by April | Aug 18, 2012 | Writing
This SOS is for you! The advice coming down the pike towards professional writers is to get a privately hosted blog. That is one where you do all the set-up, handle spam, create your space, design your pages, and have more control (see how I listed all the negative stuff first?). Have I ever mentioned I’m resistant to change? I like staying where I am in my comfortable, cozy world. But, there are quite a few other changes coming along in my writing career, and all of those are pointing to my hosting my own blog as well so I can have more freedom to change what I need to later. Although I’ve argued against it in my head (it’s a lot more work and a lot more responsibility), I’ve given up and I’m going for it.
We now break for a huge shout-out to my wonderful husband and co-designer, Ken (without whom none of this would be possible)! Whoo-hoo!
I’m not outlining the steps or making a how-to article (there are masses of them out there already and I’m sure I would unintentionally lead you astray). What I am doing is going begging.
You’re shocked. Begging? Here’s the deal: what the leaders and experts didn’t tell me, amidst the glory stories and hopeful tales, was that the minute I changed my blog to private hosting, I’d lose my contacts and followers lists. And I have quite a number. In the words of Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music: Oh, help!
This is the segue to the begging part: See over there, to your left? Yes, up a bit. There’s a “Subscribe by Email” box. You can’t follow me via WordPress widgets anymore, and your email addresses might not have transferred correctly (you’ll know…if you get this announcement in your email, no worries, don’t re-subscribe). If you’re getting this because I’m personally sharing it with you, or because you came across it on Facebook or some other venue, then PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, I’m begging you: subscribe via email.
ALSO if you want to keep track of my book release and be in the know, please subscribe!
I don’t want to lose touch with you! I’ll miss you! Thanks 🙂
A word to the wise—if you think you’re going at this writing thing for your profession, get set-up now, and you won’t have to do what I’m doing!
By the way, do you like the new look?
by April | Jul 22, 2012 | Love, Short Stories, Writing
A sharp horn sounded behind Mary as she headed up the steps to her duplex in the hot May sunshine. She turned towards the older model Buick, unable to see who was driving the car, but gave a friendly wave. As a rule, she waved to anyone. Fairly certain the father of her grandchildren belonged to a gang, she wanted to stay on good terms with everyone in the neighborhood.
Tossing her keys on the antique stand near the door, she entered the kitchen and opened the freezer. Inside, she found a frozen glass mug that she filled with ice and edged with a lemon slice. She stepped through the back door and retrieved a large jar of sun tea off the back stoop. It’d been brewing since 4AM, when she’d left for her job at the Dollar Mart—just about ten hours of steeping. The heat from the glass burned the tips of her fingers as she carried the jar back to the counter. As the liquid poured in over the crackling ice cubs, cooling the concoction, a sense of peace filled her. Mary’d been looking forward to this all day. She held the golden-brown drink near her nose and let the earthy scent of tea, sunshine and citrus draw her mind to easier times.
After flipping the switch on the oscillating fan sitting on the Formica counter top, she pulled up a chair at the kitchen table, directly in its path. Giving the crumbs from her hasty breakfast a sweep off the table, she drew the pile of mail toward her. She saw several envelopes addressed to Tina with ‘final notice’ highlighted in red letters. Mary clucked her tongue. What would ever become of that girl? She’d raised her better than this.
Sure that the tea had chilled long enough, she sipped it, letting the strong brew energize her from the inside out. It was just as good as she hoped it would be. She clucked her tongue again and sighed.
She couldn’t say that about much in her life these days.
Glancing at the clock, she saw her grandsons would be home any time now. Really, Jimmy was supposed to pick them up from school and take them home with him for a few hours, helping them with their schoolwork and spending ‘quality time’ with his sons. The social worker’s idea was a good one—and if Jimmy had been a good man, it would have worked. Knowing him as Mary did, he’d last about an hour with the boys and he’d be dragging them home to her instead. She’d be the one helping them with homework, fixing them dinner, giving them baths. Then Tina would saunter in and give them kisses goodnight, declaring once again how the day got away from her. Got away from her while she was having drinks at the bar near her work, most likely.
