Tag Archives: authors

“What are you doing, Frankie?”

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“Digging for plot holes in my new novel,” she tells me.

“Any luck?”

“Found some.”

“But there are always more,” I tell her. “It’s best to find a good editor.”

I’m so grateful for the time and attention River Grove/Greenleaf Books Publishing gave to my upcoming novel. After going through it a gazillion times, they still found plot holes, word issues, etc. Unlike Frankie, my new and mischievous puppy, Distilling Lies is clean and about to hit the shelves on May 9th. Of course, I’ll send you a reminder! 😜

And, ain’t she cute?!

Shameless, Underhanded Self-Promotion

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Case in point – As a teenager, I got my first job as a telephone solicitor. I sat at a table with a phone and a script of what to say to random strangers. The script included a section for “what to say if they resist your sales pitch and could care less about buying a subscription of the Austin Citizen Newspaper. ” I never got that far. If they said “no,” that was that. I had bothered them enough and wanted no part in wasting their time any further. Needless to say, I was fired after three days. As the saying goes, I couldn’t sell a Bible to a Baptist preacher. And now, many, many year later, still can’t.

So, I have a new book coming out this May. “They” say I need to promote it. Ha! And, oh no.

Now, to change the subject without changing the subject.

Who doesn’t like cute animals? So, without further ado, here are a few to ooh and ahh over.

Aren’t they adorable?

WHEN I WAS

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Admission: I save things. I hoard. Everything that “could” be thrown away, I picture having another purpose, that there still might be some life left hidden within that seemingly useless object.

This 1950s typewriter belonged to my mom. It’s green plastic cover has a large slit. I won’t throw that away either.

I remember my mother typing on this monster, but what she typed remains a mystery. Addresses on letters, perhaps. My older sister used it for school work.

I, too, typed on this (30 pound?) machine – a bit of poetry, a collaborative “screenplay” entitled It Comes From the Heart when I was around fourteen. (It’s awful, but I still have that, too). Each finger-plunk was a major workout and heaven forbid if I ran out of white-out liquid.

Now I have a real, live, computer with easy keyboard action. I don’t need that old typewriter anymore. Am I getting rid of it? Hell, no.

(Besides, it’s too heavy to carry downstairs and out the door.)