Living in the now

Not an easy thing to do. The now is so fleeting; if you don't make an effort to be in the moment, that moment is lost forever. Yes, it may still be a memory, but you wasted what could have been a moment of joy, by just not being there and soaking it in. You dismissed it by wishing for something that couldn't be, at least not in that moment.

An example of what I mean is when I look at photos of my three children, all now in middle age, and I regret not savoring each second of their lives more, when they were growing up—as babies, toddlers, children, teenagers and young adults. And I'm not saying I didn't enjoy them. I did, and I do. But, like all human beings, parents included, the demands of day-to-day life invaded my space and distracted me.

Why am I now, once again, dwelling on this mistake of constantly allowing the current moment to pass without fully enjoying it? 

Recently, on a late January evening, I was sitting on our dock, my fishing line in the lake, watching the reflection of the warm sun setting in the mirror of water and wishing I were back home in Ireland. Suddenly, like a slap to the back of my head, I had a picture of exactly what I would be doing at that moment, were I back in Ireland. I saw myself sitting at a window, staring out at the cold dark rain as it beat against the glass, wishing for summer, still another five months away, and no guarantee it would be much warmer or less rainy. Meanwhile, the multicolored sunset slipped behind the hill and the still warm air reminded me I'd lost the pleasure of that moment, wishing for something that couldn't be.

Not a fire - a real sunset

Well, yes, of course it could be, just not in that moment. I've always believed nothing is impossible, it's just everything comes with a price and are you prepared to accept that price or not? And I'm not talking about financial cost; that can always be overcome. I know, because I came to America with nothing but debt, which I did eventually repay. Right now, I'm not prepared to make that decision; currently the emotional cost is too high, though sometimes, on bad days, given the horrible things happening in, and to, this country, I come very close.

So, for now, I work hard to stay living in the now, appreciate the warm Texas winter, the view of the lake outside my window as I sit at my desk and write. The herds of deer roaming along the shore. The squirrels and birds perched in the tree at the corner of the patio, or strutting around the dock. And of course, the beautiful sunsets reflected in the still water while we fish. But at night, as I drop off to sleep, I allow myself to dream about being back home in Ireland.

From apolitical to activist

When I won a green card in the lottery in 1993, I was suddenly presented with an unexpected doorway to a whole new life. I wrote about that in my memoir, Peeling The Onion, and I also published a blog on the subject here.

When I was growing up in Ireland, families tended to all hold the same political view, much like religion. I never really gave politics any thought. As soon as I turned 18, I voted in every election, never considering who or what I was voting for, just following the family tradition. I honestly had absolutely no interest in politics.

Moving to the United States was a huge change for me. I came to the US filled with optimism and I wasn't disappointed, at first. I had no difficulty finding work that I enjoyed. I was appreciated for my skill set, despite being female and in my late 40s. I won achievement awards at every company I worked for. I was very happy to be here, back then.

Quite apart from all the obvious differences, politics was a big one. It was a subject that most people avoided or had heated arguments about. And there were only two parties! But I wasn't a citizen, didn't have a vote and was still not interested in politics. So, it didn't matter to me. Then one day the phone rang, yes it was a landline. When I answered it, a voice asked me if I considered myself to be a Republican or a Democrat. I took a second to think about that, then I responded: "I have no idea, I guess I better figure that out." Then I hung up. 

That was when I started to move away from being apolitical to being politically curious. I asked everyone I met if they were R or D, and why—what was the difference? Most of the answers were unsatisfactory. To me, they all ranged from just a little bit subjective to downright fanatical. I wanted to be educated, not indoctrinated. Then one evening, the couple who were house sitting with me, Kevin and Anna, had a party. Kevin had just returned from a two week, in house clinical study. All the guests were his co-victims of the study. A whole new set of people to question. 

One young guy impressed me above all the others. When I asked the question, he got totally involved. It was very clear he understood where I was coming from. Complete ignorance and a need to be educated. I have often wondered about him since. I had no clue then and still don't know which side he was on. He gave me a very objective outline of what each party claimed to stand for. Then when I asked him more pointed questions, such as "Who takes care of the little man—the small businesses?" his answers were still objective and informative. That was 1994.

In 2000 I became a citizen and I have exercised my right to vote in every election since then. At first with some ignorance and too much influence from people I trusted, I voted R. Then as I watched more closely what the people I had voted for were doing. I switched to D. I continued to attempt to learn and understand. One of the biggest lessons I have learned is, to quote Rachel Maddow: "Watch what the do, not what they say." It's madness to believe a word a politician says when they are looking for your vote. No matter which party. They say whatever they believe you want to hear and if you look closely, you will see they are promising to do thing they can't possible deliver. 

Fast forward to 2025. It would appear that absolutely nothing that young guy told me back in 1994 still applies. Both parties have changed so drastically that neither stand for anything they used to claim. And sadly, they either don't know what they stand for, or they stand for personal gain at the cost of the American people. It would appear that most of those American people are throwing up their hands and saying: "What can I do? I voted." then sitting back and burying their heads in the sand. Each election is a choice of the lesser of two evils. And your choice depends on how much attention you have paid to what has been going on around you. 

This is me at the No Kings Rally
Marble Falls, Texas.
I'm the one on the right

I wanted to go home. Escape from this hell that Beautiful America, the Land of the Free, had become. For reasons I won't go into here, moving back to Ireland wasn't an option. That was when I decided I was not going to sit around and feel sorry for myself. I started listening to The Bulwark podcasts. What's educational about the Bulwark is that the majority of the people there are remnants of the original Republican party. They still hold dear all of the good things that party once stood for. But, because the Republican party has abandoned all that is good, they are now ex-Republicans but can't accept much of the non-conservative beliefs of the Democrats. 

