Why did it take me so damn longto figure this out?
I just want to have fun. That’s it. When I turned 50, I told myself I just wanted to follow all the things that made me feel happy and filled me with joy. Writing is one of those things.
Over the past few years, I’ve written three books and published exactly ZERO of them. None. I have had this idea in my head that I was holding onto them to wait for the “perfect person,” (a.k.a. Literary Agent), to find it irresistible and want nothing more than to partner with me and champion it into the world.
With the amount of people out there trying to publish a novel every day, I might have better chances at winning the lottery. Some years ago, there was this statistic that literary agents get an average of over 300 emails a day. A DAY! How is that possible? How could I expect to be picked out of that pile? And that’s only the beginning. An agent has to SELL your book to a publishing house. And even if they love it and buy your book, it takes over a year after their editors get a hold of it and want you to do more re-writes, before it will ever even see the light of day on a bookshelf in your neighborhood bookstore.
So when my lovely writing coach asked me why it was that I was so set on getting a traditional publishing contract, I thought it was so I would get a bigger team behind me and that I’d have my books in more libraries across the country, and in the bigger stores, she smiled. Apparently, most of the marketing and book tours are no longer hosted by the publisher anymore. Also, advances are strung out over a two year period and often, royalties aren’t as much as if you’d have just published the damn thing yourself.
I knew this somewhere in the back of my brain. There was more to my holding back than I was willing to admit.
I needed validation.
If I am traditionally published, I was feeling that THEN…and only then would I have “made it,” in the industry. That self-publishing only meant that nobody worthy really liked my book.
THAT IS TOTAL BULLSHIT!
I have a following. YOU are reading this and you matter. I love you readers that have supported me and YOU deserve to get my book now. Not when some yahoo out there decides I’m worthy. And I have the knowledge and power to get this done. Waiting for outside validation is only my ego talking, and as Dr. Wayne Dyer always said…EGO is when you Edge God Out.
So…I’m going to hire another editor, (my lovely Jen Graybeal is coaching now but no longer editing), I’m going to self-publish my books as soon as I feel they are ready, and will for the forseeable future.
If I decide to try my hand at traditionally publishing again, I’ll do it all on my terms, and not wait around and hold onto something for years again. As of now, I have THE CLOCK TOWER OF MAPLE CREEK, ready to be edited and it will publish in 2025, along with the second book in the series, probably around this time next year. That’s right… two books will launch in 2025 by Patti Diener. I’d imagine the final third book in the series will publish early 2026.
Damn, that feels good.
So if you liked what you read on WILDFLOWER, from my previous blog post, know this; I will do a few re-writes, (as per Jen suggested I do), but if after that, the agents don’t have time for me, I’ll self-publish that too.
I’m in the freakin’ driver seat.
I love you all so much for putting up with my doubt, ramblings and indecisiveness on how to get my books out to you. It’s a journey, learning what and how to proceed in publishing. But I can’t wait around forever, and I have a shit-ton of books in my head I want to write before I meet my maker. And now, I’m super excited I’ve made this choice.
PLEASE…if you want to support me, just share my already published book, AFTER THE FIRE, with anyone who hasn’t read it, and please keep looking out for more of my books in 2025.
Xoxo ~ Patti
*PHOTOS were courtesy of pexel.com, other than my featured photo.
I’ve shared my writing journey with anyone who will listen since 2015. That’s the year I started blogging here about the book I was writing, (that eventually got published in 2019), about the Valley Fire. AFTER THE FIRE, was a work of my deepest desire to create something beautiful from the utter devastation and heartbreak caused by the inferno that rocked my community to its core. But once it was in print, I had to move on.
So many of you keep asking me why I haven’t written a sequel. Goodness knows I have plenty of material to work with since there were countless fires our community had to contend with for many years following, and a husband that was in the fire service for 40 years. And I will…just not now. My heart isn’t ready to relive the tragedies. Instead, I offer you something else.
I’ve written several books since AFTER THE FIRE, but held onto them in hopes of getting them traditionally published, instead of shouldering all the weight that self-publishing brings, (which is what I did with ATF). I queried agents for my first novel in a proposed trilogy called, THE CLOCKTOWER OF MAPLE CREEK. Some of you might remember that. But when it wasn’t gaining much ground, I impatiently put it aside to decide on later. Then last year, I embarked on something I feel is incredibly special. I started in September of 2023 and finished in February of 2024, a novel that is completely different than any other love story I’ve written, and it’s currently being pitched to agents.
I want you to read the first chapter of my manuscript, WILDFLOWER, here on my blog. I will give you the pitch, and then the first chapter. But I warn you… if domestic violence triggers you, it might not be for you. Not that my book is all about domestic violence, because it’s not. But neglect, substance, and sexual abuse do enter into the story and my protagonist has to deal with these things. I think you will find that you can’t help but to root for Charlie Kane, and realize that everything she goes through helps to mold her into the strong and determined young woman that she will become.
Thanks in advance for reading. Here’s the query I’m working on. Might tweek it a bit more, but like a synopsis, trying to write a query can be like trying to shove an elephant into a handbag. It takes finesse.
WILDFLOWER is inspired by The Police hit, “Don’t Stand So Close to Me”, and the mother-daughter relationship of Cloud and Tully from Kristin Hannah’s, FIREFLY LANE. WILDFLOWER, is edited at 100K words and would sit nicely on the shelf next to, ONE DAY IN DECEMBER, by Josie Silver, or NOVEMBER 9, by Colleen Hoover.
Seventeen-year-old Charlie Kane wants nothing more than to escape her abusive home. An intellectual outcast, she feels alone in the world, and her only outlet is creating illegal street art when she’s not cleaning up her drunken mother’s messes. Tough on the outside, she just wants to feel safe, to belong, and maybe even loved.
Twenty-four-year-old, Jack Connors has just left a dead-end job working for a tabloid magazine in Los Angeles. While dog sitting for his uncle in Sebastopol, California, he’s deciding on his next career move and dreaming of being a writer, but accepts a short-term teaching job. Jack is acquainting himself with the small town, when he meets a beautiful, if somewhat unruly girl on the foggy, coastal streets.
Charlie and Jack meet because of a runaway dog, and have instant chemistry, but she’s spooked by how much she likes him and bolts before they exchange names. They continue to search for each other again, only to discover a disheartening truth that she’s a high school senior, and he’s her substitute teacher. Their powerful, and often strenuous love story, takes them through years of bad timing, career aspirations, and geographical distance.
And now… I give you Chapter One.
WILDFLOWER
“Be careful how you touch her, for she’ll awaken
And sleeps the only freedom that she knows.”
~ Skylark
Sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains of Charlie Kane’s bedroom window and pulled at her eyelids. She didn’t want to wake and face the reality of what had happened the night before. Sleep was all she wanted. The dark void of nothingness and an escape from feeling and knowing. Still, she knew the sun didn’t give two fucks about what she wanted, and it would continue to rise each day whether she craved darkness or not.
If she couldn’t control when the August daylight arrived, she could at least control where she chose to be. Today, she wanted to leave the world behind and go to the library and dive into another book to block out last night, and how her mother had failed her once again.
As she laid on her stomach listening to the old creaky house, Charlie squeezed her eyes and hoped that the asshole Greg was gone. Her mother Cece and her boyfriend Greg, were quite drunk and belligerent the night before. When Cece told him how stupid he was, he wacked her across the cheek, leaving Cece in a limp pile on the couch, crying and sporadically laughing all at once like some insane lunatic. But Charlie made the mistake of getting involved.
When she’d told Greg to stay the fuck away from her mother, he’d turned his full attention on Charlie, forgetting her crumpled mother, who was hysterical and blabbering on incoherently on the couch.
