Re-write, Extend, and Re-releases of "HACKED, HUNTED, and HOOKED"

Sometimes you think you've checked a project off your list and can move on, just to discover that maybe it's not quite done.

Not too long ago, I released a series of Novellas (If you missed the buzz about those when they were new, check it out here!) Writing short books isn't typically my thing, but I took it on as a fun, growth challenge. And, to my surprise (and excitement!) they were very well received. In fact, they hit the Best-seller's list in virtually no time flat.

And then the reader requests started coming... and they created an itch in me that I knew I had to scratch. Samantha's story was one of my favorite that I'd ever written and I felt that in order to really do it justice, I needed to fill in the meat. The stories, simply put, were just too short and too lacking in detail.

So, I beefed them up. As in, they doubled in length.

The best part? The story didn't change, it just became richer. Yay! Because Samantha's wit and vulnerability definitely deserved more page time. I absolutely love her character.

The complete NEW Novels release officially in February of 2018, but I'm already buzzing about them. Even the covers got a fresh new look (though keeping in line with the originals).

Hooray for new books. And hooray for the readers who support me in this crazy passion of mine. Ton's of love to you guys!

Fire Pit Arbor - part 1

This firepit has been on our project list for a loooong time. Unfortunately, it is also the project that gets pushed to the bottom of the list. Every. Single. Year.

The pit itself has been functioning for years. We are, as you may know, pyros. Controlled, of course. And always safe. We've met all the fire codes, including water availability and setting a safe non-burn zone. (Check with your local fire department to find out what your local codes are.) 

Before finishing the placement of the flagstone patio, we needed to set the posts for the arbor. In case you're wondering, digging 3' deep holes in clay/rock soil is not for the faint of heart! I ended up digging 5 holes total.  

 With the help of a couple of the kiddos, we set the five posts.  Gratefully there was no wind, so setting them plum was fairly easy.

Next came construction of the roof structure. It's almost 10' high, so I'm glad we had a 12' A-frame ladder or we'd have been in a tough spot. I made sure to stain every board BEFORE installation. This is not a required step, but highly recommended. 

Now that the arbor structure is done, we will reconvene in the spring. I will be building (or buying) a swing or two to hang from the arbor and finishing up the flagstone. And then, after years of being kicked to the bottom of the to-do list, our fire-pit will be done! :)  

Grandpa

When I was a little girl, I'd slide in my grandparent's bed and sleep between them. Grandma would tickle my arm and grandpa would snuggle me into his strong, gentle arms. Friday night I had the honor of sleeping beside grandpa again as he prepared to go home. At 5:00 am on July 30, he reported to the other side of the veil, eager to be with his sweetheart and begin his work there. 

Words cannot express how much this stubborn, sweet, man means to me. 

If you've ever had the opportunity to speak at a funeral, you know that it can be a very therapeutic and even humbling experience. Remembering loved ones and celebrating life is something I love to do and I'm always honored by the invitation to share my thoughts with those who've gathered to celebrate life... But this time was REALLY hard! 

I'm usually pretty good at organizing words into coherent thoughts, but not this time. Not about my Gramps. How do you put together adequate words to sum up a man who has been a key influence in the entirety of your life? Over the last week I’ve jotted down pages and pages of notes and memories, but every time I try to pull them together, all the feels start getting in the way. 

I am the second of 25 grandchildren. Many of the younger grandkids were welcomed into this world by a grandpa with silver hair and fake teeth. They got the benefit of his age and wisdom. I was blessed with something different… and as far as I’m concerned, perhaps something better. When I was born, Grandpa was a ripe old thirty-seven year old... and still working on growing up. 

The grandpa of my youth was young and fun and full of energy. He had locks of brown hair and fantastic sideburns. He started water fights and took us boating. He let us ride on his lap while he and Bertha (his beloved track-hoe) moved mountains. He taught us to love dirt and sunshine and hard work. And at the end of a long day, he happily let us snuggle between him and Grandma in their big waterbed. 

He taught me how to make perfect chocolate milkshakes, with just the right balance of milk and ice cream to achieve those tiny little ice crystals. He taught me how to make his potato salad with his secret sloppy sauce. We watched MacGyver save the world with duct tape and took on our own adventures on long Sunday drives over mountains, across dirt roads, and to places most people have never even heard of. He took us to dams and educated us on the engineering wonders that they were. He told us stories of hillside cows, and how God had made their legs shorter on one side than the other so they could stand straight on the hills. He made up stories about an Indian brave named “Falling Rock” and how we should keep our eyes peeled for him anytime we saw the “watch for falling rock” sign on the side of the road.

I believe most, if not all, of his grandsons had the chance to work for him at some point over the years. I never worked in a trench or operated a piece of equipment, but work was so ingrained in him, I couldn’t help but learn to love and appreciate parts of the trade. One of my most vivid memories is of grandpa plopped down on his belly in the middle of the living room, his elbows anchored in front of him and his head propped on his hands so he could read his plans. I was enamored by those giant rolls of paper. I’d often lay beside him, engineering scale in hand, and try to drink in as much information as I could. I know he was working, but in those moments I felt like the center of his world. As a young adult, when I started the architecture program at the U, thanks to Grandpa, I was the only one in my class who had been to a job site, could read plans, and knew the difference between a track hoe and a loader.