The very best thing about the Bulwark is they tell it like it is, along with their honest opinion. They do not attempt to ram their opinion down your throat, so I get a glimpse of what used to be acceptable behavior for both parties and what is wrong about both parties. And, I get to decided for myself what I approve of and what I can't accept. I continue to be educated.

I still want to go home, but as I can't do that, I will not sit and watch this wonderful country get crushed under the feet of megalomaniacs and ditherers. I am now moving into my activist era. After all, if a bunch of 79-year-old geriatrics can run this country into the ground, why shouldn't a 79-year-old Irish woman stand up and be counted?

Read the Instructions

Don't just trust the doctors.

I mentioned my husband's battle to have his Parkinson's Disease diagnosed in a previous post. This post is to sound off about my own experience with what I consider to be seriously inadequate health care.

On Monday—it doesn't matter which Monday—I started to experience pain in my lower back. Not the usual sciatic pain at the very bottom of the spine. This was different, not like anything I had ever felt before. It was just above the waist, and to one side of the spine. I assumed I had pulled a muscle, took a couple of ibuprofen and waited for it to go away. It didn't. In fact, it got progressively worse. By Wednesday I was getting a shooting pain, like an electric shock, when I moved a certain way, stretching my arms, twisting or even just standing up from a chair. On Friday, I set an appointment with for the following Monday afternoon, with the physicians assistant; my doctor wasn't available at such short notice. By Sunday, I was barely able to move without the pain knocking the air from my body. It wasn't just excruciating; it was frightening. 

At first I suspected a kidney stone, then I thought maybe a herniated disc. Of course, Dr. Google does tend to feed us all sorts of frightening information. But in my eightieth year, and having lost both my parents to cancer in their seventies, I can excuse myself for being slightly hypocontriacial. My husband talked me into going to the ER. I didn't take much persuasion. So, I drove the 30 minutes to the nearest hospital in Cedar Park. Checking in at two in the afternoon and waited.

A doctor examined me and ordered a back X-ray. We waited some more. After the X-ray, we waited again. The ER was kept busy but wasn't too crowded. Eventually the doctor came and told me no broken bones. That thought hadn't occurred to me! She said it was arthritis and probably had been aggravated by something. We waited again. A nurse came and took us into one of their more private areas, applied a lidocaine patch and gave me one pain pill which she said was oxycodone and acetaminophen. She told me a prescription for lidocaine patches and a topical gel for the pain would be sent to my pharmacy. Then we waited some more. Finally, I was given a bunch of papers to sign—as far as I know, there was no mention of not blogging about my experience. I asked if I would get a prescription for painkillers and was told no. That was just as well, because CVS refuses to dispense codeine so I suspect they would refuse oxycodone too. Incidentally, that pill worked like a charm and I drove home pain free, stopping on the way to pick up the patches and gel.

I slept badly on Sunday night; every time I moved, the pain woke me. On Monday morning, a full week since the problem started, I showered and opened up the packaging to apply the gel. Luckily, before doing so, I read the instructions. I posted a blog a number of years ago, on how important it is to read the fine print. Fortunately, I didn't forget that lesson.

Not only did it specify to NOT use on the back, it also stated it should be used on only three areas at a time and there was a risk of heart attack if misused. Clearly pretty serious stuff. Unless of course, the intention was to cause a distraction from the pain in my back—that would work. Needless to say, I didn't apply the gel.

I got onto Amazon and ordered a back brace. That was at 6:30 in the morning. It arrived three hours later and supplied instant relief, helped by a couple of ibuprofen.I was still in pain, but it was very much better.

That afternoon I saw my doctor at 3:00. She agreed that I was correct to not apply the gel to my back, under any circumstances. She asked me if the ER had done any lab work, or given me a prescription for muscle relaxers or pain killers. The answer was no on all counts. She didn't even try to hide her amazement. Because of the location of the pain, she too entertained the suspicion that it could be a kidney stone. She gave me a referral to get a Renal CT scan, also physical therapy, a prescription for a muscle relaxer and a painkiller stronger than ibuprofen, plus she asked me to go by the lab on my way out and have a urine test.

The medication helped immediately. On Tuesday, the results of the urine test showed no issues. Early on Wednesday morning I had the CT scan.The results of that came in on Thursday afternoon. No kidney stones, no suspicious mass. Yes, some signs of diverticulitis, not infected. Conclusion, musculoskeletal. Recommendation: Physical Therapy. Unfortunately, my faith in PT is less than my faith in ER doctors, having had less than ideal experiences with various different PT clinics, on more than one occasion.

Silver linings—yes, I still look for and find these. Two weeks later, the pain is almost gone and I didn't put that gel on my back. I shudder to think what could have happened if I had.

I guess the moral of the story is read the instructions? I really don't know. But I'm learning to trust the medical profession less and less. I remember a time when doctors actually cared about their patients. With the exception of the physicians assistant, who did help, and did care. Now it's just a conveyor belt. And yes, I do understand that they are understaffed and overworked, and constantly being sued. I'm sure that takes it's toll. Hell, recently my husband asked to be referred to another neurologist, he was told there was a six to twelve month wait for an appointment with the only other available one in the area.

Some days are better than others...

When I refer to myself as an author or a writer, I feel as though I'm delusional or just telling lies. But having published a total of six books. Five are novels and one is a memoir, and having sold almost four thousand copies of said books, I have to believe I am a writer.

Now, when I say four thousand copies, I hasten to explain—my books are available as e-books, paperbacks, hardcovers and audio. Of these, I have sold (at the time of writing this) almost fifteen hundred. Amazon offers a subscription library, Kindle Unlimited. Books enrolled in this offering result in the author being paid per page read—that is a fraction of a penny per page read. My total page reads across all of my books is over half a million (again, at the time of writing this). A rough calculation of total pages read divided by the average page count per book, results in two thousand four hundred books read. That's always assuming it wasn't several million people reading just one page.

