragement means to me. Though I doubt she'll see this blog, I just want to say-

I love you Momma!
Thank you so much for all you've done for me and
every supportive word you've ever given me.

Dances With Wolves by Michael Blake (Favorite Books Spotlight)

Ordered to hold an abandoned army post, John Dunbar found himself alone, beyond the edge of civilization. Thievery and survival soon forced him into the Indian camp, where he began a dangerous adventure that changed his life forever. Relive the adventure and beauty of the incredible movie, DANCES WITH WOLVES.

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Dances with Wolves by Michael Blake carries over from yesterday's theme about descriptive writing. A while back my husband and I went to rent some movies and I was in the mood for an oldie but goodie. I suggested Dances with Wolves, as it had been over a decade or more since I last watched it. I remember fondly how much I loved the book and how impressed I was with the adaptation, but for a few changes in how it translated from page to screen. For the most part it comes as close as I've seen most book-to-movie attempts. My husband had never watched it at all.

Of course, I read the book when the movie was in the theaters in the 1990s. Yeah, I saw Kevin Costner on the book cover and on the commercials for the movie trailer quite often, but I read the book long before I ever saw the movie. The thing was, I didn't "see" Kevin Costner, per se, as I read. I saw Lieutenant Dunbar/Dances with Wolves as a real person. Sure, having an actor as a basis for what the character looks like doesn't hurt, but for me, the story became more and more real the further into the book I got.

I experienced the mid-to-late 1800s at the outpost, the stench of dead animal in the air that was fouling up the water supply when he first arrived, a matter that probably had a great deal to do with the reason why the post was abandoned. The aroma of the campfire as it sizzled and sparked, inhaling the dust and dirt of the west as it all overwhelmed my senses. The scary and yet surreal connection with "Two Socks" the wolf with whom he bonded and formed a supernatural kinship with and for which the Natives named him "Dances with Wolves."

My heart ached when he discovered Stands with a Fist during her mourning, covered in her own blood and my stomach churned when he ate from his buffalo kill, but my heart swelled as he became part of the tribe and fell in love.

I got sucked into the story, the setting and sometimes I forgot I was simply reading and not living back in those times. Though fictional, my heart went out to the "savages" for I could see how ignorance could blind people to the reality around them and carry prejudices that my mind doesn't want to accept, let alone understand. Even in fiction, there are strands of truth and the sad reality of our history in this country. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to wrap my mind around the hatred, the injustice, the stupidity. Putting myself in those shoes, having lived nearly 100 years after the time period in which the book is set, I just can't imagine myself feeling any differently.

Even in this day and age, I see and hear about prejudices and intolerance toward others based on personal things like race, culture, religion and sexuality and it makes me sad and sickened for humanity. No one should have to live in fear or be ashamed of who they ARE.

Dances with Wolves spoke of the freedom to lead a life of simple happiness and joy- to escape the rigors and demands of our society (long before all the technology came into being) and simply exist by loving and accepting others for who they are. It spoke of being a real community and family. Sometimes that means rocking the boat- going against societal expectations, the "norm" and living OUTSIDE the box.

That's why it's one of my favorite books (and the movie ain't too shabby either). Imagine my surprise while researching a bit about the book that I discovered there was a sequel called The Holy Road that continued the story around Dances with Wolves, Stands with a Fist and several other key characters. I downloaded both to my Kindle and plan to re-read the first one and then read the sequel very soon as I'm intrigued by the idea that there really was more to the story.

Happy Reading!

Memory Lane Monday- My Baby Sister

Yeah, my baby sister would probably kill me for posting this image of her from back in the day, but Shhh...she'll never know seeing as how she NEVER gets online anymore these days and even if she did, she wouldn't pop over here to check my blog. LOL

This is the baby sister, ONLY sister, I remember holding on that drive home from the hospital when I was 3, sitting in the front seat between my parents. Same baby sister who was the bane of my existence when I started kindergarten because, even though my Momma promised to keep her OUT of my Barbies while I went 1/2 day to school, I still came home to naked headless dolls scattered all over our bedroom floor.

It goes without saying that we didn't always love each other- we "tolerated" each other as best we could. I mean, sure we had fun rolling down the hallway in the big cardboard barrel that usually stayed in our shared closet and housed all our bits and pieces of toys. Or when we lined the hallway with pillows and "hopped" or "rolled" our way across them. Hard telling how many sets of dirty footprints my Mom painted over by the time we got old enough to stop doing that! LOL Or how we used our set of encyclopedias more for Barbie's staircase than for research. They made an awesome spiral staircase to the second floor of the "Barbie Bookcase Townhouse" though. ;)

We were rowdy, now that I think back on it. We'd take the mattress off the bed and tilt it so we could use it as a slide, flip the living room chair over so we could sit in it and pretend to drive it like a car. I wonder if she still remembers that weird green "rocking" chair we had. It was a funky 60's or 70's vinyl floral pattern and silvery button tacking that was so popular. I've tried to find an image, but can't find one of the specific chair, though I'm thinking it would have been something along the lines of a vinyl upholstered swivel lounge chair. It didn't have normal chair legs but those ones that look like a plus sign and if we rocked it just right it would tilt. Our mom HATED that.

There did come a point where sharing a room became such a hair-pulling experience, my mom allowed me to take her sewing room and turn it into my bedroom. This came about when I was a 11, shortly after the numerous Barbie pages I so lovingly colored and hung up on the wall got ripped down by my sister. It was the final straw. I moved out- and across the hall. She didn't want me to at first, but after a while, I think we both saw that it was a better option than having to share our space.