“Oh, you want some of this sweetheart? You think you are better than me too? Fuck you Kane women! You ain’t smarter than me and you ain’t better.”
Charlie backed up against the wall of the adjoining small kitchen, as Greg had moved fast to get in her face, greasy skin and fists as big as canned hams. She was taller than him, but her skinny five-foot, ten-inch body was still only a hundred and thirty pounds, and being rail thin, he had the upper hand in weight and strength.
Charlie was against the wall with one hip at the countertop. The kitchen wall clock behind her head ticked so loudly in her ears she thought maybe it was the sound of her racing heartbeat that was pounding like a rabbit’s. Greg’s nose at her chin, he looked up into her eyes and snarled at her.
“Not so brave now, are ya, you little slut. You will learn that I don’t take no orders from a kid. You backed up now? Say you are sorry.”
Holding his eyes with hers, Charlie reached over slowly with one hand to the counter in hopes to grab a knife out of the block sitting there, but she was too far. Instead, she tried to talk him down.
“I only want you to leave my mom alone. That’s all. She didn’t mean anything by it. She’s just drunk.”
He took a step back but kept his eyes glued to her as he crossed his arms over his barrel chest. For a short guy, he was thick as a fire plug with forearms big and hairy. They looked like he could snap her in half. Charlie’s mouth was dry, and her long, curly hair was sticking to her face, neck and back. She could feel sweat dripping between her breasts and drizzling down between her shoulder blades inside her tank top.
“She’s weak. That’s what she is. But you…I think you are fiery,” he said moving closer now with a smile. “Yeah, maybe I could take a taste of you, and all will be forgiven.”
Charlie stiffened at his closeness, sickened by his sour breath. Her head against the wall, she put her hands up to block his sweaty chest from pressing against her but the next thing she knew, he was running his meaty palm up her thigh to the inside of her shorts.
“Get the fuck off of me you creep!” she yelled.
He pushed harder against her, and Charlie struggled, wondering why her mother wasn’t doing anything to stop him, to pull him off, but Cece sat dazed now on the floor. As Greg was fighting Charlie to undo the button of her shorts, she drew her knee up hard and fast, smashing into his groin, and down he went in a groan to the floor.
Charlie ran over to her mother who just sat watching but doing nothing.
“Now you’ve done it,” she mumbled softly. “Shouldn’t have done that Charlotte.”
“Are you fucking kidding me right now? MOM!” she pleaded.
Greg was coughing and growling, muttering words in between. “You crazy bitch,” he spat.
When it was clear Cece was in no condition to help her, Charlie ran to her room, blocked the door with a chair and flopped on her bed. She’d stayed there watching the door for quite a while before realizing Greg was too drunk and stunned to pursue her or her mother any further that night. When things got quiet, Charlie decided to leave and went out her bedroom window, propping it open so she could return later the same way she’d left.
Now with the start of a new day after only about two hours sleep, Charlie got up and looked outside to see if Greg’s truck was still in the driveway. Luckily it was gone. He must have left during the small amount of time she actually slipped into deep, dark slumber. It was still there when she’d returned just before dawn from a night out with The Guerrillas, the local graffiti artists of Sebastopol, and the Bodega Bay area of California.
Charlie moved the rickety chair away from her door and cracked it open just enough to sneak out quietly. She found her mother lying on her stomach on the ancient, sagging couch with one arm hanging to the floor. It was still early and knowing Cece like she did, she’d be out for hours sleeping it off.
Feeling a bit more relaxed with the asshole Greg gone, Charlie brushed her teeth and washed her armpits and chest with a washcloth before going to her room and changing into fresh, comfortable clothes. She raked through her uncontrollable hair with a brush and slapped on some deodorant before walking outside of their shabby 1940’s bungalow rental.
Passing by her steel-gray 1968 Volkswagen Beetle that sat lifeless in the driveway, Charlie gave a heavy sigh. It really would be so much easier if she could take her car instead of walking into town, but with the transmission still needing repairs, she had no choice until she had the money to get it fixed.
Since the library didn’t open until ten o’clock, Charlie made her way to Retrograde Coffee for a latte and bagel. She could at least read the paper or scroll her phone while she waited. Normally, Charlie didn’t like to go where she worked on her day off, feeling guilty for not working, but today she had nowhere else to go. Staying home wasn’t an option, and her list of friends to call was non-existent.
Charlie was a loner, introverted and liked it that way, or so she tried to tell herself. She only had acquaintances at school, and The Guerrillas were of all ages, and only went by nicknames so nobody could rat them out. She didn’t really know any of them on a personal level.
Street art was one of Charlie’s passions, but it was illegal, and nobody wanted to get pinched. Her alias was Star, after her love of the wildflower, Star Lily, (or its proper name Leucocrinum montanum). No one in the street art community was close with Charlie or knew her real life. She didn’t think anyone of them really were friends by day, but everyone in The Guerrillas respected each other and their work. It wasn’t vandalism, like the city ordinance claimed. It was true art, and some of these people would travel around from place to place, just creating the most beautiful and symbolic paintings in one night. Charlie felt alive in their presence. But when daylight threatened, like vampires, they all vanished.
The crisp air in Sebastopol on this August morning was refreshing. The fog hadn’t lifted yet and the streets on that Saturday were still quiet, as the Sonoma County town was just beginning to wake up. While making her way to Main Street, there were shop owners inside their buildings just turning on lights. She passed clothing stores, yoga studios, and rock shops, as well as nail salons, art galleries, and restaurants. A few other people were walking the sidewalks with their dogs and carrying coffees, dressed in leggings and North Face pullovers. It was summer, but with the coastal influence, Sebastopol had a very misty feeling early in the morning.
As she entered Retrograde Coffee, her bosses’ familiar faces were at the counter. A husband-and-wife team looked up at her and gave a smile. Charlie was a really good barista even at only seventeen years old, and she was often the favorite of many customers. Even though she liked her privacy and didn’t allow herself to have close relationships, she was smart enough to understand that polite conversation and smiling a lot gained you more tips. She needed the tips.
Placing her order for a mocha latte and everything bagel, Teri and Michael were too swamped to ask her much about why she was out and about so early on a Saturday, or why she was there on her day off. She sat at a window table to watch the town unfold, and before long, it was nearly ten o’clock. Time for the library to open.
Charlie walked a block west and was rounding the corner of Bodega Avenue when a small dog with fluffy hair came flying towards her with a leash and no owner attached to it. The shaggy white and tan dog came barreling down the sidewalk and ran right into Charlie’s arms as she protectively blocked the critter from going any further.
She picked up the weightless dog that felt lighter than air and held it in her arms looking for anyone that might belong to the fur ball. Then rounding the corner from the Wells Fargo Bank came a stressed-out looking guy with a large Labrador on a leash. He was in shorts, ankle socks, and a sweatshirt. The worried look on his face was cute, then as he saw her holding the small dog, he almost looked apologetic, shaking his head.
“There you are. Holy shit, I’m so sorry he got away. I was trying to use the ATM machine and somehow dropped his leash.”
As the man neared Charlie, she felt herself go weak at the sight of this twenty-something hunk with dark facial stubble, and eyes that could melt your heart. He started to smile as he got closer, and he was so good looking it hurt. A dimple in his right cheek was deep and adorable, and something new stirred inside Charlie. She didn’t want to flee.
“What’s his name?” she asked.
“That escape artist is Henry. I’m not sure he likes taking walks but obviously he loves to run.”
She didn’t want to let the tiny creature go because the longer she had possession of the dog, the longer the guy had to stay with her. He was tall. Taller than her, which was rare for Charlie, and he had broad shoulders which instantly she wondered how they would feel to touch.
“So, you didn’t know if he would like a walk, yet you took him for a walk with this big guy? Don’t you own him or are you a dog-napper?” she prodded, protectively holding the pup.