Of course, these sales most definitely do not qualify my books as best sellers, but I'm happy that people are reading them. Even happier that some of those readers are writing reviews and  awarding some stars. At the time of writing, my novels are averaging 4.5 stars. 

So, what is a normal day like for me? As I say, some are better than others. I do write every day. Some days more than others, because life does tend to take over. Doctor visits, dentist visits , grocery shopping, etc; take up time. And when I say 'I write', some days I sit in front of my computer thinking and plotting and doing very little actual writing—but I believe that counts; it is all part of the author process. 

As I edit, revise and polish each book, preparing to publish it, I'm gripped by a fear that I might not have another book to write—then what do I do with my days? So far, that hasn't happened. But now, once again, as I'm about to send my seventh book, the sixth in the Escape Route series, to my beta readers, I have to face that fear again. Do I dream up another book in the series and start outlining that? Do I come up with something completely different? The answer is I don't know yet. I will sit in front of my computer and hope that inspiration hits me once again.

You can find my books on Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk, Amazon.ca - and for those of  you in Ireland, if you want the physical book, try Amazon.de—they do offer an English language version of the web site.

Suffering from two diseases I haven't got

To be fair, my poor husband is suffering a whole lot more than I am. He has Age Related Macular Degeneration (AMD), and Parkinson's Disease (PD), though we have no idea what stage. 

According to Parkinson.org, Parkinson's disease (PD) is a neurodegenerative disorder that affects predominately the dompamine producing ("dopaminergic") neurons in a specific area of the brain called substantia niagra.

This is what AMD does to your eyesight:

From ophthalmology24.com

It took us five years from when we first noticed symptoms of PD, to the point where the medical profession paid enough attention to us, to have him tested. During that time his doctor told him if he could hold his hand still against a flat surface, the tremors were not Parkinson's. He made it clear that he didn't believe my husband when he said he was constantly fatigued. Or perhaps he suspected he was partying too much. When his doctor finally agreed to refer him to a neurologist, we told her we suspected Parkinson's. She referred him to a neurophysiologist. He diagnosed mixed anxiety and depression. 

Now, to be clear, tremors, extreme fatigue, anxiety and depression are all symptoms of Parkinson's. That was four years after we had diagnosed it ourselves but couldn't get traction from the experts. One year later, we returned to the neurologist for follow up. Finally, she said she suspected Parkinson's. We said we had already told her that a year ago. She flatly denied we had ever mentioned it. 

So, the full battery of testing that should have been performed five years earlier, finally agreed with our diagnosis. He was then put on a bunch of medications. Most were to treat the symptoms. Parkinson's has no cure at the time of writing. And, with the damage that has been done to medical research in the US recently, it's unlikely there ever will be—unless the Chinese come up with something.

One such medication was carbidopa levodopa, which increases the dopamine in the brain; this should help to control the tremors which had become very bad, and also body stiffness. Unfortunately this medication has horrible side effects. 

The poor man spent the next six months with constant nausea, exhaustion, depression and dyskinesia—jerky, uncontrollable movements. So, the medication to stop the tremors increases his fatigue and depression. While it does control the tremors, it has caused him to have uncontrollable jaw movement. That is, he constantly moves his lower jaw from side to side. While the nausea has eased, it hasn't ceased completely. Some days there are no side effects and other days he is totally incapacitated for hours after taking the medication.

Now, if all that seems to be overwhelming, add to it the separate issue of Macular Degeneration (AMD}. There are two types of this disease, wet and dry. My poor husband has both, one in each eye. Again, there is no cure for this disease, though, as with Parkinson's there is a lot of research being done—was, before it was all shut down. Dry AMD is the least serious, and can be slowed down with a heavy mixture of vitamins. Wet AMD is extremely serious and currently he is receiving regular injections into his retina—yes, in his eyeball—to try to minimize the impact.

The impact of AMD is loss of vision, starting in the center of the eye. One example I read to explain it, is if you look at a clock face, you see the numbers but you can't see the hands. Not a lot of use? Luckily my husband had the good sense to realize that it was time to stop driving. Not before it became somewhat terrifying. He would sometimes stop suddenly in the middle the road, because he saw something in front of him that wasn't actually there. Worse was when he didn't see things that were there, or didn't see traffic lights, particularly scary when they were red.  For more information on AMD, click here.

So, I went from white knuckling it, yelling 'Red' to getting a driving lesson every time we went anywhere. Thankfully, after a year, it would appear my driving has 'improved' sufficiently, or maybe the poor man's eyesight has deteriorated so much he can't see where we are going.

The driving lessons are the least of my problems. The mood swings are hard to deal with. I never know when he is going to be deeply depressed, or wildly angry. And I am all he has. Well, 99% of the time, I am the only person he sees. I have a large, caring family. Unfortunately they are scattered thousands of miles away, almost all in other countries. He has a very few family member living close by, and they are too busy with their own lives. So we spend all day every day depending on each other, attempting to battle our way through the symptoms, knowing they will only get worse.

Before you say it, I did try to get him to agree to trying a support group, He refused. He has never been a social body, and he believes a support group would consist of a group of people as miserable as we are, sitting around whining about our problems. I know if we lived closer to members of my own family, we would get the support we need. But that would require a huge change in lifestyle for him, and in his current condition, change is the last thing he wants to consider.

So, how am I suffering. Well, I love my husband and it breaks my heart to see him suffer. To hold him while he cries, or keep my mouth shut while he rants and raves, or threatens to kill himself. Advice I keep reading is 'take care of yourself". Exactly how? As he needs more and more care and attention, and I am the only one available to do that. What do I do? I can't just abandon him for even a couple of hours. Particularly as he doesn't do well being on his own. 

Apart from that, I have lost the man I married. PD and all of it's many side effects, has a impact on the victim's personality. It's inevitable that the impact of so many unpleasant symptoms plus the slow deterioration of the dopamine in the brain, is going to cause changes to the way a person thinks, feels and reacts. Sometimes he goes for days without saying more than a few words, to me or to anyone else. Other days he snaps and snarls at everything and everyone. And, getting rarer, occasionally he is his old cheerful self. 

