Buttons

Yesterday, I was playing on Pinterest before work. It was an attempt to de-stress before I walked into the job that I loathe. There was a couple of pics of buttons that caught my eye. I thought "Hmmm...interesting, but why are these in my feed? I haven't pinned anything crafty in...well, forever." If there had been only a few pics, I'd have let them go. However, the more I scrolled, the more buttons there were. I said "Okay, I hear ya!" and I started a board specifically for buttons.

What this process did was open a vast well of memories. Sitting with my mom at her sewing machine with a needle, thread, and her button box, threading buttons onto the string while she sewed clothes. Going through my grandma's button boxes searching for treasures. For me, every button told a story.

 

Button boxes are things of the past, I think. However, I have a button box from my grandma. In it is a set of buttons from a pair of her mother's shoes, buttons from my mother's childhood dresses, a button from an old military uniform plus buttons from my grandpa's shirts. I also have a button box that belonged to my mom. There are buttons from the many clothes she made over the years. 

See I love the smell of these button boxes. That musty smell that only comes with age. But it is the fact that each button in those boxes tells a story. Even the ones that are still on the cards that my mom had purchased. I wrote my grandma a poem about her button box one year. Yeah, that's how much I love the stories and memories lovingly tucked inside each of these boxes.

A year or so ago, someone very dear to me went to a garage sale. They will claim that they had no idea why they bought me the gift that they did. They just saw it and thought it might be something I'd enjoy. I opened the top of the old Ball jar with the old metal and wax lid and sniffed as deeply as if they were a bouquet of the most exotic flowers. Inside was a bunch of buttons. Wooden ones, metal ones, resin ones, and even some painted ones. They are so beautiful and so special to me.

In an age of underappreciated things and often overlooked items, button boxes, to me, are the treasure troves filled with memories and stories. So whatever the universe was trying to tell me, I heard. 

Buttons, people, are my special obsession. Always have been and seems like it always will be.

The Art of Storytelling

It isn't really a surprise to anyone that I became a storyteller. After all, it's in my blood.

I remember sitting on my grandmother's lap as she told me story after story. She'd tell me about where my family came from, how her and grandpa met, the night of my mom and dad's first date, the night I was born, growing up, losing her mother, and life. 

There are some of these stories I can recite in my sleep and others I have lost the thread of. However, I'd give anything for another story from this beloved woman.

I've been watching one of my favorite movies lately. It showed up in my Netflix suggestions and my heart did a little flip. How To Make An American Quilt is the title and it has made me a bit nostalgic. Women sitting around a table, having conversations about relationships, life, and love. 

All of this reminiscing has me wondering if women do this anymore? Do they sit and share stories with their children? Will this next generation know where they came from, where their roots lie? For so long, women have been the storytellers, the secret keepers, for their families, for the world. I'm afraid that there will so much lost to future generations when we stop telling the stories of how our families came to be. We are so involved in the future and how we want things to turn out that we forget to look back and realize how we came to this place.

I'm going to wrap this up with an example of the importance of storytelling: My grandma started a tradition when I was small and it carried on until she passed away. She would tell me the story of the night I was born. When she died, my mom and dad began telling me their versions of that same night. When my dad died, my cousin picked up with her version. That story is a very special part of who I am and I know that the art of storytelling has impacted who I was, who I am, and who I have yet to become. 

This piece always touches my heart in a profound way. Carry it with you.

The Reason We're Really Here

It has been a long time since I made a post about the actual books themselves and, let's face it, that's why we're really here. I haven't been doing much promotion for a few reasons: A) I was not happy with my publisher. B) I didn't believe anyone wanted to read my stories. C) My depression made me believe I'd never write another story. Here's the good news: I have the rights back for Keeper and Enemies will follow in June. I know people want to read my stories. I've opened the fourth and fifth books up and remembered why I love this series...the characters are incredible! I've read some of the dialogue I wrote so long ago and laughed out loud.

So...I thought I'd tell you a little bit about books that you may not have known.

Did I ever tell you that Adam and Luna weren't even on my radar? I mean, c'mon, Adam had maybe 3 lines in Keeper. The second book was actually supposed to be Fire and Ice. It was going to be about Lance and Pearl. Then, Adam pushed his way through to the forefront and let his demands be known. Then, the rest of the cast followed his example. Fire and Ice is...well...on ice at the moment while I work on those damn Black boys and Gideon...sigh...Gideon.