“He’s actually not mine. He belongs to my uncle who I’m dog sitting for. House sitting too, I guess. This one is George. Thank God he’s chill.”
He rubbed the top of the head of the large Labrador that looked to be every bit of one hundred and twenty pounds. The look in that dog’s eyes though was clear, he was laid back with no worries in the world.
“Well, we can’t all be perfect like George there. Henry might be scared of cars and people,” she suggested, holding the good-looking guys blueish-green eyes with hers.
“My uncle insisted they go on walks all the time. Maybe he’s just a runner and I let my guard down,” he smiled that irresistible smile again with teeth so perfect Charlie thought she might sigh out loud.
Holding Henry close, he started to lick her chin and wiggled wildly. Smiling, she let him down and held onto his leash for good measure, keeping him near her but not offering the leash to the attractive stranger.
“What kind of dog is Henry?”
“I think my uncle said he’s a Havanese. Apparently, they don’t shed because they have hair instead of fur. George here seems to shed enough to knit a sweater so the companion dog he got for him had to have hair. Do you know much about dogs?”
Charlie had never had a pet because her mother was far too self-absorbed and could scarcely take care of herself, much less a pet. A clear example would be in their always empty refrigerator. Most of the time Charlie took care of her mother instead of the other way around. Besides, pets required food and vet bills, which they never had the money for with Cece’s hairdresser wages, but Charlie had always yearned for something to cuddle and love. It just never worked out. Instead, she read about animals and learned from books, like she learned about everything else that interested her.
“I know enough. I know that you have your hands full with Henry here. He will require a lot more attention from you while you are visiting. Where are you from anyway? Not around here, that’s for sure.”
Her antagonistic grilling was a piss poor attempt of flirting, but what did she know of flirting? Being confrontational was her default. Putting his free hand into the pocket of his shorts as he looked at her with an amused smirk, he asked, “What makes you say that?”
“Because I would have known if you were a local.”
“Oh, yeah? How so?” He raised his eyebrows as his thick, dark hair fell over one eye.
Charlie looked at him up and down as Henry circled her legs and she sidestepped over his leash.
“For one, around here, most people wear long socks and slides. You have no-show socks and tennis shoes. Also, your sweatshirt says Long Beach. I’m guessing you’re a SoCal guy.”
He looked at his sweatshirt and laughed. “I guess that was a tell. You got me. So, you are local then, huh?”
“Very.” She couldn’t believe she was still talking to him, and that her nerves didn’t make her clam up. “So, is this house you are staying at enormous to accommodate that dog?” she nodded towards George.
“Um…” he scratched his chin stubble that was incredibly sexy and made Charlie want to feel it. “It’s fairly large. Yeah, George is plenty comfortable there.”
She was running out of things to say to keep him there. When he left, she’d be alone again. Alone with her thoughts and it was far better admiring the tall stranger than thinking.
“Where were you going before you had to rescue my dog?” he asked, turning to walk back up the hill.
Charlie fell into step alongside him, holding Henry’s leash herself. The little dog trotted beside her comfortably.
“I was going to the library,” she pointed across the street and up the hill.
“Big reader huh?”
“Yep. Books are always there for you. You can experience anything you want to in books. Do you read?”
He laughed for a second and she thought maybe he was some jock that only watched sports and never cracked a book in school. But then he surprised her.
“I was actually an English major. I studied creative writing and journalism at UCLA. Honestly, I was working for some tabloid rag in L.A. and had to leave because although it paid the bills, it’s not what I want to be doing. I want to write something great. I want to be a novelist. So, yeah. I read quite a lot.”
Charlie couldn’t believe her good fortune. He liked books! But as they were getting closer to the library, she knew soon he’d go. She could walk slower but it was still not going to be enough to stop time, and unlike most guys, Charlie wanted to get to know him.
“Who do you read?” she asked.
“Oh, well…Um so many. I love James Patteson, Grisham, Dean Koontz, the classics, ya know…Fitzgerald, Hemingway. But recently I’ve been reading Lisa Scottoline. Her mysteries are freakin’ unreal.”
“I like her too. I was wondering if you were going to list any female authors or if you were just interested in male authors. Women are really slaying it in publishing, you know? And Hemingway’s third wife Martha Gellhorn, fought hard to get out from his shadow.” She nearly bit her tongue for coming on too strong.
They looked both ways as they crossed the street to the library. The brick building had two patrons waiting outside of it and as the doors were unlocked, they went inside, leaving Charlie and the tall stranger alone on the sidewalk.
“Well, I’ll have to check her out. I’m not sexist ya know. I just read whatever interests me.”
They leaned against the brick wall of the building as the sun was piercing through the tree leaves, sending shards of light into their eyes as they spoke. Charlie shielded her face with one hand to get a better look at this hot guy. Having graduated college, he was older than her. Possibly too old. Still, he was young enough that they both seemed pulled to continue the conversation, wanting to know more. Charlie was drinking up everything he said. He loved books! Nobody her age talked about books with her, much less someone she was attracted to.
“Okay, I stand corrected then about my assumption. I read everything too. Fiction, memoir, narrative non-fiction stuff.” She closed her mouth then, worrying she was babbling.
Henry was staring up at her with anticipation. She leaned to pick him up to pet him as they continued to talk. His light little body was like holding a bird even though he looked like he’d weigh much more.
When Charlie looked back at this guy that she’d just met, he too was drinking up her every word, eyes locked on hers and fully engaged. Charlie felt her stomach flip as he held her gaze. Those eyes shaded by dark lashes. Without touching her, she had the feeling of being caressed. It was like magic, this sensation of connection. It was like nothing she’d ever felt. It was wonderful and mysterious.
It scared the shit out of her.
“I love that. Yeah, I read non-fiction too. Have you read The Warmth of Other Suns, by Isabel Wilkerson? It’s a fantastic migration story. You’d like it,” he said stepping closer to her. See? I read female authors,” he smiled bright as the sun.
Handing Henry’s leash over to him she nodded, looking away and tucking a wild hair behind her ear as the breeze kicked up.
“Yeah, I will look for that one. Listen I gotta run.”
She looked into his eyes one last time, knowing he was out of her league, too busy, too occupied with a future for himself she didn’t belong in, and he was just a visitor to her town anyway. What was the point? She decided to go before it got any harder.
He looked at her puzzled and accepted the leash, but not before grabbing her loosely by the wrist and if she wasn’t mistaken, Charlie thought he rubbed the inside of her wrist with his thumb. It felt like tingly velvet and sent a bolt of energy to her heart space that surprised her.
“You in a hurry?” he asked holding both leashes in one hand.
Gathering every ounce of strength she had to straighten her spine, Charlie snickered in an effort to seem aloof and mysterious. Reluctantly, she pulled away.
“I’m a busy girl. See ya Dog Man. You really need to watch ole Henry. Don’t let him go or someone will swipe him up and take him home.”
She turned and nearly skipped away, telling herself to go. To get! Don’t look back or you will lose your nerve to walk away from the beautiful man that will just end up breaking your heart. Everyone does eventually. Don’t let your guard down.
And as she was nearing the library door he shouted, “But wait! I don’t even know your name.”
She turned with a hand on the door and said, “Does it matter?”
Charlie went inside and forced herself to move ahead without turning back.
********
So that’s the first chapter. Here’s what I’d like from you. FEEDBACK! If you want the second chapter from Jack’s POV, I will drop it here. If chapter one left you wanting more, please say so by either leaving a comment on Instagram, or Facebook, or email me at pdienerauthor@gmail.com to let me know. Also, sharing this blog or my posts from social media about this will help. It would mean the world to me. And if you happen to have an agent friend or someone in publishing…SHARE THIS.