Best laid plans. That phrase had tumbled through Mary’s mind more than once in the past six years. Her daughter had shown up pregnant on her doorstep, and Jimmy made one false promise after another. As soon as he got a good job, they’d get married and he’d bring her and the baby home. Now there were two babies, and they weren’t babies anymore. How could Tina be so blind to mix her life up with that lazy, no-good man?
Mary shot a look at the ceiling. “Just like her mother, then, isn’t she, Lord?” As if Tina had written down Mary’s life story, her own life followed her mother’s map of failure—almost item for item. Except Mary only had Tina, and she certainly didn’t have any family to rely on in the early days. There wasn’t any escaping for Mary after work.
Even now—it was as if her day never ended.
Mary filled her mug with ice once again, and then with tea. This time, she grabbed a couple cookies from the package on the counter and sat down to enjoy the silence of her home for a few more minutes. Soon enough those boys would tumble through the door, and the house would fill with the sounds of laughing and arguing. She glanced at the wall covered with signed handprints and other artwork the boys had made her in school.
Pride nudged her as she remembered them giving those gifts to her on Mother’s day and holidays. They’d stopped making such things for their mother a long time ago. They knew who took care of them, who fed them, who could be counted on.
A sudden sadness washed over her. It wasn’t right, not any of it. Tina should be the one they came home to. Tina should be the one rocking them to sleep when they were scared, or reading them bedtime stories.
The newspaper on the table caught her attention. Mary flipped it open and began scanning the apartment section. There was a small two-bedroom four blocks away. She glanced around and took in the books, the papers, the toys strewn from one end of her house to the other. It’d take a whole lot of packing to move Tina and the boys from her place—and Tina wouldn’t want to help. Four blocks?
Mary flipped through the paper again, scanning, her mind forming a solid plan. It was time for change around here. Something had to. There it was, ten blocks away, a furnished one-bedroom. They could stay here, she’d leave. She picked up the phone and called. It was still available. A large Victorian, cut up into manageable units. She’d seen the place—it was in a quiet neighborhood on a dead end. Ten blocks. Perfect. She called back and made the arrangements. She needed boxes. The boys would help her pack. Tina could have her own room, and she and Jimmy could finally get married. Or not. Maybe when Tina forced his hand she’d see him for what he was and tell him to go for good.
The front door screen opened with a screech. Mary fixed a smile on her face to greet the boys, but instead of the boys, Tina came around the corner.
“I’m home early tonight. You happy?” Tina headed towards the table, a sour grimace on her face.
Mary took a deep breath to steady herself. “Before you sit down, grab a glass of tea. I’ve got some news for you.”
Copyright by April McGowan 2012
by April | Jun 26, 2012 | Doubt, Expectations, Writing
I’ve been dreaming, hoping, praying about getting a publishing contract for a long time. A long, long time. So, about two weeks ago I got the email every writer hopes to get, the one that said, “Good news! We’re going to publish your book.” (Although, it was probably more articulate than that).
After re-reading the email about five times, it sunk in. I proceeded to try and tell everyone I could think of—by the way, those of you that weren’t home…where were you??!! And then, it really sunk in. All my hard work, all my hopes and dreams were going to be out there for everyone to see. You might guess what follows: fear. Will I be able to keep up, will my health hold, what about all those unknowns?
Now, I know I’m not alone in this. I immediately went and panicked to my new author group and they reassured me they knew exactly what I felt like. My editor was very supportive (cool…my editor), and other writer friends were encouraging. All those things helped. But, it wasn’t until I turned to the One who planted the seed of this dream in my heart all those years ago that my fears subsided. I won’t say disappeared, because self-doubt looms over my shoulder (it’s rather black and fuzzy with green eyes..no wait, that’s my cat). But, when that self-doubt arises, I’m doing my best to remember the dream weaver, the original Author of life, has it all in hand.
I’d love to hear if you’ve ever had a dream come true—and what you did with those nagging doubts!