The battle against two diseases, both of which we know will eventually win, is soul destroying. And if we're not careful, will destroy not just our souls, but also our relationship. And now, with the political mayhem in the Disunited States, research into these diseases has been halted, the threat of cutting Medicare and Social Security, plus tariffs on pharmaceuticals will most definitely finish us off.

PillPack is great - when it works.

If a delivery goes astray, it sucks. BIG TIME.

The concept is good. It's a pharmacy, they get your prescriptions and every month you get a roll of little packages, each labeled with the name of the medication, and the date and time you should take it. We all know, as you get older the number of pills you have to take daily, increases. Those little pill organizers are very useful, but it is tedious to fill them every week, and there is always a risk of mixing them up. Or, heaven forbid, what if you spill them after you have filled it? Would you ever be able to sort that out?

With PillPack, you tear along the dotted line and take the pill for that day and time. When traveling you can take the strip of pouches for the period of time you will be away. No rattling bottles to be packed. And, to make it even more convenient, you can order any over the counter pills you need to take and they will come in those little pouches along eith the prescription medication. All very convenient until, as I said, a delivery goes astray - and we all know how that can happen. PillPack is owned by Amazon, so your pills could be left on your doorstep and, with the current popularity of stealing packages from doorsteps, your pills could disappear. Or, they could be dropped on the wrong doorstep. 

That's what happened to me recently. My pillpack is normally delivered by USPS, and I pick it up from our neighborhood mail delivery box, inside a gated community. It's worked, for over a year. PillPack sends you a nofication when they are preparing your pills, and again when they are shipped. I received both of these emails. I didn't receive any pills. When I checked online I saw that this time they had shipped via Amazon delivery and it was marked as delivered and left on the doorstep. No, it wasn't. And we are rarely gone, plus we have a Ring doorbell, we not only get images of everyone who comes to our door, we get alerted by Ring, whether or not the door bell is pushed. Yeah, another Amazon owned company. But, we know, for sure, it wasn't delivered to us.

I got online with their customer service. Having worked for Amazon, and spent half a day sitting with customer service reps watching them do their magic, I know they are the best. I have the greatest respect for them. But they can only offer what Amazon is prepared to offer. The rep I spoke to didn't question my claim that I had not received my medication - none of it was serious stuff, I mean, it's serious for me if I don't actually take them, but nothing exciting for a would be thief. Thyroid, cholesterol and blood pressure medicine along with antacids and baby asprine. However, we all know how expensive any medication is in the US. Thank goodness for health insurance, even the not great insurance for the elderly. At least most of my medications are covered. 

Until, that is, Amazon loses them. My customer service rep said she would have replacement medication delivered overnight. And, yes, I would have to pay for them as insurance wouldn't. Fortunately, she quoted me the discounted GoodRX prices. But still, I had already paid for the pills I didn't get - the over the counter and the one named brand because I can't take the generic, and insurance also won't pay for named brand. Now I have to pay again for all of them?

So, I'm going to switch all my medications to my local pharmacy. The slight inconvenience of filling them weekly and picking them up, outweighs the serious inconvenience of risking not getting them at all and paying twice. And, DoorDash will deliver if I just can't drag myself the few miles to pick them up. I will have to resign myself to filling the little boxes every week. But on balance that's better than paying through the nose for failed deliveries, or missing important medications.

Yep - I'm still alive

I know, I have been very quiet recently. I have been writing, just not here. I actually started a new blog, in preparation for my first novel. It is my author page, here.

Apart from that, I have been querying agents in an effort to get traditionally published. That's hard. I mean, yes it is hard to get traditionally published, but even more difficult is the querying part. First, you have to get a list of agents who are open to submissions, and who are interested in your genre. Then you have to write a killer query letter. There is quite a bit of information on the internet, on how to do this, but no one can actually write your query letter for you. That is something you have to do for yourself. It is easier to write an entire novel. 

So, I have been sending off between two and five queries every other day, while at the same time working on the second novel. I have been slowly getting back some rejections, which is better than the alternative which is total silence. I try not to dream of that one request for a full manuscript. Apart from the disappointment of not actually getting that, there is still the distinct possibility that once they read a full manuscript, they will still reject it.

I decided that I would send out queries to my entire list of agents, then wait four to six weeks. If I don't get an offer of representation at that stage, I will self publish. With that in mind I have already formatted my manuscript for publication on Amazon, well, KDP to be correct and I have created a cover for it. I am fairly sure the cover will change because I am not completely satisfied with it, but I wanted to get to a point where I was comfortable using the KDP site. Things there have changed a lot since I published Peeling The Onion.

So yes, I have been busy. 

When I thought I had completed the first manuscript, I sent it off to a number of beta readers. Based on their feedback I made a number of changes. Then I left it sit on the back shelf while I tried to forget it and worked on number two. A couple of months later, I picked the first one up again and realized it needed some drastic changes. The opening pages changed completely and I added a whole new plot twise and almost twenty thousand words. Of course, that all meant I needed to go back into revision mode. But the end result I believe, is a lot better.

My next task is to get beta readers for my second novel. Please excuse me if I go silent again. This writing thing has me hooked.

Back again with another random thought

Yeah, I've been quiet for a while. Several of my followers have asked me if I have stopped blogging. The answer is, only temporarily. I have been writing, just not here. Actually, that is not exactly correct. I have a couple of blog posts started, mainly to remind myself of some random thought I might want to expand on later. I realized I was using my blog to procrastinate. Convincing myself that it was writing practice. And yes, while that is true, it was stopping me from completing my book. 