Grandpa was playful, and loving, and goofy. But, he most certainly wasn’t perfect. He was moody and temperamental and stubborn. Maybe it was the byproduct of raising five girls, or maybe that’s just who he’d always been, but if you ever got to witness a Ronald mood-swing, you know just how legendary they could be. He could be one ornery, stubborn, crusty, pain in the toosh.–  But if you took the time to break beyond the crust, you found a man with a heart of gold. He’d give you the death-glare one minute and a hug the next. Work was important, but at the end of the day, his love for his family drove him. He loved Grandma and his daughters and all of his grandchildren with all that he had. He wanted nothing more than to know that we were all doing okay and that our needs were taken care of.

A couple of months ago a few of us were helping Grandpa with some work around his yard. As had become his custom, he came out and sat on the bench on his porch to watch. Out of the blue he said, “I don’t know why I’m still here. I keep asking the Lord to take me home to Grandma.” This wasn’t the first time he’d said something like this to me, but for some reason it really resonated this time. All of our lives shifted to one degree or another 15 years ago when Grandma passed away, but for him heartache and loneliness have been his daily companion. She was his everything. I learned so much about love and unselfishness by watching the way he cared for his sweetheart. He carried her purse, he combed her hair, he brought her fresh Pepsis every day. She was his life, and he was hers. And the void he felt without her was often unbearable.

How cruel of a life would this be, if all the relationships and love we built fizzled away to nothing? 

How void of hope would we be if this thing we call death was the end?

We say that Grandpa is with Grandma again, but this is more than lip service. I know that they are together. The veil between heaven and this earth is a thin one. I can testify that Grandma and other angels were with Grandpa over the last several days of his life. I was there. I felt their presence and witnessed Grandpa's connection with them.  Just as he was eager to be by her side again, she was eager to be with him. Before we came to this earth, we were together, and because of the Savior, Jesus Christ, we can be together past this life and for the eternities.

The apostle Paul wrote: 1 Cor. 15:55 “O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?”

1 Cor. 15:22 “For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.”

I’m grateful for a Savior who advocates to the Father on our behalf and that through Him we can obtain eternal life with those that we love. I am grateful for a grandfather who knew of this plan and tried his best to be worthy of those blessing.

Coffering the Kitchen

Coffered ceilings match the cabinets and provide balance throughout the space. 

The trend right now is to paint everything white. While I like white, I don't believe it is always the answer. Case in point: My kitchen. 

I love the light and bright trends in paint and decor right now and was uber excited to brighten up my kitchen with a nice new shade of griege on the walls. But, the new color created an imbalance in the space. Namely, the dark cabinets anchored the right side of room but there was no weight on the left half.  

Separately, the two halves looked great, but as a whole, they weren't communicating with each other.

The solution: Add warm wood tones to the ceiling.  

The biggest challenge - other than the up and down on the ladder - was figuring out how to space the "beams." It had to be balanced with the pantry, the wood hood, and the canned lights (because I really didn't want to have to move any electrical.) 

Total cost: $450

Total time: 4 days 

Small project - Big impact

Just getting started... 

Almost done. Last step = add a white crown molding 

Completed project. 

Trimming out the windows

 This week's project: Paint the living room and TRIM OUT THE WINDOW. 

Why? Because trim work is my favorite! My goal is to trim every window in my house... which, because we have a lot of big windows, is a LOT of trim :) 

There are a lot of styles in which you could trim out a window. Mine is a Cambridge/Craftsman hybrid with an 8" top casing and a 1/4" fillet.  (The lighting in this room is tough for picts, so I attached a picture from online below to give you an idea what it looks like.) 

Total cost: About $30 (not including the paint and caulk which I already had)

Total time: a few hours 

Total impact: Huge! This is a simple way to add architectural impact to your home. 

Jack of All Trades...

I've been in a bit of a funk lately. I'd like to say it started in conjunction with the new year and the opportunity it presents to set goals, but really, it's been hanging on for the better part of a year. You see, I just don't know where to point myself. It's not that I don't have ideas. Really, its that I have too many interests and ideas. 

How can that be, you say? How is it possible to have too many interests or ideas? 

As the saying goes, I'm somewhat of a "jack of all (or at least many) trades, master of none." 

And that's where the funk comes in. Being good at many things is wonderful, don't get me wrong, but I've turned a corner where my heart's desire is to be a MASTER of something (other than embarrassing my kids). But, what? 

Writing? Marketing? Building? Designing? Baking? Healthy cooking? Painting? Gardening? Health and fitness? 

Have you ever tried to make a PB and J but just didn't have enough PB? You pull the scraper out and try to get every last drop out of the jar, right? Well, I've scraped the jar clean and I've got plenty for one sandwich. But for years I've been using that portion to make three, or four, or even more. As much as I can't keep stretching, I cant seem to let go either. 

Yes, I'm stubborn - probably ridiculously so! 

And so, I hedge forward, dragging my feet like a toddler on her way to somewhere she doesn't want to go. I feel like I'm pushing someone off the train. 

But if I can't part ways with one - or five - of my " good trades",  then honestly, it's me that's going to fall off the train! 