As always… Happy Reading. More to come soon on what is going to happen to my other books in my Maple Creek trilogy.
Xoxo ~ Patti
* The photos of typing are courtesy of pexels.com.
My Unexpected & Joyful Journey on the Road To Publishing My Next Novel
Summer is wrapping up and giving way to cooler nights, the first falling leaves, and that undeniable smell of dewy earth that warns you of change. Fall is here.
I never know how to dress in fall because its chilly in the morning, warranting a cozy sweater, but by afternoon in California, you could be sweating your ass off. The swinging temperatures aside, I love fall because I really enjoy the comfort of knowing all things change.
If you’d have told me when I was younger, that eventually I’d enjoy change, I’d have said you were crazy. In fact, most people don’t like change. Being comfortable and having things remain status quo is what most folks like. Something dependable. Don’t move my cheese! Everything is exactly how I like it! Routine often gives people peace of mind.
Routine can be boring.
My fortune cookie message
Of course, change can be scary as hell but when you are excited to do something different, it can also be exhilarating!
As many of you know, I’ve written a few books since I retired September 1, 2021, and the reason I haven’t had them published is I didn’t want to self-publish again. My first novel, AFTER THE FIRE, did pretty well for a book that was released just months before the pandemic occured, (being an Amazon Best Seller the week it released), but I want more now. I want to traditionally publish and although this may take me some time to knock down the doors required to get into this difficult industry, I’m going to do it. As the fortune cookie says that I have posted at my writing desk, my dreams are bigger than my fears.
Also, I am just a stubborn-ass and want what I want. Having said that though, I am not patient, as I explained in my previous post. So, filling the waiting-game-time-slot of looking every single day in my emails for even one reply from my loads of query letters I sent to agents over the summer, I had to do something to distract myself from wringing my hands in anticipation.
So… I joined a rock band.
Yes…you read that right. I joined a freakin’ rock band. My joining was sort of by happenstance. My brother-in-law is the drummer of this garage band that started getting gigs. It consisted of four fun guys, who later in life decided to get together and collaborate their talents and have jam sessions. I was invited to come sing a few songs with them for an up-coming event and although I hadn’t sang in front of people since high school, I thought…why not?
Getting out of my comfort zone and agreeing to perform was scary and I screwed up a lot during rehearsals, but the guys were amazingly supportive and helpful. Most importantly…we were having fun! Over the course of the summer, I got better, worked out my nerves, and now feel a lot more confident. We play classic rock and when we get together, I feel like a kid again. Who knew at fifty-six years old I’d join a band? They invited me to stay on with them and I said as long as it stays fun, I’m all in. Besides, it has been a welcome distraction from waiting and waiting to get that email every writer wants to get.
OFFER OF REPRESENTATION.
I’ll admit, the waiting has been getting me down a bit, and I really was missing talking with people about books, smelling books, (yes, it’s a thing), and being surrounded by books. So I did another thing. I got a tiny job working just two and a half days a week at one of my favorite indie bookstores. Copperfield’s Books in Calistoga, California is the most adorable and lovely bookshop you’ll ever see. I love it so much and again…I’m having fun!
My husband has been telling me that I should breathe new life into my first novel, and even though I got truly discouraged because of all that the pandemic stole from us authors, (no touring or in-person events), I need to work with what I’ve got. AFTER THE FIRE, is in a few northern California stores as well as online, but the gracious and lovely people I work with are supporting carrying it in the store and even are talking of hosting an author event for my book. YAY! I’ll keep you posted.
My book
If you haven’t read my book, I can tell you it’s a story based on the 2015 Valley Fire, here in the community that I live.
Even though I hate to wait, and although I’m chomping at the bit to get my novels out to all of you that are waiting to read the new books that I’ve written, I am ever so grateful to those of you that have been following my journey. And as I said, we have to fill our time with things that excite us. To be surprised by what is around the corner and allow change to fill our cup instead of being too scared to take a chance. That’s where it’s at! That’s the magic. If we don’t get what we are looking for right away, we can’t give up, but we can find other things to bring us joy while we wait.
This fall season, be open to new experiences. If you are waiting for the life you dream of to begin, stir up some magic in the life you are currently living. Each day is a gift and we mustn’t waste it. Time is precious so fill it with things that bring you joy.
Xoxo ~ Patti
*PHOTOGRAPHS: The photos in this post belong to the author, me, Patti Diener, with the exception of the music room and typewriter ribbon. Those are courtesy of pexels.com.
It’s like being a kid with all your friends casually treading water with smiles on their faces, daring you to take the plunge. The water’s fine, they say. But what they don’t tell you is the water, although it sparkles and looks enticingly refreshing, can be shocking and icy. It’s sink or swim baby! And if you want to play with them in the deep end, you better figure it out quick. There are other people lined up, waiting on the diving board for their turn and their place in the pool.
Ok, so maybe that analogy isn’t the best, but it does feel like that when you are a writer trying to break into traditional publishing. I’ve written five books so far and only published the second one, and that by self-publishing. I didn’t want my friends and dare I say… fans, to wait for my book, After the Fire, to be picked up in the trad-pub world, so I did it myself. It was really well recieved, (thanks to you loyal people who have stuck it out with me from the beginning), but I really want a team behind me. I’m ready to dive in.
With my book, The Clock Tower of Maple Creek, not being picked up after several attempts for representation, I set it aside to write something new. Back in September of 2023, I started Wildflower, and finished it this early spring of 2024. Since then I have done three rounds of edits and shared several chapters with my fantastic writing group, The Kick-Ass Women Writers. I wrote and tore apart to rewrite my query three different times and finally landed on the current one I’m sending out to select agents. You just never know for sure if the query will resonate with the person you are trying to connect with. It’s always a gamble, and like I said, there are already a lot of kids in the proverbial pool.
I’ll share with you the meat of my query so you can get an idea of what my book is about. I’m in love with my characters and dream of them often. Yes, they are real to me. Does that make me crazy? Well aren’t all writers a tad insane? Below is the sample without the salutations or closing bio.
What happens when the handsome guy you met over the summer ends up being your substitute English teacher? Charlie Kane finds out as she struggles with the agony of forbidden love, the heartbreak of a broken family, and dreams of one day leaving it all behind to pursue a life as a professional artist.
The summer leading up to her senior year in high school, seventeen-year-old Charlie Kane’s life is in shambles. An intellectual outcast with an unfavorable reputation, she has nowhere to turn, living in poverty with her addictive mother, in their small northern California town.
Twenty-four-year-old Jack Connors has just left a dead-end job in Los Angeles and is house and dog sitting for his uncle in Sebastopol, California, trying to decide his next career move when he meets a beautiful, if somewhat unruly girl on the street.
Although the two have instant chemistry, neither learns much about the other. Then worlds collide on Charlie’s first day of her senior year when she walks into her English class and comes face to face with the tall and gorgeous stranger…and he’s the teacher.
Inspired by the 1972 song, “Wildflower”, by Skylark, The Police hit, “Don’t Stand So Close to Me”, and the mother-daughter relationship of Cloud and Tully from Kristin Hannah’s, Firefly Lane, Wildflower, is edited at 100K words and told in dual POV. This book will appeal to female fans of Colleen Hoover, Jojo Moyes, or Josie Silver.
So wish me luck on this querying journey I’m embarking upon once again. In the meanwhile, I’ll be writing with the hubby on his children’s book he’s making and learning more about the picture book industry. That’s what’s happening in my world. Thanks for stopping by.
Sending you all much love. Xoxo ~ Patti D.