Writing the first draft is exciting and fun. Each new revision is a little less fun. Imagine reading the same book repeatedly? It is no wonder it becomes very boring. It is hard to believe anyone would be interested in reading it. I now have a novel almost ready to query. I sent out a few queries to agents already, mainly to get some practice in that diabolical exercise. 

Querying agents is a whole other skill and very scary. Not what I expected. The hardest part is pushing that send/submit button. Because as sure as eggs...Oh, there is a saying we used when I was growing up that I am betting no one uses in the US. So many of them! I tire of seeing glazed eyes and saying, "you don't say that here, do you?" I blogged about that here.  

See Power Thesaurus 

But of course, I digress. As sure as eggs is eggs, I will have forgotten some important detail and once you hit that submit button, the query is on its way, there is no changing it. Hence the idea of getting in some practice. Part of the problem is that they all want queries presented in slightly different ways, email, through an online form, first chapter, first ten pages, first twenty pages. 

I selected about 150 agents. Divided them into three groups and then selected ten from group three. Those least likely to want to even read my query, let alone my book, to use as practice. Meanwhile, I sent my query package — that is, my query letter, synopsis and first twenty pages, to an editor to get some professional feedback and, hopefully, help to polish it. So I am not querying my top choice agents. I will wait for her response before getting serious with the queries. To keep myself busy, I started on my second novel. 

Of course, being me, I sent the query package off to the editor early, and she is a professional. She sticks to her very precise schedule. I expect to get her feedback and suggested edits in about two weeks' time. 

It took me over a year to write the first book, mainly because of multiple false starts. In three months, I had completed the second one. The first draft of the second book, that is. Yes, there'll be a bunch of revisions and editing to do now, but I'm happier with the first draft this time and hopefully I've picked up some skills along the way. I am still following classes and webinars online, hoping to do just that.

It surprised me to get several rejections back in response to my test queries. Not surprised at the rejection, amazed that I got any response at all. A few of those rejections were very kind, personalized notes; rather than a standard form letter.

There are so many 'helpful' hints online on how to write a good query letter, one that will lift you above the rest of the slush pile. Things like, say something personal about why you area querying that specific agent. Eh...because she is on the list of agents accepting unsolicited queries in my genre? What else can I say? Only one agent I researched mentioned her favorite books, and one was a book I had also read. Most represent authors I have never heard of. So the suggestion of 'I am querying you because you represent [some author]' doesn't work. I guess I could say that, but it would not be true so no, I won't.

If the query letter isn't so boring that they continue on to read the synopsis, and if that catches their attention, they will read the first how many pages they asked for, varies between ten and fifty, then it has to be good enough for them to want to read more. 

So, having sent my query package to a professional editor, and having paid the first half of a reasonably large fee. Sent out some practice queries to the bottom of the list choices of agents. I suddenly realized that my first page will hook no one, particularly not someone who spends their working day reading boring queries and even more boring first pages. I rewrote the opening ten pages. Now, I am happier with it, but still not sure it is good enough. But I know for a fact that every writer feels the same about their writing. I have to stop second guessing myself, wait for the feedback and then look at it again.

What I find confusing is that, of all of my alpha and beta readers, only one hinted that the opening pages were boring, and I took that advice and updated them. Just not enough. My critique partner was definitely the one who I would have expected to have pointed it out to me. She got the updated version. But then she really didn't give me much in the way of valuable feedback on anything, come to think of it. I wrote about that here. After reading her manuscript and supplying what I thought was fairly detailed feedback, I had to chase her down for just a response. Then, what I got was a couple of generalized comments, which did help, but clearly not nearly enough. In fact, I got better feedback from my beta readers. But, when it comes down to it, it is my job to get it right. 

Now, with two completed novels, I am still not sure if I am good enough to be published. Yes, I could self publish, and if I send out queries to all of those agents on my list, and no one wants to represent me, I probably will end up self publishing. I just know that I won't do any marketing. That is definitely not something I have any interest in doing. So, my novels will disappear into the abyss to join my first book, a memoir: Peeling the Onion.

I wrote Peeling the Onion as a therapy. (See post here). And I only self-published it because my son and my husband both nagged me into it. I knew it would never sell to an agent and didn't even try. But now it is out there. And, even without marketing, a few copies sold. I even got some nice reviews on Amazon. And one not so nice review, but at least that reader took the time to review it. And for that, I am very grateful. In fact, I blogged about that too, here. Since then, I have learned a lot about writing.

Now I have some extra tools to help me. I have installed the Speechify extension in my browser. I load my manuscript to Google Docs and let Speechify read it out loud to me. That picks up a lot of typos and other errors. Apart from Grammerly, I also have the ProWritingAid app. These work in the browser, in Word and in my editor of choice, Scrivener—this is an editor specifically for writers. It is a bit of a learning curve but powerful. ProWritingAid picks up way more than Grammerly. The beauty of these tools is that as they correct me, they are also teaching me. Of course, I am still avidly following each new webinar on The Writing Mastery Academy. And repeating many of their classes, all of which are great.

So, on to book number three. In theory, I should improve with each book. And even if I don't, I have got to keep writing. For one thing, I absolutely love it. And for another, what else would I do? It is the only thing that has kept me sane since I retired. Particularly this year. The first half of the year, when the weather was ideal for boating and fishing, my husband was not well enough to do either. Now, as his health improves, the weather is way too hot to spend any time outside. Thankfully, I have my writing. How do retired people survive without something to fill their days?

The difference between a scorpion and a spider

Or a worm and a snake. Okay, I know the obvious differences. And I read up here on the arachnids.

From the Univeristy of California website.

But why do spiders creep me out, but scorpions don't? I don't exactly cuddle with a scorpion if I see one, I do know that is not a good idea. While we are on the subject, tarantulas also do not creep me out. I will tell you that anything with more than four legs is gross, and I guess tarantulas and scorpions are a bit gross; just not in the same way spiders are. The only explanation I can come up with is that I didn't grow up with them, nor even with anyone who did. I grew up in Ireland and about the most dangerous insect we had was wasps, and even they were way smaller than what Texans call a wasp. And no, we didn't have snakes either. According to legend, St. Patrick chased them all out of Ireland.