So I've spent the last several weeks, whittling down my to-do list. I've compromised with the voices in my head...and I even feel good about most of the task-list carnage. 

But two remain. And I don't just want both of them, I NEED them. Emotionally and mentally they are ingrained in me. But can I do it? Is it possible to be a Master of two trades? 

8 Things that 2016 Taught Me

This morning I sat on my recumbent bike, my feet turning at roughly the speed of "I'm not getting anywhere fast today." Ironically, I wasn't going anywhere anyway. I never do during my morning ride. Unless, of course, spinning my mind and my feet at an equivocal pace whilst never leaving my basement can be considered going somewhere... in which case, I went a whole lot of somewhere today.

What started as a mental check list - you know, the GOAL list that is requisite with the new year - quickly turned into some self-banter about all that 2016 brought with it. As if flipping through the pages of a magazine, the events that shaped my 2016 rolled out easier than the calories I'd been hoping to burn.

And so, today I present a list of THE THINGS 2016 TAUGHT ME: 

1. Quality of life has nothing to do with the size of your paycheck. - This was hand's down the biggest lesson of our year. We - meaning my hubby - made a job change  that flipped our world upside down. His paycheck increased a bit, but his hours doubled. Family time became non-existent, as did sleep, meals, and vacations. Everyone's stress level escalated. We all felt it. None of us liked it.  - Gratefully his old employer offered him a very nice opportunity to come back. It was almost a no brainer. We took the offer and reclaimed our sanity!

2. I am not a superhuman. -  It's something I've suspected for some time, but this summer - specifically the "Garden Cottage" project - was the final proof that I needed. (What is this Garden Cottage, you ask? Check it out here.) Resourceful and determined as I may be, it proved to be physically impossible for a 5'5 1/2" girl to handle 4' x 8' sheets of plywood on her own. And let's not even talk about the Hardie Board... or the roofing... or the climbing up the ladder. 

3. I am braver than I thought. - Or stupid. Probably just stupid. Let's face it, ladders and I are not friends. 

Safety at it's finest. 

4. Letting people help you is NOT a sign of weakness. - Yeah, this lesson came on hard and fast as a result of the "Pinky incident." (If you haven't had a chance to check out those picts, you owe yourself a favor! :0) One wouldn't think a silly little pinky finger would render you helpless, but it did. For about six weeks post op, that whole hand was pretty worthless. I'm 12 weeks out now and finally pretty much back to normal. Well, except for that hunch backed knuckle. Oh, and the fact that the whole finger does its own thing. And then there's the fact that the upper knuckle doesn't bend. So, yeah. Good(ish) as new.

$11k and 12 weeks later, I have a tea-time pinky.

5. Breathe. - Sometimes life doesn't go as planned. And sometimes it goes way worse than you can imagine. Like when your hubby's passport comes up missing... on Christmas day... and you're headed to Cancun with the family the next morning. But, really, what can you do but breathe? (And pray. And be grateful those prayers are answered and he arrives just one day late!)

The so-sad empty seat when your hubby doesn't make the flight. 

6. Spontaneity is, indeed, part of my vocabulary. - Don't laugh. It's true. I can fly by the seat of my pants. Sometimes. For real. I promise it happened... In the form of a last minute, unplanned car purchase... from the auction. Sight unseen. And, after a day of panic about my crazy spurt, and a six hour drive to pick it up, I was finally able to breathe. I did good. Maybe I should try spontaneous more often.

7. The selfie and I will probably never be one with each other. - And, it's okay. I prefer to be goofy anyway.

8. Live. Laugh. Love. - Yeah, cliche, I know. But really. This is legit. Cherish people. Don't give in to drama. Life's too short to carry baggage.

Creamy Cinnamon Apple Salad

Am I the only one that cringes when they get the "salad" assignment for a pot-luck? I mean, salads are great and all, but you can only toss greens around so much before they become tired. This beautifully delicious salad was my saving grace at a recent party. 

Quick. Easy. DELICIOUS! 

4 lbs Apples, crisp sweet
2 tbsp Lemon juice, fresh2 cups Water

1/2 cup Brown sugar, packed light
2 tsp Cinnamon, ground
1/8 tsp Nutmeg, ground
1 tsp Vanilla extract
1 (8 oz) pkg Neufchatel cheese, softened
1 (8 oz) pkg Sour Cream, light 3/4 cup Cranberries, dried
1 cup Walnuts

Mix lemon juice and water in large bowl. Slice apples into bite sized pieces and place in lemon-water mix for 5 min. (This prevents them from turning brown). 

In separate mixing bowl, combine Neufchatel cheese, sour cream, brown sugar and spices. Mix until smooth. 

Drain apples and pat dry. 

Add apples, cranberries, and walnuts to cheese mixture. Chill until ready to serve. 

Coconut Pancake Syrup

If you've ever been to the islands and treated yourself to breakfast at one of the mom & pop diners, chances are that you've had the most wonderful Coconut Syrup you've ever tasted. So amazing in fact that you spent the rest of your trip searching gift shops for it and passing out from the price tag. Then, if you're like me, you tried the interwebs hoping to score a deal, only to find that the prices there are pretty steep as well.  Well, after some trial and error, I finally found my answer. An easy DIY recipe that will have even the most particular of coconut critics craving more.