*Swimming pool photo and girl with tattoo are courtesy of pexels.com. Others are mine / Patti Diener
Juggling My Writing Life, Traveling, and Attempting to Appear Normal
I keep telling myself that I’m going to get a little part-time job to fulfill my need and desire to squirrel away some dough for my travel nest-egg. You know… play money. I mean, hubby and I are doing fine if I don’t, but I often feel guilty using our household money for my egocentric, self-absorbed, hairbrained ideologies of world travel, (for which The Mister has little interest in). But at the end of the day, my retired days are filled to the brim with activities that leave little to no room for me to work in a job.
What’s a girl to do?
Recently I went on a roadtrip with my hubby across part of the US on a three week adventure. You can see from the above photo of me that I took this journey very seriously. I figured if they didn’t want me on the dinosaur they shouldn’t have put a saddle on him. The Mister might not be super enthused about world travel but seeing the United States, he’s totally up for. This included fourteen states, seeing friends and family, a total eclipse, dodging storms, and witnessing the complications and dangers of breeding thoroughbred race horses. That’s an education you can never un-see again. As my brother-in-law pointed out, she doesn’t even get dinner and a movie first.
But in small snippets of time along the way, I was able to sneak in moments of solitude to finish up my novel, WILDFLOWER. I will share a draft of the first chapter in a coming blog post. This is a project I started back in September of 2023, and right after I returned home from our trip, within days I had my first draft completed. I cried of course. I usually do whenever I finish my first draft of a novel. Anyway, since I’m now in the editing stages, about to leave again for Arizona for my niece’s graduation, and then will embark on another solo journey up the coast of Oregon to see my first-born, who has the time to apply for a little three-day-a-week jobette?
Not this girl.
Another thing about being retired is the fact that some days arrive and I’m unsure of what day of the week we are on. The weeks driving without my schedule and structure, I seem to have become a bit crazed. Also, my house is now full of things we brought back from Kentucky, (boxes, furniture, and paperwork), that have been dropped off into corners and on tabletops left for “someday when we can get to it.” I try to go through a few boxes a day while returning to my writing schedule and picking up the pieces of business left unattended to after three weeks. But honestly, my house looks like some kind of highfalitin flea market, or an antique store with pieces of the past piled in places you have to weed through. I’m craving some order around here, but that will come in time.
In the meanwhile, my brain has been on some kind of awakening. Call it spring, call it monkey-mind, but my dreams have been crazy weird and seem to take up all night long, so that when I wake in the morning I feel as if I’ve been vacationing in another universe and not been alseep the last eight hours. Wild. I am forcing myself to walk during the day more, drink more water, and probably need to add some magnesium to calm my mind but I never think of these things until I’ve lost my noodle a bit. Either way, it makes for some interesting conversation, these wacked dreams.
I’m looking forward to querying agents about my new book though, so editing has been pretty exciting and fairly pleasureable. Most of the time I dread the editing but this go-around I’m having fun with it. I’ve also connected with some wonderful women in a new writing group. I cannot recommend writing groups enough. Getting that support and constructive critisism has always been crucial for me. I welcome input and have also been extremely fortunate to have had Jennifer Lynn Alvarez, (author of eleven novels, including YA thrillers LIES LIKE WILDFIRE, and FRIENDS LIKE THESE), as a personal friend who gives me honest and helpful feedback. If you are writing, find a group of people to bounce ideas off of. It’s invaluable.
Me at Elton John’s Piano
So in the coming months, I will be sharing more about my latest book WILDFLOWER, the quest to find the perfect agent to represent it, and I promise to give you snippets from the early pages. Its another romance novel but moves away from the sweet style I wrote before in THE CLOCKTOWER of MAPLE CREEK. This one is darker and has more drama.
Like I always talked about when I recorded podcast episodes in BEAUTIFUL SECOND ACT, (which is still available to listen to), I encourage you to get out there and explore your own desires. To chase the things that light you up and make you feel excited to greet the day. Plan a trip with a friend. Get to know your community as if you were a tourist. Travel to a neighboring community and find out what fun things can be discovered, or start a new hobby. Life is a journey that is meant to be fully enjoyed. Be grateful for life’s simple pleasures as well as the wonderful milestones of your time. They are equally important.
And please know I truly appreciate your love and support as I maneuver through my own crazy path on this publishing journey. Without you, the readers, who would know about my wild imagination? I’m profoundly grateful.
When I retired at the age of 53, most people thought I’d lost my mind. What the hell do you think you are doing? That was the reaction most people had until they realized I was serious, that I was done with public education and being a K-7 librarian just wasn’t what it used to be. Then they changed their tune. At least to my face they did, and there were well-wishers all around, encouraging me to go do my thing.
The first thing I did was dive head first into everything that I enjoyed, wearing all the hats. Truly, I tried to learn everything I could shove into my brain in the alotted amount of time my ass would allow me to sit in a chair each day. Writing my next novel was first priority, or so I told myself it would be. But the guilt of not bringing in as much money as I once did sort of made me feel like I had to build an at home business that might be more promising than banking on the concept of selling my next novel, since I’d only ever self-published. I had lofty ideas.
I started a podcast,…as one does in midlife when they are trying to figure themselves out. It was incredibly hard, super time consuming, and I loved ever single minute of it. I interviewed people from all over the world, we chatted about the incredible changes life throws at us and how valuable, wise, and vital we all still are even though we are past the age of fifty and gravity has long since become a real bitch. Despite the fact that we’ve hit menopause, need therapy, and are struggling to decide whether to color the gray or not, we’ve also discovered the powerful feeling of freedom that aging brings. I for one, have never been happier than I am now in my mid-fifties, (I’m fifty-five).
Along the way, I wrote a book that I queried agents about and proposed as the first in a trilogy. I started the second one, then tabled it for a wildly better idea. In between times though, I’d started a paid monthly membership to go along with the podcast, and Facebook group. I also started a book club, because obviously I didn’t have enough going on already. Did I mention I’m married too? And for some weird reason, my husband actually wanted to see my face once in a while and liked a home cooked meal periodically. This required that I get out of my cave and away from my computer now and then.
I was cruising along, nearing the two-year mark for this community I’d built, when I decided to host a live, in-person event. This went well, if not fairly small, but it was well received. I, along with my co-host who works for The Blue Zones, gave away swag, we each held a talk, and refreshments were served. It was fun. It was exhausting. I never did it again. Not because I didn’t like it, but because I realized I hate organizing shit and would much rather just show up, speak, and drink wine.
Me with Dad at my wedding day 1991
Then the most unthinkable thing happened. The person I’d leaned on my entire life and who always seemed to have the best guidance and advice for me, died. My father, my rock, the center pole to our circus in life, left this earth and I was not only shattered, I was in shock. I shouldn’t have been, as he’d been ill for a while, but you never really believe you will have to go on without your father.
But go on I did, because five days after he passed, I was scheduled to go to England, on my first ever trip abroad. I’d never even had a passport until just before this trip and although I told the family I thought there was no way I could go, they all insisted I do just that. “Dad would have wanted you to go!” they all said. Of course I knew they were right.
The trip was magical and surreal all at the same time. The majestic structures that held secrets of ancient times cast a spell on me that made it impossible to feel badly that I was actually enjoying myself, when only days before my father took his last breath. An adventurer himself, I knew Dad was smiling down at me and proud I’d been brave enough to go.
But something shifted over the next few months. Something that slowly, layer by layer started to shift inside of me again, causing me to take notice that my spirit was trying to tell me something. I had to listen.
Part of it was my deeper inner-knowing, and the other part was Dad telling me to stop wasting time doing what I thought I ought to be doing and get going doing that thing I’ve always known I was born to do. Write!
The membership long gone, the book club a thing of the past, I realized that as much as I loved the podcast, it was eating away precious time that I needed in order to be a successful traditionally published author. That has always been my dream. Self-publishing gave me the first taste of success as a writer, as my novel After the Fire, sold really well (before Covid), and the first few months I was an Amazon Best Seller. But I had to pick a lane. All the multi-tasking was not allowing me to be fully successful in either the podcast or with my books.