Ephesians 3:20-21 Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen. (Full text here.)
by April | Jan 18, 2012 | Chronic Illness, CVID, Encouragement, Expectations, PIDD, Thankfulness, Writing
Sometimes, I find it hard to write. Some days my head is so wrapped up in my own troubles, it’s hard to think clearly. I’ve been having such a time for the past couple weeks (thus my lagging blog).
So, here’s what’s up: At long last, after months of waiting and dealing with insurance companies and changing doctors and confirming diagnoses with second opinions, I’m getting ready to start treatment of my CVID (Common Variable Immunodeficiency). The intro packet from the medication company has arrived (still have to watch the how-to video), and I was just called and told my medication and pump will arrive on Friday. The last step is waiting for the nurse to call me and set up three training sessions.
It’s been a struggle getting here. And now that the day is near…I find I’m filled with trepidation. This is a life-long treatment—one I’ll have to do weekly, and that will cost a lot of money. Questions fill my head: what if it makes me feel worse? What if it doesn’t work? What if this is the quality of my life for the rest of my life?
I’m not often led by fears. I admit I don’t like the unknown. I like to know what’s coming, which is probably why I’m not excited about this. Logically, I know that I should put my hope in the unchanging love and care of the Lord. But, sometimes, logical thinking doesn’t help keep my emotions in line!
After joining a PIDD (Primary Immunodeficiency Disease) support group, and hearing some of their trials and challenges, I realize that God has orchestrated a lot of things in my life to get me to this point. I’m thankful I’m not sicker. I’m thankful that I live within an hour’s drive of my immunologist (many folks have to drive 3+ hours to see one experienced with PIDD). I’m thankful that God has provided the money it’s going to take to pay for this. I’m thankful that I’ve got an excellent primary care doctor after many years of searching for that right connection. I’m thankful my doctors listen to me (this is a rarity, unfortunately, for many PIDD sufferers). As the list I type continues, I’m seeing a pattern here—that God does indeed have things in hand, and that I need to rest my fears on Him instead. I’m so thankful that I can.
I’m reminded that the Lord knows I was born with this. He’s known what is coming my whole life. He knew I’d grow more ill over time, knew where I needed to live to get good treatment, knew I’d need a wonderful supportive husband and kids–knew this was going to be hard. Although we aren’t near our families, we’ve been mightily blessed with supportive, praying friends nearby who understand and are there for us. You know who you are—thank you doesn’t begin to cover it. But, thank you.
When you feel afraid, how do you remind yourself of God’s ongoing provision in your life? I’d love to hear from you.
Romans 8:31-39 What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies. Who then is the one who condemns? No one. Christ Jesus who died—more than that, who was raised to life—is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written:
“For your sake we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.”
No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. (read the whole passage here)
by April | Nov 15, 2011 | Grief, Pet Loss, Writing
It’s times like now that I’m glad I write. I can put my memories, my feelings on paper, and that gives me a bit of relief. And today, I need that relief–we had to euthanize our kitty. He’d suffered from illness for most of his life, and lived quite a long time for a kitty with feline Leukemia, although he went downhill quite fast this past weekend. He was 4 1/2 years of age.
Our Jack was a spitfire at 5 weeks, taking on our adult cat, Spookers, and winning. Spookers lost his voice after hissing at Jack so often, but he never put Jack in his place. The alpha cat (if there is such a thing) had clearly arrived. At two pounds, he’d taken over, making it clear through his actions we lived in HIS house, not the other way around. Even so, he feared non-family members—so most outsiders never got to see his fuzzy, cuddly side. But, I assure you, he had one.
We first met Jack as our family was out for a walk. A small, orange bundle of fur hopped and skipped
across our path. We were dismayed that no one claimed the little guy. After two weeks of advertising, we realized he’d been dumped and decided to keep him. He immediately ingratiated himself to our family through cuddles, goofiness and fun.
Partially due to his own personality, and partially due to illness, Jack was highly OCD. He had ingrained routines like walking my husband to the door every morning on his way to work and giving the scratching post a good going over. He didn’t like variations on his routine. One time my husband left (Jack scratched the post) then came back inside with something he got from the car. Jack hissed at him, upset that he’d come back—Ken’s role was to leave and not come back until dinner time!