Note: This is not healthy by any stretch of the imagination. It will delight your taste buds and stick around on your thighs for many happy moons. :)

Heavenly Coconut Pancake Syrup 

1 can of coconut milk (13.5 oz)
2 Tbs corn starch
2 cups light corn syrup
1/2 cup white sugar
1/2 cup shredded sweetened coconut (optional)

Stir coconut milk and cornstarch together in a medium saucepan until corn starch is dissolved.
Add remaining ingredients. Bring to boil over medium-high heat, stirring continually. As soon as the mixture comes to a rolling boil, remove from heat. Serve warm or cold.

* Don't limit the use of this wonderful syrup to pancakes. Try it on waffles, french toast, and even breakfast bowls (hashbrowns, sausage, and eggs layered together w/ grilled pineapple on top! Sooo good!)

Love and Fat-Free Cheese by Crissy Sharp

One of the benefits of post-surgical down-time, is the chance to sit and read. As much as I love a good book, life is typically so busy, the opportunity to curl up and digest a whole story in a day rarely happens for me... I am so glad I got to do just that with this debut novel from Crissy Sharp.

My Review:

I loved this book. From start to finish, Sharp created dynamic characters and an intriguing plot. Once I got into it, the story pulled me right along. There is a perfect balance of suspense and romance. How can you go wrong with cute, intelligent, kind leading men & a wiity, driven leading gal? This is a clean, cozy, and fun read.  

About the book:

Fat-free cheese is okay--unless you've tasted real cheese. The same holds true with love, as Juliet discovers when she meets Owen Denny, the strikingly handsome CEO of The Bradley Corporation where Juliet now works. As Juliet is forced to decide whether or not to follow her heart, she's dragged into the mystery of the disappearance of her sister's fiancé and the pharmaceutical conspiracy he plans to reveal. Can she protect her loved ones without sacrificing her own heart?

Get a copy:

Available in Kindle & Paperback

About the author:

Crissy Sharp is an author, runner, and sports lover. She has a special knack for avoiding cooking and cleaning so she can focus on her true love: writing. She is in awe of people who can do a one-legged king pigeon without pulling something and detests everything about fat-free cheese. Though she’ll always be a Montana girl at heart, she also loves Tennessee, where she currently lives with her husband and three children.

Stupid Pinky

How do I spell kryptonite? P.I.N.K.Y.

I've debated for some time whether to write about this or not, because, it's just a pinky. A seemingly insignificant, fifth digit. And, let's face it, nobody - except perhaps me - cares about that little guy who used to reside so quietly on the far side of my hand.  - Oh dear, that sounds almost like he no longer resides there. No worries. He's still there. I cannot see him beneath the cast and bandages, but believe me, I feel him... and he's not quiet. In fact, he's quite ANGRY!

(WARNING: this post contains some medical images/wounds that might be disturbing to some...or, if you're like me, you might find them quite fascinating.)

The Event
It all started on October 24, a quiet Monday night in the suburbs I call home. Quiet is a relative term. I'm sure the stereo was on. And, kids, I've got a few of them. Teenagers and young adults, but kids just the same. It was getting late and most of my young peeps had settled into their rooms to do homework. The kitchen table was buried in paperwork and I was busily plunking away on my laptop, pushing a deadline, when the doorbell rang.

Typical protocol when someone comes to the door is to remind the dog where her spot is and instruct her that she is supposed to "stay" there until otherwise commanded. She is big and most visitors find her intimidating. After a quick sweep of the room, I determined that she'd gone to bed (she keeps a rigid bedtime schedule for herself) so I didn't think it was necessary to remind her of door-etiquette.

I unlatched the deadbolt and opened the door, failing to process that this very chain of sounds would register the dog's attention. Before I knew it, she was bolting out of the bedroom and loudly toward the entryway. I reached for her collar - a chain-linked choker fit for the princess she is. Somehow the first three digits on my hand missed, leaving the tip of one, tender, little pinky to catch hold. As one might expect, that lone fingertip stood no chance against the 110+ pounds of forward motion.

I felt a pop and instantly knew something was wrong, but being the tough (insert: stubborn, obstinate, bull-headed) girl that I am, I squared the dog away and finished my business at the door before pausing to look at the source of pain. It felt weird and looked strange. There was a small white bump on the inner crease of the joint and a rapidly bruising dimpled area directly above that. Knowing she'd still be up, I called my daughter Olivia down from her room with the plea that I needed her help looking at an injury. My other daughter, Talia, heard the call and excitedly followed. She was hoping for blood. She was disappointed.

I'd seen breaks and jams and dislocations before. This looked like none of those. We googled for a bit then I consulted a friend with medical training and decided I could probably wait til morning to get it looked at. This was good news. I had a deadline to meet and most certainly didn't want to spend any precious time in the ER. I made a makeshift splint and went back to my laptop.

The First Diagnosis
I got up the next morning and drove to the InstaCare with the hope that they'd take an x-ray, tell me it was just bruised, give me a lollipop, and send me home. We even laughed about it. "Haha, my silly pinky hurts."