So I’ve announced to the Beautiful Second Act Community, that it was fun while it lasted, but those doors are closing and I’m stepping into a different place where writing will be the main event. It’s all I’ve ever truly wanted since I was ten years old and started writing stories.
The interesting thing is, after all my mentoring people to live their best life in the second half of life, I’m just now going all in for myself. Maybe the gods or spirits wanted me to create Beautiful Second Act, for the people I needed to reach. To send the message out there to whoever needed to hear it, that it’s never too late to do that thing your heart desires. To take a chance and be brave enough to challenge yourself by getting out of your comfort zone. To not only eat the cake and drink the wine, but grow as a spiritual being and allow yourself to reach higher, dig deeper, and live fully.
But most importantly, to stop disappointing yourself for fear that doing what you really want will disappoint others. We must stop betraying our own needs and desires because we are too afraid it will upset someone else. That’s the worst kind of betrayal. Depriving yourself your own longing and not being true to who you are because it suits others. No one wins if we do that.
So jump in the deep end with me my friend. Do what lights you up inside and gives you enthusiasm. When 2024 hit, I promised myself that my word for the year was INTENTION, and I’m focusing all my energy on the intention to be traditionally published. So I’ll be blogging more on this, staying focused on the writing community, author life, and honing my craft to be the best I can be. I appreciate your support.
Januaryblew in like a tornado. It was unpredictable and caused some destruction. And like the aftermath of such an incident, I was left feeling dumbstruck and somewhat confused as to how to feel.
But that’s just the beginning. I have something positive I actually need to tell you, but read to the end to find out what I mean.
My mother passed away in the early morning hours of January 16th in the home of my wonderfully loving brother, and his remarkable family. They had cared for and supported our mother for many years, enduring some extremely trying times with her failing health and addictions.
I traveled to her, and was able to spend a week long visit with her during her final days on this earth, and for that I know I will be forever grateful. And although it felt like somewhat of an out of body experience, aiding someone who is about to die, I couldn’t have imagined being anywhere else.
My incredible sister-in-law had our mother’s health needs down pat, but it became unduly trying on her. I was all too glad to assist, and share in the nursing care that our mother needed at the end. Still, I felt like most of the time I walked around comatose. It was strange.
Everyone deals with loss differently. Anticipating her passing many times over the years, (she chose a rough life), I always thought I’d be prepared for it. Quite frankly, I was surprised at how hard it hit me and began writing a short story of the event as soon as I returned home.
Oddly enough, there are many small comic relief moments when someone is dying, and in our family there were quite a few. One of the things I said about the experience was, “The longest month of my life, was the week I spent by my mother’s bedside.” It was meant to be funny, but maybe I’m just twisted. Guess you will have to read the story one day.
Pic of Mom and Me, First Christmas 1968
ANYWAY… my plans for the actual book I’m writing, (my novel, not the story about mom), have been derailed more than once so far. My depression, and health scare earlier in 2020 took me off track, and finishing the book in January went out the window with the death of my mother. It’s hard to wrap your brain around plot twists and dialog when your emotions and brain are lingering in the past. The good news is I’m very close to done. It’s the editing process that will hang me up for awhile. That is where I have to remind myself that I cannot force things.
To be disciplined is one thing, but to try and force a situation to be a certain way will only create resistance for the natural flow of things and ultimately bring about that which I don’t want. But I do want to finish my book! And there is still something else, I want you to know. Read to the end and you will understand.
I am a firm believer in flow. Some call it, “to everything, there is a season.” If you are forcibly trying to make something happen, and creating resistance with stress, then it’s not going to turn out well. Instead, I have been praying for guidance, for inspiration to lead me, and show me the path of least resistance. That’s when I know I am creating something wonderful and worth waiting for, and it’s working. I’m getting closer my friends. The book is exciting me, and this past week I got back in the game.
So when I finish the book, I still plan to submit to agents. I am really feeling good about traditional publishing this go around. No matter what though, I will see where the road takes me, and however this trilogy book series is meant to be received into the world is how it will be. I will follow my heart and let intuition lead me.
I posted the first chapter awhile back in segments, for this new book I called, The Clock Tower of Maple Creek. The title may change. I will share it again as a whole chapter, not split up, in my next blog post. If you are impatient, go to my CATEGORIES on the side menu, (upper menu hamburger if on a phone), and click on the links for New Book/ Clock Tower. Remember, I may edit it myself, but once a professional editor gets a hold of it, the book can still change. I just like to share with my readers a sneak peak at what I’m doing.
January 2021, may not have started off the way I envisioned it would. Hell, 2020 certainly didn’t either, but I still believe there is plenty of time. Time for me to do what I set out to do. Time for me to get my book out this year. At least to get a contract with a publishing house this year. I’m getting older, but there is still plenty of time.
Guess What Friends…
Before I sign off today, I want to let you all in on something else… something is coming. Something I have been thinking about since May, 2020. I want to support other midlife creatives, like myself, who are just getting started. Those of us who didn’t jump into the deep end of the pool until we had empty nests. Those of us who put our families first our entire lives and still have our own dreams.I want to help you. I want to be there to show you that it’s okay to have a vision for yourself, to rediscover yourself. TO DREAM BIG!
If that sounds good to you, if that resonates with you on any level, then follow along and I will help you find the magic of your heart’s true calling. We are not washed up. We are not too old, and we have so much left to do. If you are with me, leave a comment on this blog. I will make sure when I launch my new platform that I get you on the train!
This bizarre year has done me some favors and thrown me some curve balls that I’m still not quite sure how to maneuver. Small businesses have been hit really hard and we still aren’t even done with this Covid situation. For me personally, I started out with wonderful book sales, just to find them dwindle as more bookstores and other retailers suffered lower overall sales. So how do we begin to even gauge success in a year like 2020?
This year, I’ve reached out to people, women in particular, more than ever before. I’m not just talking about holding conversations with my friends, but I went in search of how others are finding ways to feel more grounded. I wanted to know how folks have found more gratitude, and how they’ve become less wrapped up in the negative climate that seems to encompass everything around us, and instead have embraced hope and new possibilities.
You might be wondering where exactly, did I go looking for these people. Well, I started by researching podcasts. I’ve never really been one to listen to podcasts because I guess I thought they would be a waste of time. I didn’t ever think I had enough time to listen to one. Well now…WOW! I am hooked. I can listen to podcasts while I water my yard, while I brush my teeth, put on make-up, clean the house, in the car, it’s endless. I choose to listen to podcasts that will lift me up, not bring me down. There are thousands and one of my favorites is called, DON’T KEEP YOUR DAY JOB. It’s not just about your job, but it’s more about what creative people love to do, and how the host encourages them to do their thing, AND TO BE SUCCESSFUL AT IT.
With all this inspiration, I wanted to give back to those that might be on the writing path. Earlier this year I made a Youtube video on how writers, in particular, could use this time that they were off work as an opportunity to create something wonderful. I still believe that, but I’ll admit, I can struggle with bouts of depression on what we cannot do. It’s hard to stay in that space of attitude for gratitude, when we are inundated with political storms, and all our freedoms are restricted. Still, I vowed to continue living well, and that meant my mental health as well as my physical health.
Hey y’all!
I really have always wanted to be successful in whatever I do, but my definition of success has changed over the years. I guess I think success should have two different definitions. One kind of success I think we all want is financial stability. That is probably the most recognized type of success. I mean I don’t think anyone would ever say, “Geez, I don’t need anymore money.” That being said, I’m not sure if anyone would ever say, “I’m successful enough.” But the other kind of success I’m interested in is the kind that is emotionally satisfying. To be successful in what you do with your time is the most gratifying feeling to me.