Jack hated things out of place, letting us know how unhappy it made him to have a sock left laying around. He had a great fear of slippers (even doll slippers). My kids would position slippers around the house to keep him from places he shouldn’t be, away from toys they didn’t want him getting hold of. He had a passion for pipe cleaners (the kids use them for art projects), and could some how sniff them out no matter how well we hid them. He loved drinking from the faucet of the tub. He would chase plastic Easter eggs around the house (only the green ones). He scampered about after tiny Lego blocks up and down the wood floors at 2AM (groan!). He enjoyed hiding under things and racing out to grab our toes. His favorite perch was on top of the entertainment center—I think he was keeping an eye on his pride (I fancy he believed himself to be a tiger). Wherever there was activity, there was Jack—sitting on our school books, climbing into grocery bags, sleeping in game box lids.
When Jack was a kitten, he loved to be pushed in the doll stroller. Even as he got too big for that, he still enjoyed being wrapped in a blanket and rocked by my daughter. He would steal bracelets, necklaces and had a soft spot for My Little Ponies (would carry them around the house by his teeth). The kids often had to build barriers around their things (remember the slippers!). I wondered when company came over if they’d think we had some odd habits or collections!
It’s hard to say what I’ll miss the most. Jack would often sit on a small chair in the kitchen and watch me cook. I got in the habit of telling him what I was doing. He seemed so curious and interested—much like the kids when they were younger. I’m sure if he had thumbs, he would have been quite the chef. After watching me for a bit, he would flop down and press his feet to ours, a sign of submission and love. And then, every night, at about ten, he’d climb onto my lap and purr himself into a pre-bedtime nap. He was my therapy cat. A constant companion. My cozy friend. I’m so glad God chose him for us, and I feel so privileged to have had him in my life. I’ll miss him so.
by April | Oct 9, 2011 | Short Stories, Writing
“Well, you can’t have it!” She screamed loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear.
Jimmy slammed the door in Macy’s face as she tried to follow him into the front yard of his mother’s house. He felt her eyes on him as he approached the aging swing hanging sideways off the old oak.
“Why does that old thing matter to you anyway? You were never here to use it.” She stood on the other side of the screen door as the accusing tone in her voice raked over him. Macy didn’t seem understand his penchant for keeping everything. Or at least his trying to. Did she forget how he’d owned nothing for years?
“I’m doing my best to clear out this house, and all you want to do is pack everything away.” Macy pushed open the door, stood on the steps and put her hands on her hips, a stance that told him he was on her last straw. Some things never changed.
Jimmy wiped his eyes and pretended to ignore her. He turned over the swing seat and saw the initials carved there. His finger followed their outline, bumping over rough, cracking wood. He glanced back at his wife.
“I don’t expect you to do anything. I just want it.” Taking out his pocket knife, he cut the single lasting rope that held it suspended over the ground for the past twenty years. Satisfied, he tucked it up under his arm, ignoring the splinters that poked through his shirt and into his flesh.
“Fine. You keep whatever you want. Go rent a truck and haul all that garbage out of here by Monday. Whatever’s left is being donated to the poor.” She pushed past him towards her car.
Jimmy grabbed her as she moved by, pulling her towards him. She swung around, wrenching her arm away. He put his hands up and took two steps back. “Listen, I appreciate your taking care of everything all this time, Macy.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I know you did a lot.” Her head snapped up, eyes blazing at him. That got her attention.
“I did it all.” The last word ground out past her teeth.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”
“That was your doing.” The bitterness in her tone didn’t shock him. The accusing looks didn’t either. He deserved her wrath.
“I know it was.” But, there was something he didn’t understand at all.
Glancing back at the old house, the only home he’d known really, he decided the question had waited long enough. “Why’d you stay married to me, Macy?” He didn’t look at her. Rather, he hoped she was already driving away in her car.
“We made a covenant.”
Jimmy closed his eyes at the pain he heard in her voice to avoid seeing it in her face. “I broke that, didn’t I?”