My only exposure to any of these creatures was in the movies. Growing up my favorite movies were the Wild West. I devoured them. And given that I hated school and so never went. Oh I was enrolled, I just didn't go. I was delivered to the front door by my father, along with my two sisters. Went in the front door and immediately slipped out the back door and found a cinema to hide in. One that was showing a Western movie. There I saw my fill of snakes, tarantulas and most of all, scorpions. They were movie stars. And my heros were not afraid of them. I wanted to be a cowboy too and so I could not be afraid.

To be fair, I was never afraid of worms, but they are a bit gross and way too close to maggots which I think are possibly the grossest things on the planet. Of course, while scorpions and tarantulas are the same family as our average house spider, snakes are not the same family as worms. Just similar in appearance unless you look closely and find that face. And I know worms are also not related to maggots.

What started this train of thought? This morning I found a scorpion in my bathroom. This is the third scorpion I have discovered in the house, this year. The first one was in the waste basket in the bathroom. I found him when I was emptying it. He was in the bottom of a plastic bag with an assortment of kleenex, q-tips and an empty toothpaste tube. Too difficult to remove him so he went out with the garbage. The second I found on my shoulder. I was in the kitchen. My husband believed he came from the downstairs bathroom also and had hitched a ride on my shoulder, somewhat like a parrot? I flicked him off into the kitchen sink and managed to coax him into a plastic cup. He was released into the wild. This photo is the one that sat on my shoulder.

This third one, was the biggest, he was about two inches long, making his way along the baseboard between the vanity unit and the door to the toilet. I think we spotted each other at the same moment, because for a second neither of us moved. It was four thirty in the morning, that is the time I usually get up. I was about to head to the garage where my treadmill lives. The reason I use this particular bathroom is because of my crazy habit of getting up early and working out. I don't want to disturb my husband. Anyway, back to the moment we saw each other. 

My first thought was I have to take a photo of this guy. That thought was followed immediately by a swear word because my phone was still upstairs on charge. It sits overnight in a PhoneSoap that charges and cleans it (I have mentioned before that I am a germaphobe). So, my third thought was if I can scoop this creature into a cup or bag, I can do the photo shoot and then release him. I grabbed a sheet of paper and a plastic bag, but I had to move to do that and as soon as I moved he did a one-eighty and headed into the corner between the baseboard and the vanity kick board. I lay down on the floor to see if I could see him. Nope. Gone. There was the smallest crack between the wall, the baseboard and the kick board through which he disappeared. 

I had a flash of his point of view. He must have crawled up the waste pipe, hidden between the vanity unit shelving and the floor of the bathroom, behind the kickboard. Probably wandered around in the dark and dusty space. I wonder if there were small insects there to feed him? We have pest control come spray the house inside and out regularly, but their spray would not penetrate under the vanity. Then I arrived and turned on the light. He must have seen a ray of light come through the crack. Perhaps he thought he was heading towards heaven, or maybe he expected to arrive outside. Either way, his adventure was short lived.

Now we have to get our pest control company out to do another spray and then I plan to fill in that crack and hopefully that will eliminate scorpions from indoors permanently.

And what about snakes? Well, I haven't found any in the house, with the exception of the tiny little worm like snakes. They are the reason I compared snakes to worms. At first I thought I had found a worm on the floor, in the hall, but looking closer, it had a head and eyes. Not what worms have. So I googled it and discovered it really was a tiny snake. It was dead, probably came in on the sole of someone's shoe.

Like I said, I like snakes. I also have a healthy respect for them because I am aware that many can be deadly. Again, I don't know why I like them but it is probably also connected to my love of the Wild West lore and cowboys who constantly battled with rattle snakes. 

My therapist once asked me what was my favorite snake. I don't remember how the subject of snakes ever came up but that is therapy, anyway once it was mentioned he asked me and I said cobras. Then he asked me why. I had no answer but felt obliged to say something. So I told him it was because they warn before they strike. I have no idea where that came from, but my guess is it doesn't matter. That is how therapy works after all—right? you say the first thing that comes into your head and god alone knows what the therapist makes of it. That was a long time ago, but I still miss my therapist, Dick. I wrote about him here. He didn't tell me what he thought of my response but no doubt it would have been interesting. But it is true that they are my favorite snake. I actually have a tattoo of one on my back. 

Anyway, I decided to fill in the crack through which I assumed the scorpion had managed to squeeze himself. Pest control was scheduled for the following week and I didn't want to wait that long. When I lay flat on the bathroom floor again, I noticed it was more than a crack, the top corner of the kick board was cut away, a small square was missing. I know the scorpions didn't do that! At least I hope they don't have power tools under there. So with great difficulty I filled that gap and the crack between the baseboard and the vanity unit, with caulk. It wasn't easy because there is a slight overhang from the vanity unit and the caulking gun was too big to bend around it, but with the help of a flat paint brush I managed to fill the hole with the stuff. Next I researched and found a spray foam. It is an aerosol with a long straw like nozzle. The foam dries solid. That I am going to buy for any future holes and cracks I discover. After all, if a scorpion can crawl through into my bathroom, so could a spider! Thank God I haven't seen one of them for a long time, at least not in the house. We see them on the dock and on the boat, but that is their domain that we are invading. 

And just like that...

...another year has zipped by. Just over a week to the second anniversary of my retirement.

As you all know by now—I do go on about it way more than I should—I reluctantly retired on 31st May 2021. Appropriately, Memorial Day; not to take any glory away from our Vets of course, their memories are far more significant, but it was a memorable day for me nonetheless. I am getting over the hurt...I know, slowly but I am doing my best...it was my decision, but those who worked with me will agree, I was given very little choice. Or, the choice I was given was just not an option I could possibly accept or live with. See here if you don't already know the story.