My husband is a retired battalion chief, but he’s also been a farmer his entire life. He’s a fourth generation farmer and although it is very trying and difficult work, he absolutely loves it. His time spent working the ranch is extremely satisfying for him and that makes him a success.
To be content with the work you chose to do, with the craft you chose to create, whether that be, (for me) writing, painting, cooking, building, gardening, or sewing, (you get the picture), you are a success if you are able to do what it is that you love to do. But what leaves me feeling stuck is I’m not living my truth. In my soul I truly feel I’m supposed to be writing and creating full time… and I’ve no idea how to do it. So I feel emotionally stifled.
So getting back to my journey of finding these people out there who seem to have tapped into the reservoir of passion and abundance, I went online and started watching videos of people that find joy in the everyday little things. I also watched more Youtubers that have figured out how to do things I wanted to learn how to do. I realized that my age is just a number and if I don’t mind how old I am while learning these new things, (how to create better videos), then nobody else will mind either.
Something I discovered in 2020 that I feel very successful for having realized, is that women in the middle…midlife,…have a unique opportunity to do things that we could never do in our younger lives. We are a distinct demographic of people that are curious and want to explore, and have more wisdom than we did when we were first navigating adulthood and parenthood. Some of us are just now waking up to the possibilities of what we can experience now that the kids are grown, or now that we no longer feel the need to prove ourselves. We have lines on our faces, and gravity can be a bitch, but we are still energetic enough to try something we’ve never been brave enough to try before.
Now is our time!
In 2020, I’ve found myself in a way I never knew before, and I think my writing is going to take me places I’ve only dreamed of. I might not be the age I wish I’d have started this journey from, but I am going to dare to dream big and say NOW is my time to make things happen.
If you are a woman in the middle, (or anyone in midlife), I want to say, take this Second Act and imagine what you can do with it. Your success is up to you. Don’t let your age dictate how you feel. It’s just a number. I mean, just look at Betty White’s career. She’s ninety-eight! In the year 2020, we might have had to overcome a whole lot of BS, but I also feel it’s been transformative. Learn something new, dare to create what you envision, and get out of your comfort zone! I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of being complacent. I’m going to throw my hat into the arena, I’m going to probably make some mistakes along the way, but success for me will come when I fulfill my purpose, and that’s being a creative person.
In 2021, you will be seeing a lot of new endeavors from this gal, as I embrace my Second Act, and hopefully take you along with me.
I’m back! I found my mojo again. I cannot tell you how great it feels to be out from the dark cloud and finding my voice again. Writers block sent me down a rabbit hole for awhile but the one thing that can always put me straight is getting away alone.
I love my family, don’t get me wrong. They are my favorite people on the planet, but too much togetherness can bring about feelings of animosity if you don’t find time for yourself. This is true for anyone, but for writers especially. Writing is a solitary business. But what if you aren’t a writer? Would you still benefit from time alone? I can say, unabashedly YES! Everyone needs time alone.
For five years, I’ve found a few long weekends a year to get away on my own. Driving with the windows down, the music on, or a podcast that’s inspirational, can get you in the groove to unwind and put you back on the path to yourself. Life can be chaotic, overwhelming even, and although we’d never trade those that we love, if you are past the point of exhaustion, a few days away on your own can do wonders for refocusing, and feeling more peaceful.
Susan Squellanti Florence, wrote a book called, TIME ALONE, The gift of being withyourself. I have had this for many years and it has this passage that says, “When you take time alone, you leave the distractions of the day…and enter the secret garden of your soul.” I mean, WOW! That’s pretty deep, right? Well it’s true.
My first night relaxing.
The Albion coast sunset.
This crazy-ass year of 2020 has actually given me a gift. I talked a bit in my previous blog about how in the beginning of Covid, I was really handling things pretty well before I plummeted somewhere around the middle of summer. Anyway, one of the things I picked back up again, that I hadn’t made time for in years was to meditate. YES… I know, some of you find that too woo-woo, to do. I’m here to tell you, it’s all part of spending time alone.
Meditating is a great way to tune into your soul. Practicing stillness in a world that only moves faster, and expects more, can be very rejuvenating. When you meditate, you can really listen to what it is your body and spirit are trying to tell you. And you don’t have to be sitting cross legged in an ashram, chanting to meditate. Just practicing stillness is meditating. Quieting the mind and being in the present moment is all it takes.
I usually like to find somewhere on the coast to write. For me, being near the ocean and listening to the waves crash against the shoreline, smelling the salty air, and feeling the mist against my skin, it all releases me from life’s stressors. I feel a connectedness to the earth that reminds me I am worthy, and part of this fabulous Universe, born with a right to experience love, joy, and creativity.
When I sit down in a quiet space to write after exposing myself to a place of beauty and grace, I tap into a well of inspiration. It clears the cobwebs that have blocked me from my passion. Being in a calming and quiet place can also bring clarity to areas of your life that might have been murky before.
The view from my hotel in Albion, California
During one of my stays away, I received a call from a friend. She was literally in awe of the fact that I traveled by myself. She couldn’t fathom the idea of one, being alone in a strange place, and two, that my husband let me go. Once we established the fact that women don’t need permission to have time alone, she admitted that it’s just a little bit scary to be alone and traveling. I assured her that it was spectacular! I said, “You know that feeling when your husband and the kids are gone for awhile and you have the whole house to yourself?” she sighed and said, “Yes, I love it when that happens.” I then said, “Well, imagine that for three or more days.” THEN she got it!
The thing is, most women feel that the husbands cannot handle the household without them. That’s simply not true. But if you are not able to leave for other reasons, then at least schedule an afternoon away on your own. Pick somewhere close enough that you can be home by bedtime, or dinner time if you need to, and it should be a place that gives you utter peace, and joy. I’m not talking about a girl’s day out, although those are very much needed too. I’m talking about a place you can be alone! Solitude is key for truly tapping into stillness and being completely calm.
When you return to your chores and daily life after time spent alone, there is often a shift. Mostly it will bring you the ability to do your life with more zest, and a better attitude. But don’t be surprised if you find that you are realizing you need to make some changes. Probably you will want to make changes that bring you more of what you just had… time.
So I will leave you with this. Time alone will quiet your mind, and your heart. If you are a creative, (an artist, writer, musician, architect, chef, florist, …the list goes on and on), then you know you need time for inspiration to strike. Sometimes you have to go seeking that inspiration. Sitting in the presence of beauty and wonder can do that for you. But EVERYONE needs time alone.
A Course in Miracles, says, “Within ourselves there is a silence into which the world cannot intrude. There is an ancient peace you carry in your heart and have not lost.”
I highly suggest you plan your next time away alone soon. You’ll be glad you did.
Wishing you all inspiration
*All pictures taken by Patti Diener, yes even the feature pic. I used a tripod.
That was me… the woman in the featured picture was me when I started this book writing journey. Recently, I’ve mourned that woman. Wondered where the hell she went! Why, that woman, who never has EVER had writer’s block in her entire life, (been writing since age ten), has not only become blocked, but like the light in her creative soul has been snuffed out. Suffocated. She disappeared. Vanished! Left only behind this empty shell that wanders around aimlessly, binging on Netflix, or Hallmark Channel, and leaves a trail of unfiled paperwork, and empty wine glasses.
This other, impostor has alluded to being Patti Diener, and shown signs that underneath she might still be there if I can only uncover her. At this point I realize that the real Patti Diener, is hiding out. The thing she never thought would happen has happened, and now she’s taken up residency in the safety of the bottom of the genie bottle and doesn’t want to come out and play anymore. What’s happened? I’ll tell you. It’s what the real Patti Diener fears the most... She’s Not In Control.