Of course, having my own room didn't put an end to her snooping. She'd still seek out my diary/journal with the nose of a blood-hound and read it- then tease me endlessly over things she read. Of course, I gave her a hard time of things too when she wouldn't leave me alone, and I was probably a lot more vicious in my attacks, but I guess those little squabbles are forgiven after all these years. Here's hoping.

The best times were always chasing fireflies after dark or riding our bikes to the park, early Christmas mornings when we'd get up way before light to sit in front of the sparkling tree and try to figure out what we'd gotten in each gift-wrapped box. The many nights we sat up watching cheesy old B movies or Kids in the Hall or making up song parodies and laughing hysterically till we cried. Much as we fought, I believe we make up for it by the good times we have when we can now just sit and reminisce about growing up, about heartaches we've each had and knowing we do have each other, even if we DO still get under each others skin from time to time.

Having a sister is like having a best friend you can't get rid of. You know whatever you do, they'll still be there. ~Amy Li
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
If you don't understand how a woman could both love her sister dearly and want to wring her neck at the same time, then you were probably an only child. ~Linda Sunshine
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I'm smiling because I am your sister & laughing because there is nothing you can do about it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
MY sister, has the BEST sister in the WORLD!

Have a wonderful Monday and if you have a sister or sisters, let them know how much you love them today and have a few good laughs about the old days.

Memory Lane Monday- Early Memories

My mom swears I don't really remember as far back as I tell her I do, because she says if I saw it on old home videos, it doesn't count as a memory so much as something I've burned to my files up in the old noggin.

Still there are things I remember that I can't possibly have seen on home video because there just aren't any reels or footage of it.

For instance, I do remember the night my sister was born, and my mom sitting on their bed explaining to me where they were going and why I had to go stay with my grandparents and uncles and aunt. That was not on home video. (Though I did hear that story a lot growing up.)

Nor was the time when I was probably 2-3 years-old, my mom and two cousins were hanging out in the kitchen at the old Ripy Place, I think it was, and my dad was out in this barn/building doing some woodworking and I wanted to go out there, but it was starting to get dark. I remember them telling me, if I went out there, the Boogeyman would get me and I remember staring out the screen door and inching my way out but getting scared and darting back in the house.

I remember going on wrecker runs with my grandpa and uncle because they owned a junk yard and I spent a lot of time climbing around on old junk cars. I gathered eggs with my aunt from the chickens, who at one time were housed in the old body of a bus or something. I learned about the life cycle of mosquitoes in the cows' water trough.

Some of my favorite memories was going fishing with my grandma at what we called 'the Slab' down near the old distillery way out past where my grandparents lived. She and I would always pack peanut butter and crackers, vienna sausages and when we stopped for worms, she'd get us Hershey candy bars and Coca~Cola in the glass bottles. That must have been our thing, come to think of it, seeing as we got the same snack together at the hospital when we went to bring my mom and sister home.

Of course, my grandfather had a rented soda machine that dispensed glass Coca-Cola bottles for a long time for his junk yard business, but Grandma would wait until we were on the way and stop at a bait shop to get our drinks.

(the one pictured above is almost exactly what I remember)

What I do remember about the vending machine on the front porch is the long door on the left side of the front that you opened to grab a drink after you'd deposited your coins. I remember how hard it was to sometimes yank that bottle out. I remember that the Coca-Cola guy always had to come refill it a couple times a week and take the empties with him. I remember the brown "faux" wood paneling on it and how on really hot summer days, your soda would turn to slush as soon as the bottle cap was popped. Nothing tasted so good on those days either as a good slushie soda. Other times, my aunt would take a nail and poke a hole in the cap and let me drink it that way. I'm not sure why we did that, but it sure was fun back then.

Of course, I rarely buy Hershey's bars and I don't drink soda anymore, but memories like that inspire me to find one of those "retro" glass bottles of Coca~Cola and a Hershey bar, just so I can relive those moments when I was hanging out with my grandma and enjoying the simple things in life. I miss those days more and more as I grow older.

What are some of your favorite moments spent with a grandparent?
Were there special things you did together?

Family Stories, Family Recipes

Family Stories, Family Recipes by Maddie James is a cookbook that combines a love of food, stories, and family in one package. Throughout time, families have brought a rich culture of stories and favorite foods to the table. Part cookbook, part real-life family anecdotes, Family Stories, Family Recipes is a book to warm both your tummy and your heart.

Order Print Version on Amazon HERE
Or
Get it on Kindle HERE

I contributed a recipe to this cookbook because I knew that a portion of the proceeds from this book will go to—

The National Center for Family Literacy

The National Center for Family Literacy (NCFL) is a leading national nonprofit organization with an incredible mission: building a more literate and prosperous nation by helping parents and children learn together. For more than 20 years, NCFL has seen the power of family literacy in action. Since 1989, more than 1 million families have made education and economic progress as a result of NCFL’s work.

NCFL is credited with pioneering—and continuously improving—various family literacy models and approaches that improve the lives of our nation’s most at-risk children and families. The organization’s work is frequently cited by mainstream media and academic audiences for its innovation, attention to quality and groundbreaking results.

With the help of more than 150,000 teachers and thousands of other volunteers, NCFL has evolved its techniques to reach out to and maximize the effectiveness of local programs and organizations. In our work with these groups, we’ve seen how important it is to build community relationships that support and improve learning: from teacher to student, and, most importantly, from parent to child.

NCFL uses the strength of families and the flexibility of the family literacy approach to respond to the changing needs and demographics of underserved populations. Literacy initiatives and programs developed by NCFL yield great results on the local, state, and national levels.

Family by family, community by community, NCFL continues to touch lives and provide endless educational opportunities through family literacy.

To support readers and cooks everywhere, the author will donate a portion of the proceeds of the sale of this cookbook to the National Center for Family Literacy.

Visit NCFL at www.famlit.org