Talia waited in the exam room while they took me back for x-rays. "If the doctor comes in," I joked when I returned to the room, "and says "Ooh!" then we know I'm in trouble." We both laughed.

And then it happened. He came in, logged onto the computer, and uploaded the x-ray. "Ooh," he pinched his lips and tilted his head to the side. "Ooh. Ooh. Oooh!" Talia sprang from her chair to get a look at what we were seeing. A fragment of my bone had broken off and was lodged sideways on the front crease of my knuckle. Suddenly the hard, white bump made sense. It was my bone!

A Detached Jersey Finger  is what the doctor called it. Football players get it from grabbing on to their opponent's  jerseys. A typical Jersey Finger injury happens when the finger tendons are actively flexing (making a fist) and something yanks them the opposite direction, causing the tendon to rip. Except, in my case the tendon was too strong. (Yay! Go me!) Instead of tearing away from the bone, it tore a fragment of the bone clean off! So, technically, I've got a sports injury. (Where's my trophy? lol) And surgery is the only way to fix it.

"Take 2 - or 8 - ibuprofen every 4 hours," the doctor directed as I walked out the door.

Surgery 
November 2. Nine days after the injury...

I arrived at the hospital excited to start my road to recovery and confident that I had chosen the best doctor for the job. They'd needed to wait 7-10 days for the swelling to go down. It had been 9 days of discomfort and pain - and having to be uber careful not to do anything that would push the bone out through the skin. I was antsy to start feeling better. My nerves were fairly at ease, I'd had hand surgery before. And by this same surgeon. No worries. This was going to be cake.... or so I thought.

The anesthesiologist put me out for about three minutes - just long enough to deaden my arm - then woke me up and kept me mildly sedated. From my perspective behind the blue surgical curtain, all was going well. There was music, subtle talking between the surgeon and his assistant, and a few drilling sounds. I felt those - not in my finger, but in my elbow!

And then I heard the words, "Well, that was unexpected." In case you're wondering, those aren't very comforting words to hear while laying on the surgical table. Suddenly the 50 minute surgery felt like it'd been going on all day! The blue surgical curtain started to feel oppressive. My mouth was dry. My muscles tightening. My anxiety was building by the minute.

Then we were done. They bandaged me up, removed the claustrophobic curtain, and all was right again. The surgeon explained that there had been some unexpected obstacles to the surgery - mainly, you know, that the whole top portion of my finger was actually broken off right above the knuckle. No big deal, right? Just a complete change of plans. They could no longer do screws (can't screw a broken bone into another broken bone). I ended up with a couple pins to hold the big (unexpected) break and then a suture through my tendon, up through my bone, out through my finger nail, and finally, threaded through a button to hold it all together. Delightful...delightfully painful, that is!

The 50 minute surgery had actually taken 90 min.

Post OP - Week 1 
November 10

Hell. That's pretty much where I spent the first couple of days after surgery. I've delivered four babies, had my share of surgeries, and even suffered some pretty painful injuries (like the time the top half of my ear had to be reattached to my head), but this stupid pinky was going to be the death of me. The pain meds barely touched the pain, but they did a superb job making me sick. I couldn't walk. I couldn't read. I couldn't even watch TV. All I wanted was to curl up in fetal position and cry... and I couldn't even do that! Everything from my elbow to my fingertips was a swollen, painful, mess!

I bargained with the surgeon before going under the knife. You know, cause that's what all good patients do. Typically the post op bandaging would include the entire hand. But I needed some fingers... and this was just a stupid pinky, so couldn't he give me something to work with? We struck a deal. He agreed to give me 3 fingers (2 plus my thumb) and I agreed to take it easy.

And I'm sure he chuckled all the way home that night. There's no way I could use those fingers if I wanted to. First, they're swollen. Second, pretty much all the nerves in your hand are interconnected. So, essentially, moving my index finger causes pain in my pinky. Having them free is essentially pointless. The jokes on me....

At my one week post-op, the doctor asked me how the pain was. "Worse than anticipated," I said. "How come you didn't tell me it was going to be this bad?"

"I kind of did," he grinned. "I explained that you were going to have to take it easy for about 12 weeks."

I glared at him. "Take it easy" and "turn into a thumb-sucking, whiny, convalescent" are two entirely different things.

"I'm sorry," he said. "You DESTROYED the entire tip of your finger. There are a lot of nerves there. Damage like this doesn't heal overnight. And, unfortunately, it's painful."

Thoughts of amputation started to sound appealing.

The good news is, everything looks to be healing correctly. The doctor removed my post-surgery splint and bandages, and for the first time I got to see the button. It looks like a normal, everyday shirt button. He pulled out the stitches then I headed to physical therapy... and now I don't know what's worse: the pain or the stupid, ugly, uncomfortable split. Stupid pinky!

Post-Op week 2
November 17

It's been 2 weeks since operation pinky-reconstruction. Not gonna lie, it's been miserable. Imagine feeling like your hand is in a vice and no matter what you do, you can't seem to release the pressure. If you've ever slammed your finger in a door (or with a hammer) -  take that pain and multiply it by every minute of everyday for 3 weeks and you'll start to get the idea. Then add the button. This may be the worst part! It feels like someone is trying to press a thumbtack through my fingernail. Yah, not so pleasant. Every night I go to bed hoping that the morrow will be better. And every day I set a timer to know when I can take my next ibuprofen/acetaminophen cocktail. I've pretty much ditched the pain pills except when it reaches a point where I can't handle it anymore.