“No. You never did. Least ways, I don’t think you did.” She sounded strange. Regretful?
“I’ve been in jail for twenty years. That’s not enough to break it?”
“No.” Resentful.
“I robbed a bank and that man died because of it. That’s not enough?”
“No.” Macy’s voice was just above a whisper.
Jimmy moved away and sat down on the front step. He slipped the swing seat from under his arm, tracing the dedication. “Did they use it?” He heard her step closer, then stop.
“Yes.” Her voice choked. “They’d push each other and pretend you were pushing them.”
Pain. Clear and bright it tore through him. He’d missed his children’s growing years. He’d missed being married to the most amazing woman he’d ever known. He’d missed taking care of his mother in her aging years. Missed Christmases and birthdays. Flu’s and chicken pox. First days of school, first dances, first dates and first broken hearts. He’d missed his mother’s funeral. For what?
“There’s nothing I can do to set things right. God knows I tried.”
“God knows?”
He glanced up at her face, wondering at the tone she’d used.
“I think so. I talk to Him about it.” Jimmy shook his head in shame. “Those men I was with. They knew they had me. They found a stupid desperate kid who wanted nothing more than to take care of his wife and new twin babies. They promised him things, things deep down he knew they’d never deliver on. And that stupid boy agreed to drive their car for them.” He shook his head at the memory. Even now he could feel the fear and excitement that had welled inside. He’d gripped the wheel, ready to make their escape as soon as they climbed in the car. He’d gun the engine and they’d make off with everything he needed to take care of his family. No working sixty hours a week at a minimum wage job could give him that kind of security. Their bills would be paid in minutes. They’d be set for months until he could find another job. And then the next one.
He would have never stopped.
“I thank God the police caught me, Macy.” They hadn’t caught the others. He’d been honest at the trial, he didn’t know their names, didn’t know where they lived. There was a public outcry. Someone had to pay for that security guard getting shot. Jimmy paid.
“Did I hear you right?”
Tears welled as his eyes met hers. “Yes, you heard me.”
“You had to suffer for what those men did. You lost everything for them!”
How could he make her understand? “If the police hadn’t caught me, I’d have gone right on taking the easy way. The kids would have grown up with a father who was a criminal.”
“That is how they grew up.”
He shook his head. “No. They grew up with a father who paid for the crime he committed.”
“You didn’t commit that crime.” She sniffed. “Robbery. You should have been out in five. You paid for someone else’s crime.”
That was the rub. The very thing that opened his eyes to God. “I needed that time to turn my heart around. If I hadn’t got caught, who knows what kind of man I’d have become.”
She shook her head at him. She probably thought he was crazy. “You haven’t become any kind of man.”
Macy’s words cut him. She hadn’t let the kids come by more than once a year to see him. She blamed it on the prison atmosphere. She only came to see him three times a year, claiming it was too hard to see him in there. None of it was true. She was punishing him, over and over again for the mistake he’d made.
“Are you ever going to forgive me for being weak?”
“I don’t know that I can.” Tears streamed down her cheeks.
He glanced down at his hands, rubbing his thumbs over the seat. “You know why I made this?”
“I have no idea. But your mother insisted we put it up in the yard.”
“So part of me would be here.”
She tried to snort, but it ended in a sob.
“Sometimes it takes a man a long time to realize what’s important to him.” He held out a handkerchief to her. Taking it, she dabbed her eyes.
“You had to go to jail for twenty years to see what’s important?” Anguish laced her every word.
He shook his head, unable to make her understand. She would stay married to him forever, because of a vow she made before God. But, it’d be like they were strangers. He didn’t think she’d let him live in the same house with her. There was nothing he could do to change her mind.
His gaze traveled over the porch, stopping on a looped rope he’d intended to use to secure the boxes on the trailer they were pulling. Standing up, Jimmy grabbed the rope and headed towards the big oak in the front yard. He tossed the rope high, slung it over the branch, and then he did it again. Fall leaves rained down over his head, showering him with the dust of passing time. He secured the swing seat and patted it.
“Let me push you.”