So how is retirement going I hear you ask (I don't—hear you that is—but I imagine you would ask). A year ago I published this post. Reading it a year later, apparently I whined a lot!. Now, not so much. Yes I am old and actually a full year older but I am doing okay. On balance I am enjoying being retired. I enjoy not having to work, though I still miss the actual work, the coding, the challenge and of course, the people I worked with. And the feeling of pride when everything works as it should; and it usually did. But I have got to admit it is nice to be able to just do whatever I want, whenever I want. Like the surprise trip to Florida in February. Even grocery shopping, doesn't have to be the weekend, doesn't have to any specific day, just whenever I choose. The down side is that I do get bored from time to time. I was aware this would be the case and planned hobbies and activities to keep me occupied and, more important, keep my brain exercised.

The second year of retirement went fairly well. I wore out Masterclass writing sessions and no new ones appeared. After hunting around I finally discovered The Writing Master Academy (WMA), an amazing community of writers and an endless supply of courses and webinars. I had joined Nanowrimo the previous year but did nothing there. Last year I signed up and completed the November challenge, writing 50,000 words in just under a month, they call it 'winning' and I did feel victorious even if that was also the only prize. Between those two sites I also completed the first draft of my novel and that was the trophy. That was also the easy part.

I am now on the tenth draft. The first five were just fixing typos and grammar, expanding on descriptions and generally filling in the obvious blanks. Then I passed it to my alpha readers, yes two of them. Following feedback I cut 5,000 words of unnecessary backstory, no longer novel length I returned to filling in blanks by expanding the plot. Next step was two early beta readers and a couple of weeks of virtual nail biting as I tried to convince myself that they wouldn't hate it. Surprisingly, they didn't, and they did come back with some really useful feedback. 

Next I found a critique partner (CP) on WMA, another writer to get a writer's perspective, unlike beta readers who give a reader's perspective. Of course, all of this feedback is just that, feedback. It is up to me how much of it I want to implement and how much I don't agree with. To be fair, almost all of it was valid and useful. So far, no one has actually told me the story sucks and most of the time I feel good about that, just sometimes I think they are just being kind.

A critique partner is a reciprocal arrangement. I read and thoroughly enjoyed her book and supplied my feedback within ten days. Then I headed off to my surprise Florida trip—a short break away from writing and reading. I planned to start working on my CP's feedback as soon as I returned. Best laid plans. I didn't receive any feedback. I waited a week and then moved on to my next stage, on the assumption that my CP hated my story so much she didn't want to respond. I had a book club waiting in the wings for my draft to beta read. I sent it along to them, a little late so now I had another month to wait as they had already selected their book for April. I spent the next week wondering if I should contact my CP or just let her be. Finally, one month after I sent her the manuscript, I send a reminder email. Two days later I got a response, apologizing and sending me feedback. It was a shame I didn't get this before sending my draft to my beta reader book club, but I immediately started working on yet another draft, incorporating much of the feedback. 

My word count was now back up to 54,000. I am hopeful I can pad it out some more as I start working on my beta readers feedback, but if not it is still a valid count for a novel. The most difficult part of the writing process is the constant fear that my story is boring and my writing is bad. The most difficult part of the revision process is that I know the story, the back story and the characters so well, I fear I am not sharing enough of that information with my readers. So this next draft will be dedicated to ensuring valuable insights are on the page, not just in my head. 

While I waited for the book club feedback, I started working on a draft of my submission package—that is a query letter that will go out to potential agents, arguably more important than the book to get this right. It should contain a synopsis of the book and the first ten pages. I also started outlining my second book. I have kept myself busy.

Obviously the submission package can't be completed until the feedback from my beta book club is reviewed and incorporated, which is what I am currently working on. Then the first ten pages will be polished and put into the query letter. Once that is completed I have a professional, freelance editor lined up to review it and give me feedback. That is when another bout of hard work begins. Selecting potential agents and matching my submission to their specific requirements and send it off...and waiting, listening to the deafening silence from that abyss.

In answer to your question, the second year of retirement has gone fairly well. I have remained active both physically and mentally. And who knows, I would probably have been laid off by now anyway—though at least that would have come with a severance package, instead of just the feeling of being put out to pasture with the door slammed in my face.

I have had periods of extreme boredom but these have been short and only because I find television boring and my husband loves it and will watch anything. I love my husband and so I do spend some time each day with him, watching television but only after I have completed my writing hours—the fun stuff. All that, I hope, explains why I have been ignoring my blog for so long. I have been writing, just not here. I will of course, let y'all know when my novel is finally published. If that sounds overly confident, it isn't. I will try to publish the conventional way but if I fail to attract an agent I will self publish. Watch this space as they say...whoever they are.

Stepping back

For some time I have been noticing advertisements for shampoo in a bar. I didn't really take a lot of notice, mainly because I tend to ignore ads. Yeah, I know I just said I noticed them, but it was more like glancing at the headline and immediately switching off when it was obviously an ad. If I want to buy something, or find out if what I have in mind actually exists, I will ask Google, or search on Amazon.

Recently my friend Shelly came by with her massage chair. I have mentioned her before (see here). When we lived in Leander, with Mildred. Shelly used to come out fairly regularly and all three of us indulged in the magic of a chair massage. With Covid, like so many other things, that came to an abrupt halt. When it was finally safe to mingle, we were living at the lake and I was hesitant to drag Shelly out here, an extra 30 minutes on her drive. However, she insisted that she didn't mind the longer drive and so we are once again indulging ourselves.

If anyone would like her contact information, she will bring her chair to your office and spend a few hours there reducing the stress for you and your colleagues. For a very reasonable cost you can have a fifteen or thirty minute massage without leaving the office and without removing your clothes. That is actually how I first met her. Once a week she came to our office and there were always between four and six people lined up to be de-stressed. 