But something wonderful happened yesterday. For the first time in 23 days I felt pretty much nothing in my pinky. Now this lack of pain wasn't constant, but it happened frequently enough that I took notice. A couple of times I even reached down to touch it, thinking perhaps it'd gone to sleep. (It hadn't and I definitely felt it then!) But the point is, I think I've reached a turning point with this whole stupid pinky ordeal. Oh how I hope this is the case.

And, if its not? Sigh...
This stupid pinky could be the death of me.

To Suit a Suitor - by Paula Kremser

About the Book

Much to her mother’s annoyance, Julia North can’t catch a husband. After what seems like the hundredth lost suitor, Julia leaves London to visit a distant cousin, hoping to forget about husband hunting for a time. She inadvertently finds herself in the society of Henry Chamberlain, the most desirable gentleman in Somersetshire. With every young lady in town competing for his attention, Julia assumes she doesn’t have a chance. What she doesn’t know is that her desire to avoid Henry’s attention may be the very thing that catches it . . .

My Review

I don't often read regency, so this was a change of pace for me. I like strong, witty characters, and that's exactly what you get with Julia. She is charming and proper yet quirky and a definite spit-fire. Imagine the fun when she meets the equally clever - and remarkably handsome - Henry Chamberlain. Ms. Kremser has created a delightful tale of love lost and found. For a light-hearted regency read, give it a spin. Witty, charming, and just good clean romantic fun.  

As fun as it was, I do feel that there was room for more thorough content editing. There was a lot of "telling" instead of "showing" which tends to make the story drag. There were also a few incidents where the same idea/concept/feeling was repeated multiple times within a chapter. Again, not a deal breaker, but it had a way of slowing down the pace. 

About the Author

Paula Kremser focused on a career in science for a few years after graduating from Brigham Young University. Several years later when she moved with her young family to England, Paula seized the opportunity to focus on her love of the Regency Era. The enchantment of the aristocracy and the fascinating stories from every stately home she visits have been both research and inspiration for her first novel, Sophia. Paula lives with her husband and four children in a charming village nestled in the Chiltern hills in Buckinghamshire.

Buy it now on Amazon 

The Garden Cottage (aka: shed, aka: the project that stretched my limits!)

Hallelujah! - That's what the real name of this project should be. Instead of the "Garden Cottage," I think I should rename this baby "The Hallelujah Cottage." - Why? Because after 5 months of construction (lets be honest this should've taken 1/4 of that!), halle-freakin-lujah, we are DONE!

It started with a pile of lumber on Mother's Day. Yes, my hubby and kids are that awesome! They knew that this project had been scratching to come to life for a loooong time. A standard shed would've been easier, I'm sure, but I wanted something more than a cedar paneled box in my yard. I have to look at this thing every single day... so it had to be cute. So, yes, it has a porch... and shutters, and even a stone elevation. And we won't mention the turquoise potting bench or antique farming equipment that adorn the inside. Because, yes, a shed can be cute and functional and AWESOME!  

And, after a full season of construction, countless trips to the hardware/lumber store, almost 1500 framing nails, hundreds of hours, and a few breakdowns, it finally reached completion just before Halloween. 

Now to be fair, I kind of just picked at this project in between all of our summer adventures. And to be more fair, this was definitely not an "I" project but a "we" one. To say that I learned my limits is an understatement. But the growth and development within myself was almost as needed as the shed itself. 

Ryan and the kids were troopers. I'm sure I'm the only one who bounced out of bed early each Saturday morning with the words, "Yay, we get to work on the shed today!" racing through my mind. But they did it and they did it well. And I am soooo happy with the end product.

So here it is, the stamp of completion on the biggest, most complex construction project I've ever tackled without the help of contractors. And its GOOD! I love it!!! Hallelujah!

...now what????

Bonded at Birth - An Adoptee's Search for Her Roots by Gloria Oren

Did you know that November is National Adoption Month? To help commemerate all the wonderful families of adoption (on both sides of the equation) I've been invited to participate in the book tour for Gloria Oren's newly released memoir: Bonded at Birth: An Adoptee's Search for Her Roots. 

About the Book

(I took the following from Amazon:) 

Gloria Oren’s adoption memoir Bonded at Birth: An Adoptee’s Search for Her Roots is a story of loss, survival, determination, and persistence. It covers one state, three countries, and two continents. It covers sixteen years of searching and a little over four decades since her first adoption. After growing up under the umbrella of secrecy, Gloria sets out to find her birth mother with all she knew about her: she was a Jewish teenager. Despite being told by anyone and everyone that it would be an impossible feat, her determination and motivation increased. Learning her birth father’s name upon reunion with her birth mother and a short time later that he passed away eight years before led to her getting involved in genealogy and through this research medium she discovered that her first cousin seven times removed was Col. William Prescott of the Battle of Bunker Hill fame and more. Seven years later her story is brought full circle.