That may sound like no big deal to some of you, but for people like me, who like to have some form of control over what, why, when, and where, this entire year has pulled the rug out from under me. I often say things like, “don’t move my cheese!” or “change and I don’t get along,” so you can imagine what a year like this cantankerous 2020, has done to me.
What it’s done…to…me.
In the beginning, I was handling this all very well. I was even quite proud of myself. During the days where we weren’t told much at work, (I’m a public school librarian), I tried to get ahead of the game. I knew in March, when we had to keep kids at home because of Covid, that each week they pushed back the date we’d be allowed to have kids back on campus, that ultimately the answer was going to be that we’re not. I knew in my gut that the 2019-20 school year was done. So I did all my end of the year stuff to get ahead. Because that’s what planners, or Type A personalities do. We like to have things under control.
Keeping a positive attitude was my goal. I realized I could ball up in anxiety from everything the press was telling us, OR… I could look at this all as an opportunity to write and do a bit of self care. Soul searching if you will. I was feeling the toxicity of public education when we all left anyway, so why not take advantage of this time off?
I dove head first into learning new things to promote my book, AFTER THE FIRE. I bought a program to make ads and another one to make videos and edit them. I enjoyed the creative part of these and wanted to share with other creative people, specifically in the writing community. I was having some fun. Despite the fact that I had all my book events canceled, and most of my contracts at the stores had to come to an end since they were shut down due to Covid, I was staying in a pretty good place emotionally.
There was something brewing under the surface though. Something I would never have guessed and it spun my summer out of control for about six weeks.
At first, I thought I was going crazy.
Quite literally, I was feeling myself losing it and not remembering stuff, extreme heart rates, choking feelings out of nowhere, headaches, and body pain. Then came the horrid jaw pain, pressure on my neck. NOT a sore throat. MY NECK. I’d never had this before and this down to the bone tiredness that left me so weak I had no choice but to lay down. I’d almost pass out from fatigue by around one o’clock in the after noon and sleep for hours.
What the hell was wrong with me?
I have always been a pretty healthy person. I’ve always been active, eaten really well for the most part, and had regular check ups, for which always came back as, “hey, I don’t even know why you are here because you are so healthy.” But I knew something was wrong and I had to see a doctor.
To make a very long story a bit shorter, after seeing two different doctors and thousands of dollars in tests, I was diagnosed with Subacute Thyroiditis. This is a rare condition that is basically brought on by a virus. In most cases it will correct itself. Some treatment of the thyroid can be given to help it along but so far I’m just being monitored. After a few more months I should be back to normal. The pain has gone but some of the side effects are still with me. I am healing pretty well though.
The point of that story is to tell you this one. During that scary time, you can imagine all the thoughts that went through my head. Not a lot of them were good. The next thing I did was read absolutely everything under the sun about thyroid health, and how it effects the rest of your body. The control freak that lives in my head, the bossy roommate that is the know-it-all that talks non-stop in my brain, had to know EVERYTHING she could about it. It gave me some sort of relief and I completely changed my diet. I also started taking certain supplements that really made me feel tons better. It all made me feel more in control, (are you sensing a pattern here?).
But then I realized I had to rely on my faith and intuition. I’m a healthy person. I’d say that a lot. I’m very healthy and I need to stop living in fear. But how was I going to get off that merry-go-round? Every time I thought I’m no longer trying to control something, I’d catch myself really trying to control it.
In my past, when something terrible happened in my life that I was helpless to fix, I had to learn to let it all go. This didn’t come easy. Some say, “Let go and let GOD,” and some say, “Trust in The Universe.” For me it’s all the same. I just seem to have this default of going back to my fear based thinking and believe that if I do X, Y, and Z.. I will get the results I want. It’s not always that simple.
Then I stopped and thought about the situation all around us. This year of 2020, and what some would say is a curse, or the end of times, or whatever negative spin you want to put on it. I am trying my hardest to NOT do that. I’m instead, wondering as a human being on this planet, on a journey that is mine alone, what am I supposed to learn from all this?
The month of August, I went back to what I started in May, and that was to continue on my spiritual journey and read more about letting go. I love books. Hello!…Librarian here. Any time in my life that I needed to figure out something, I’d find a book on it and read. My house is filled with self help, spiritual, and inspirational books. I love Deepak Chopra, Eckhart Tolle, Don Miguel Ruiz, and Gabrielle Bernstein. But I also love the kick ass books of Tony Robbins, Dean Graziosi, Brene Brown, and Elizabeth Gilbert, for their, pull yourself up by your boot straps but forgive yourself for being human, messages. The whole, anything is possible, mentality appeals to me. I mean, why wouldn’t it?
So I’m cruising along, but still cannot write. I meditate and in one of my deeper sessions I’m hearing, “It’s okay. You have plenty of time.” Also in this meditation, I’m hearing, “An easier path is right there.”
Can you imagine my excitement?
But then I’m derailed again. After feeling this great momentum of finding my way and breaking through walls, learning to love all the little things as well as plan for the greater future, and understanding more about myself and what it is that I truly want, I spiral again. We have more of these freakin’ California fires. UGH!
Feelings of fear, defeat, anger, resentment, confusion, and loss all come crashing back. The media is worse than ever, the negativity of the world seems to encompass me, swallowing me up and leaving me feeling frozen.
It’s been a tough few weeks for anyone living in California. Especially if you live in Northern California. With the fires almost out, we still struggle with awful air quality. But it is Labor Day Weekend, and a three day weekend is still a good thing to smile about.
So I’m writing today to use this platform not only as a sounding board for my emotions, but to say that we are all feeling something. Good, bad, up, down, we are all on the same ride. Some days it’s harder than others to navigate, and we aren’t always on the same page. It feels more like being a ball on the top of the parachute in school. Remember? When we’d all stand in the MPR in a huge circle and hold onto the colorful parachute and shake, shake, shake it so that the balls would pop up and down? Am I dating myself? Well, some of us are the ball falling when others are popping up. Either way, it’s one helluva ride.
Someday it will settle down. I don’t know what the world will look like when it does, but what this year is giving me is the opportunity to learn patience. I’m not overly fond of waiting. I’m less fond of not knowing what’s behind the curtain and trusting. I like to, (you know, you can say it) be in control. But I’m being vulnerable here, by letting you all know, that for nearly two months my writing has ceased, and I’ve felt literally frozen. Paralyzed. THAT has scared me more than any of the other things happening this year.
I was listening today to an old podcast with Brene Brown, and I am paraphrasing but it was like, “Being vulnerable isn’t posting all your personal garbage out on social media. It’s being truly your authentic self and brave enough to have the courage to share that with someone. And you share with people who have earned the right to hear your story.” I thought… yes. And we all know who our special people are that we can trust and count on, who have earned the right to hear what we need to say. And right now, we all are suffering something. Find your person and get it out. You might find you feel a whole lot better.
Today, I hit some bumps. This weird year isn’t over yet, but I realize now that we are all growing, and learning. I’m fifty-two years old, and learning still more about myself every day. My biggest lesson is to learn patience and stay in the moment. It’s freakin’ hard! But every day I will continue to try. In the end, I just want peace, like the rest of us. You cannot have peace when you are trying to control everything. That I’ve learned. Still, I’m a work in progress.
What 2020 did for me…
It’s taught me that things are going to work out in the time frame that they are meant to. The longer I struggle, the longer things will seem difficult. By letting go and realizing I have absolutely no control over when, it releases me from that burden of trying. Being a stick on the river flowing along is far easier than trying to swim upstream. Even a middle aged woman can learn a thing or two. I hope my children are faster at picking these things up than I am.
As a writer, when I sat down today to write this blog, and decided to be honest and say how my writing was going, (now I’m about two months behind my self-imposed schedule for my new book), I found that the block I was experiencing is now, miraculously, lifted.