Anyway, I digress. Shelly told me that she had tried a shampoo bar and was thrilled with the results, not just the fact that she was reducing the plastic waste associated with shampoo and conditioner bottle and tubes, but also her hair was much healthier and easier to manage. 

I decided to give it a try—the bar shampoo, I was already sold on the chair massage. I got a shampoo and a conditioner bar, I prefer to not do the combined. I was amazed. Not just at how easy it was to apply, but how much better my hair felt. Literally a few strokes of the bar over my wet hair and presto, a really good lather. The conditioner bar doesn't lather, something I am happy about because I see no reason why it should. It is equally easy to apply and the results are amazing. 

There were a couple of unexpected side effects of this. Apart from helping to reduce the plastic waste of course and the satisfactory results, I was transported back in time to when I was a kid and a bar of soap was normal. Just holding the bar of soap in my hand felt so good. Stepping back in time felt even better—current times being what they are. I decided that I had to eliminate all plastic from my shower and bought a bar of hand soap as well. Obviously a decent bar of Olay. 

That reminded me of the Lux soap bar that my mother used to purchase. I searched and sure enough, I found it.Lux is still available on Amazon—I am not sure if it is the same Lux we got when I was a kid but Lux just the same. Maybe I will buy some to transport me further back in time. Meanwhile, my shower is very much tidier, minimalistic you could say. And the trash can will be a little less full.

Before

After

The purpose of this post is to encourage you to try bar shampoo and conditioner to help save the planet and your hair, and if you are in the Austin area, consider having Shelly come to your office with her chair and save the sanity of you and your colleagues. 

Palpitations

There is something seriously wrong with the health care system in this country. For one thing everything costs a fortune, secondly despite the existance of Medicare for the elderly, that too costs money. Not only do you pay into it from every paycheck when you are working, but once you retire you continue to pay into Medicare from your social scurity, as well as paying for Medicare Advantage if you want to be able to see and have teeth—for readers who don't know, Medicare doesn't cover dental or vision. And the care is most definitely not as good as private health care, even with the same doctor. I noticed a big difference in the attention I got since I retired. Of course, I am judging this in comparison with health care in Europe which has it's own problems, but at least it is readily available to everyone.

But what I find the most frustrating is the total lack of interest in a patient's mental state. I used to have a doctor who not only listened to what you said, he listened between the lines to what you didn't say. I firmly believe that a large majority of minor disorders could be cured by just talking about what is bothering you, rather than a battery of expensive tests and a slew of unnecessary supplements and prescriptions. How many times have you felt better just because you went to the doctor? Not because of anything he said or did, but the stess had somehow been relieved.

A few months ago my husband had some medical issues. He was submitted to a number of tests the last, and most significant test had a very long waiting time. As a result we were left dangling, not knowing what to expect—I found myself literally holding my breath. It felt like the awful few months in Amazon while I was fighting for my career and finally decided to throw in the towel and retire. (See post here). Unfortunately this time there was nothing to do but wait. And try to remember to breath. 

The constant anxiety finally got the better of me. I guess I am not good at managing my stress, I just pretend that I am. I started getting palpitations. At least, I guessed that is what it was, I never had them before. I got good at recognizing the signals and warding them off with deep slow breathing. It didn't happen very often and usually only lasted less than a minute, but after one somewhat prolonged episode while grocery shopping, I decided I better talk to my doctor. I knew it was anxiety and assumed he could give me something to make it go away, or at least calm me down; better yet, do something to reduce the wait for my husband's appointment. 

My own doctor was not available so I went to see my second choice. A man with a dismal personality, a lousy bedside manner, but an extremly good doctor, or I thought so. Of course, he wasn't in the least bit interested in my personal woes, so maybe not so good after all. If the truth be known, he probably wasn't very interested in my health, just doing the clinical CYA steps. After conducting a EKG in the office, the result of which was perfectly normal, he referred me to a heart specialist. 

Now, for my age I am remarkably healthy. my cholesterol is on the high side of normal, blood pressure has always been good, yes I am overweight mainly due to a thyroid that is lazy, but other than that I am good. I workout regularly, eat sensibly and oh yeah...I drink red wine—it is good for you, right?

Anyway, the worst part about the heart specialist is that he was a full hour drive from where we live.  The heart doctor sent me home with a heart monitor stuck to my chest. I was to wear that for two weeks and if I experienced palpitations I had instructions to tap it and fill in a diary listing exactly what I was doing at the time. Diary was also supplied.

He also referred me for a CAT scan, a treadmill stress test—don't be fooled by the picture, the treadmill I was on was set at a very steep slope—and an echocardiogram, which I have to say was fascinating! Both the stress test and the echo were at his office, so at least two more, two hour round trips in our future. But first, the two weeks with the thing stuck to my chest recording every heartbeat. I was so relieved when I was finally able to remove it, pack it in it's box and send it back. 

Before each visit I was required to sign a document stating that if Medicare refused to pay for the procedure I would pay. Leading me to belive that happens quite a lot.

Sample echocardiogram

Funny thing, the day after his nurse stuck the thing on me, I had the worst, longest episode of palpitations I had ever experienced. It lasted a full twenty minutes. So I tapped the device and when the flashing lights behind my eyes stopped and my heart beat returned to normal, I filled in the diary: Just had my shower and sat down at my computer. The instructions were 'write down what you were doing', not what you were thinking. Perhaps that would have been a better clue. I had been thinking about my husband and how long we had to wait for his next procedure, and oh yeah, the stupid monitor stuck to my chest. The good news is that since then, six weeks ago, I have not had another episode.

All of the test results were normal. I did tell him on my first visit that I believed I was wasting his time but he had to go through the motions I suppose. Though I never did get any results from the heart monitor readings. I guess that means I will eventually have to return yet again to hear him recite those findings.