Mr. Fischer was a character who appeared from out of nowhere. As a writer, I know that every character has a purpose, but my original thought was "What on earth could Mr. Fischer be here for?" After all, he was ornery and just an unpleasant person...unless you were Luna. He actually reminds me of an old family friend (who has passed away). He acted like he was ornery when it actuality, he had a heart of pure gold and was one of the sweetest people you could ever meet. Mr. Fischer taught me a lot.

Samson...oh, sweet Samson! Do you know I put the book aside for three days after I wrote his scene? Three days and I wasn't sure I wanted to write again. Samson is the one character I love as much as the main characters. He's the bear shifter version of my dad. And my father passed away before Enemies was released. I had the contract which he knew about and was proud of, but the book hadn't been released yet. He never knew about the third book. I had been able to keep him alive with my dear Samson.

There is actually a thought in the back of my mind to make a cookbook based on Lorelai's recipes. It's just a dream at this point because I'm not sure it's a feasible idea at the moment. A) I'm not sure if people would be interested. B) I'm not sure people actually do a lot of cooking anymore. C) I'd have to do a lot of cooking and making things look pretty for pictures. LOL

Here's a funny little fact: Adam was loosely based on someone who used to walk through the theater where I used to write. How funny is it that the real-life version (looks, personality, attitude, everything) of Adam entered my life over a year and a half ago? 5 years AFTER the books were released? I will admit that my heart skipped a few beats when he walked in the door. I mean, after all this time, Adam is still the main character who has my heart. Gideon makes me sigh and I love the Black boys, but Adam is...damn near perfect!

As you can see, if you have crossed my path at some point, you will end up in my stories. If you know me personally, I wonder if  you've found yourself in the stories yet. If you have, let me know! It would be funny if you could figure it all out.

Some more book news for you: The covers for Keeper and Enemies are finished! Keeper is going to go back to the original title that I had: The Sheriff and the Hellraiser. Enemies will remain Natural Born Enemies. The first round of edits for the former Keeper are almost finished. I don't foresee any drastic changes being made. I love the story, but there are just some horrible errors that were overlooked when they were originally published. The website will be ready when the first book is re-released.

Fighting the Urge to Rage

I was outside with Diesel tonight and I saw a woman drive past, wiping her eyes. I thought, "I wonder what she's upset about. A family member's illness or death? Did she get some bad news of her own?" It caused me to take pause and think about my own life.

See, I've been thinking about hellos and goodbyes a lot recently. This led me to think about the nights I would be driving to and from work on the highway. Some nights, the traffic was light. Others not so much. As a writer, my mind drifts to the people I'm sharing the road with. The couple who are arguing while driving somewhere with their kids. The gorgeous man who races past me on his motorcycle. The single woman with insane colors in her hair, dancing and singing in her truck. (Okay, that one is me, but I'm sure people think I'm nuts.)What are these people's stories?

We've all raged at the drivers who fly past us as if they're the only ones on the road. However, have you ever thought about why they're in a hurry? Maybe they are on the way to the hospital because a loved one was in an accident. Maybe there's been a death. Maybe they're on their way to the airport to greet a loved one who has been away. Even the slow drivers have a story. I'm not saying these are excuses for reckless driving, but how would you feel if your spouse or child was returning after being at war? Would you drive calmly with no hint of excitement? Or would you unconsciously lower the gas pedal to the floor in your haste to get them in your arms again? I know my answer.

I find myself doing the same thing in the store. Doesn't mean I don't get frustrated, just means I wonder about people's stories. What is in the text message that made that woman smile so brightly? What did that woman whisper to her man that has him walking off with a smirk on his face? What is so wrong with their relationship that a man is calling his wife names? I'm an odd duck that way.

My grandma used to take a drive into town (when she still drove) and she would park on Main Street to watch the people. I used to think she was nosy, but that wasn't it at all. She simply wondered about their stories.

So, the next time you get cut off in traffic or you see a frazzled person who is barely keeping it together, think for a moment: I wonder what is happening in their life. I'm not saying there aren't assholes everywhere, but not everyone is covered under that umbrella. That woman who is crying at the stoplight may have just kissed her husband/boyfriend/partner goodbye and she's not sure when/if she'll see them again...or she may have heard a sad song on the radio that triggered her emotions. And if you see that she has crazy colors in her hair AND you're in Wisconsin...roll your window down and say "Hi!" I'm not crazy, I promise...my mama had me tested!