Bonded at Birth will interest adult adoptees who wish to search but hesitate, adoptive parents confronted by their adopted child’s wish to search, and by birth parents who fear searching not wanting to intrude on their biological offspring’s life. It will attract memoir readers who enjoy a unique story. And couples contemplating adoption will learn the damage secrecy can lead to, and with hope, this book will ensure that they will be the ones to talk to their adopted children about their adoptions.


You can get a copy of Bonded at Birth in print or eBook through Amazon.

About the Author

Gloria Oren was born in Brooklyn, New York. She hopes to inspire others considering a search to take the plunge and see what they discover. She has three grown children and lives in Redmond, Washington with her husband and their firstborn. She has a powerful perspective of finding positivity in experiences on life's roller coaster lurches that leave many in panic.

Oren is an editor for Muse It Up Publishing and also does freelance editing. When editing Gloria helps authors create the best book they can. She is the founder of the Facebook group Women Writers Editors Agents and Publishers which continues growing day by day and a member of the Redmond Association of Spokenword (RASP) and Society of Good Grammar (SPOGG).

Oren has also written two eBooks: Selling Yourself and Your Product: A Guide for Writers and Let Chocolate Be Your Friend: What Your Mother Didn't Tell You as a Child.

You can connect with Gloria:
http://gloriaoren.com
http://gloriascorner.com
http://familylinks.blog.com

My Review

If you're looking for a well-written memoir, then this book is a good read. Oren provides a pleasant retelling of her experiences - covering the major incidents of her life from birth through adulthood. I enjoyed reading of her experiences as a Jewish child in Brooklyn and abroad. As a genealogy/family history nut, I enjoyed learning of the joy she continues to find through researching her roots. 

Based on the description of this book, I went into it expecting a much fuller account of Oren's adoption and the journey of finding her birth family. I wanted to learn the details - the "story" as I like to call it - of her process. I wanted to feel her pain and re-live her journey of longing and searching and waiting for answers. What I found was more of a basic memoir with a side-note about adoption. (She didn't really recount much about the "search" until about 80% through the book.) I'm not saying this is a bad thing, just not what I expected. If I was an adoptee searching for my birth family, I think I would find great comfort in hearing how well she's integrated back into her birth family's life. However, if I was looking for tips or support or motivation as to where and how to look, I think I'd probably walk away wanting. 

Take the Stairs - 7 Steps to Achieving True Success

This book rocked my world. Seriously, if you're looking for a kick in the pants, Mr. Vaden delivers!

In the process of trying to keep all my balls in the air, I feel like I have been in a constant state of falling short on my goals and running late on my to-do lists. When I stumbled on this book I knew I had to read it ASAP. But with a shed to finish and cold weather on the horizon, where was I going to find the time to sit and read? Lucky for me, I didn't have to. With a hammer in my hand and a tool belt on my waist, I plugged my earbuds in and listened to the audio.

The tips Mr. Vaden gives are brilliant! In fact, I loved this book so much I will be purchasing a print copy to love and mark-up, and share in discussion with my husband and our children. There is great value here for teenagers, young adults, and those of us who claim maturity. We plan to discuss it, one chapter a week, as a family. Yeah, its that good.

From the back of the book:

Do you ride the escalator-or take the stairs?

No matter how you define success, it always requires one thing: self-discipline. But as popular speaker and strategist Rory Vaden explains, we live in an "escalator world"-one that's filled with shortcuts, quick fixes, and distractions that make it all too easy to slide into procrastination, compromise, and mediocrity. What seems like an easier path is really much harder in the end-and, most important, it won't take you where you want to go.

How do successful people stay focused and achieve results? This lively and insightful guide presents a simple program for taking the stairs-that is, for overcoming the temptations of quick fixes and procrastination, conquering creative avoidance, and transcending personal setbacks in order to tackle the work that leads to real success.

Whatever your goals are, Rory Vaden's proven approach will get you there-one stair at a time.

Check it out on Amazon

Keeper of the Plains - Inspiration for a new story

A couple of years ago I visited the "Keeper of the Plains Plaza" in Wichita. The power in that place was so real it stayed with me for days and ultimately inspired me to write one of the most beautiful chapters I've ever imagined. Desperately wanting to share a piece of my experience with my readers, I tried to "force" the scene into a couple different projects. It didn't work. It needed a home of its own... and now, after stewing for a bit, I think I've found it! - I don't know how long it will take to finish this book (it's got a few other projects in front of it), but at least it has a home now...and it's a beautiful one!

Tough As Nails

When I was a kid my dad would often joke that he was too ornery to die. He'd growl and scowl as if that was needed to drive home his point. I'm not sure I ever bought into his theory - after all, his own father was as ornery as they came and he died at the tender age of 50. I did, however, always think he was tough as nails (and sometimes meaner than dirt!) In all seriousness, I don't think grit or stubbornness have much to do with the miracles we saw unfold this week in my dad's behalf. 