Macy shook her head at him. Then her eyes went wide. He could see almost see the light turn on in her mind. She’d finally remembered.
“We used to swing together, in the park.” Her voice was just above a whisper.
“That’s right. You said you felt free when you were swinging; lifted up, the ground rushing by, but you were safe. You said you’d always want to swing with me. That you felt like nothing could touch you when I was pushing you. Invincible.”
Tears streamed as she clenched her eyes closed. “We were kids.”
“We were in love.” He patted the seat. “Let me push you.”
Macy crossed her arms over her chest. She shook her head at him.
“Please. Then you can go.”
Jimmy didn’t know if it was the word please or the promise he’d let her leave. Whatever it was, she gave in. Walking slowly towards the swing, she turned her back to him and slipped down onto the seat, the ropes creaking against her weight as she settled back. He put his hands over hers, gave them a squeeze and stepped back, pulling her on the swing with him. Then, he let go.
He pushed her, again and again, and watched her legs instinctively go out and back, pumping. He gave her a harder push. She let out a quick gasp and laughed. Ten years fell away.
“Not so high.”
“Swings are meant to go high. That’s the whole point,” he repeated the same words he’d used all those years ago. Fifteen more years stripped off. She was above him now, head tipped back, looking through the branches.
“What do you see?” He took a quick peek past the orange and yellow of the dying leaves.
“Blue sky.” Her voice came in a wisp to him as she swung away.
He smiled as joy met and mingled with bittersweet regret. They’d never be the same, but he’d always have this. He pushed her again, but he didn’t need to. She was on her own, pumping higher and higher, laughing now. Then, as if someone blew a whistle on the playground, she slowed her legs and came back to rest in front of him. He stood behind her, once again putting his hands over hers. She didn’t move away. Instead she leaned back, her head coming to rest against his chest.
“I missed you.”
“Me, too.” This was it. Goodbye. He braced himself for the pain he knew was coming.
Macy stood and stretched in front of the swing. Her hair was mussed and interwoven with tiny bits of leaf and moss. She ruffled her hair, shaking out the lose pieces and gave him an embarrassed smile. Then she came around behind him whispering in his ear, sending a shiver of hope down his side. “Your turn.”
Holding his breath, Jimmy met her eyes and found warmth there.
“You going to get on, or what?”
He nodded and squeezed his body in between the ropes. Again, they groaned. He put his feet up, feeling like a little boy. He felt her hands wrap over his.
“Ready?”
“I’m set.”
Her hands pulled him back, and then she gave him a heaving push. He was much bigger than she was, but she got the job done. He began pumping his legs back and forth. Laughter bubbled up from his chest. The ground swung away and back, his stomach pulling down with gravity at each pass. Her hands pushed, her voice laughed and then he heard a thud. Turning behind him he saw Macy sprawled along the ground, shaking. He jumped from the swing, out of instinct. Landing hard, he felt his ankle give a bit. He’d pay for that tomorrow.
Racing to her side, he saw her shuddering was from laughter. He knelt down and began pulling bits of earth and tree from her hair and clothes.
“Are you okay?”
“I tripped over the root.” She kept laughing, drawing him in to share her joy with him. As their smiles faded, she focused on the sky above. “Thank you for the swing.”
“I’m glad you liked it.”
Macy’s locked her eyes on his. “We need to take it with us. I want you to put it up in the back yard.”
“For the grandkids?” A hopeful confusion washed over him.
“For us.” She took his hand. “For us.”
Copyright by April McGowan 2011
This SOS is for you! The advice coming down the pike towards professional writers is to get a privately hosted blog. That is one where you do all the set-up, handle spam, create your space, design your pages, and have more control (see how I listed all the negative stuff first?). Have I ever mentioned I’m resistant to change? I like staying where I am in my comfortable, cozy world. But, there are quite a few other changes coming along in my writing career, and all of those are pointing to my hosting my own blog as well so I can have more freedom to change what I need to later. Although I’ve argued against it in my head (it’s a lot more work and a lot more responsibility), I’ve given up and I’m going for it.