As I understand it, the pain started Tues night - actually it started several days before that and escalated til Tuesday night. (Though the grin on his face Saturday afternoon when he was out "Jeeping" was no indicator.) Around 11:30 Dad told Mom he probably needed help. Having inherited the "stubborn, don't need to see a doctor" gene, I know this was a big deal. She took him to the ER where they assessed his pain and ran the standard tests. Multiple EKGs came back negative, however other signs indicated that something was definitely wrong. Around 4:30 Wednesday morning he was taken via ambulance to the Coronary ICU at the IMC (Intermountain Medical Center) in Murray, Utah. 

By Wednesday afternoon they still didn't have many answers. Around noon, via the help of a catheter, they determined that he had 100% blockage of his left anterior artery (aka: Widowmaker) and two 80% blockages on his right artery. Typically a blockage of this type would have called for triple bypass surgery, however, all three were miraculously able to be fixed with the placement of stents.

I saw my dad shortly after the procedure. He looked great. Normal even. The relief was immediate. His heart rate and blood pressure were back to normal and he certainly didn't look like a man who'd stared death in the face just hours before. They kept him overnight for observation then sent him home the following day. 

Not many people survive a 100% blockage of their left anterior artery. Most don't even make it to the hospital, hence the name "Widow Maker." Even less walk away without any - and by any, I mean 0%! - damage to their heart muscle. What my family saw this week was the unfolding of many miracles. I offered a prayer early Wednesday morning and received instant comfort. I knew things were going to be okay (I didn't necessarily know what "okay" meant, just that things would work out as God intended them.) 

Dad is home and as good as new. Prayers and faith work. 

The Secret of Secrets novella series - From Concept to BEST SELLER!!

In the fall of 2014 I attended a writing retreat in the mountains above Heber, Utah. I did a bunch of writing, made some great new friends, and took advantage of the opportunity to learn from others. Near the end of the conference, mention was made of a new anthology endeavor that was on the horizon.  

At first I didn't think much of it. The idea of writing a novelette (a story about 1/3 the length of a typical novel) didn't really appeal to me. I tend to be a wordy writer - often having to edit out a serious amount of text from a typical manuscript to get it to an acceptable novel length. But I stewed on the idea. Could I do it? Would it be fun? Was it worth a try? 

In the following days I went on a road trip where I introduced the idea to my hubby. Not knowing how serious to take it, we brainstormed some ideas. By the time we reached our destination we'd brainstormed a pretty decent outline for a story about an awkward, computer geek girl, with a seemingly boring job with the NSA. 

After returning home from our trip, I pulled out my laptop and started writing. Before long Samantha Perry came to life. Within weeks I had written my complete novelette, HACKED. It was soon after accepted for publication by the Sweet and Sassy Anthology group for their "Secret Identities Collection".

But there was a hitch. There was more to Sam's story. And so, I kept writing. 

As it turns out, writing within the guidelines of a shorter format was a great exercise for me. I needed to do this project more than I ever imagined. Not only did I love exploring Samantha's introverted, awkward, sassy character, but I learned so much about telling a story without a bazillion unnecessary words. I saw measurable improvement in my craft... and I fell in love with Samantha, the man she knew as Seth, the idea of halibut fishing (read the series and you'll understand), and some beautiful parts of the United States. 

HACKED proceeded HUNTED, then shortly afterward HOOKED came to fruition. And all three books are now available on kindle and in paperback. They are short and sweet and sooooo much fun. 

And the best part? Within days of its release, HACKED hit #2 on the best seller list. HUNTED and HOOKED followed suit with their releases. Apparently readers are really liking the fast paced, quick, in-and-out of a story they can read in a day! Wow, am I ever grateful that I took the challenge and brainstormed that first story. 

To find out what the buzz is all about, visit www.stephanieworlton.com .

Rock It!

Fireplace after. Natural Stone. 

I have a confession to make...  

While I love writing, I find it hard to sit still for very long and would much prefer to be designing and building a project. So, I reward myself for completing my writing tasks by tackling projects around my house. (Whether they are things that actually need to be done is negotiable. Just ask my hubby. Have I ever told you how patient he is? 😉) 

Since releasing my book HUNTED almost a month ago, I've been working on a couple of things in our rec room. First I tackled the fireplace. If you remember, our rec room has been an ongoing project. About a year ago we worked on the custom built ins along side the fireplace. (Check that out here)  

I then built the coffee table. Wow, was that a fun project! I took four antique (well-weathered) apple boxes, secured them together and added industrial castors to the bottom. This is probably one of my all-time favorite projects. 

The latest project was to make the fireplace rock... as in literally, rock! And so, I rocked it!  

Fireplace before. Faux painting and slate. 

Fireplace. During construction

Next I moved on to the kitchenette. I'd initially chosen a different natural stone but when I went to pick it up, my daughter found this one. It was instant LOVE! So we switched gears. My original choice was a little more simple stone but I absolutely couldn't resist the range of beautiful colors and texture in this one. 

Kitchenette. Starting backsplash. 

Kitchenette. Backsplash complete. 

And now the basement is done (except for new paint... there's always new paint on the horizon where this girl is concerned!) 

My next project is my garden cottage (aka: shed). It's been on the docket for awhile. I'm so excited that it's finally time to start building... Of course, I have to finish some writing first, which means I may have to lock myself in my room for the next few days. Donations of Peanut M&Ms and Junior Mints would be greatly appreciated 😉