Learning the Art of Blog

Yes.  It's an art.  It doesn't come easy...it's not something everyone should do...like brushing your teeth...but if you are learning to expand your social network... blogging is one way to go. (so I've been advised.)
So, I need to create a schedule... to keep my posts appearing regularly.  They should be about writing and reading, books and poetry..... But my interests are diverse so my posts will be too, and I hope you will find some interesting reading here. 
Schedule.... let's see....
Monday - commentary on progress of my current writing project
Tuesday - interview of guest author... I know some really awesome authors....
Wednesday - recipe of the day... this would be really fun if I liked to cook...
Thursday - weather report... Snow  .... this won't need more until April.....
Friday - Plans for the weekend.... hibernate... this won't need more until April either...
Ok, so as you can need my new very exciting blog could use for inspiration... I could really use your suggestions ... What shall I write about?
I'm really excited to introduce you to authors whose books you may not be reading.  So Tuesday is all set.  (author friends... requests to appear on my blog on Tuesdays is requested at this time.)
OK... That is it for today... I need to hear from you....   

Learning Still and Again....

We never stop learning... thank goodness. That is a truth my fifth grade students couldn't quite comprehend..because they already knew everything.  But as we get older our interests seem to branch out and when we are busy raising families and keeping house and a managing a career there is little time to become educated in those things outside of child rearing, home maintenance, and job related updates.
And that is why retirement was invented.  WOOHOO!  I write. I love reading and writing.  Because writing is my passion I attend workshops and classes that will educate me in bettering (a Seuss word) my writing.
BUT...I also want to learn photography.  Oh, I can take pictures....nice ones that tell a story or remind me of a special event.  I really miss the old Kodak Instamatic.  I could just point and shoot. With the camera I have now.... I need a college course.  ( had to take an hour class at the Verizon store just to learn how to use my phone...and I still mostly use it to call.. but I did learn to text...that is fun.  And I can take pictures with it and play games (whose idea was that?!)
I want to learn genealogy  and upholstering and Feng Shui and painting and gardening and how to make jewelry ..... you get the idea.  Learning...and the desire to learn is a never ending story....Isn't it wonderful?
Oh, so now with the release of my book, Men in Ts (in case you forgot the title) I have to learn the art of MARKETING my book.  In the old days... I would just tell a friend and within a short time everyone was informed.  Welcome, Alee, to the age of technology.  I am currently taking a class on how to market my book...no kidding.  and let me add...it isn't easy.
So be patient with me...and spread the word that Men in Ts is available.... WOOHOO!!!!!

Here are two links to purchase a copy of Men in Ts
http://www.wildrosepublishing.com/maincatalog_v1…/index.php…
At Amazon: http://amzn.com/B00QR1BIZM

YAYYY!!!!!!  Men in Ts is available

to you now on The Wild Rose press site or at Amazon.com 

Ghost Story

It's been a month since I've been here.  I've learned something.... the longer i stay away... the harder it is for me to remember how to post anew.  I can never remember my log in name or password.... But I'm here and so are you... I hope you enjoy my post today.
 I was challenged to write w scary story for a writers group  that I belong to locally, and I tried.  I really did... but i didn't feel that it was scary enough.  But... I read it to my friends anyway...and they liked it.  So, I will share it with you....since you asked....
Please make a comment, because I really DO care what you think of my writing.


Ghost Story...rough draft....

The members of the writer’s group sat around the long oak table in the front room of the local library as they had been doing every other Tuesday evening for some months now.  Strangers at first, acquaintances later and now developing friendships this group of eclectic writers  respected each other’s very different writing styles, voices and means of telling a tale.  The assignment for the last Tuesday before the celebration of the Day of the Dead was to create a chilling tale.  The challenge became palatable for ALee as she set her scene and began her story.  Relying on her admiration for Poe and his chilling poetry , and tales of deceit and quiet revenge, or the cremation of Sam Magee or  any of Stephen Kings books that she was too afraid to read after hyperventilating while reading  the chase scene in Salem’s Lot.  Alee loved Halloween.  Gross looking food, masks and hideous make-up, costumes and of course, chocolate candy made this holiday one of her favorites.

And so it was this night, a night of sharing scary stories, without the eerie campfire, that this writer’s group gathered.  So when it was Alee’s turn she shared Chris VanAlsberg’s The Widow’s Broom, a child’s story she traditionally read to her 4^th grade students. And the other writer’s loved it, scary in its simplicity and expressively sketched illustrations. 

My original short story originates here in this library.  It is a tale of secrets, of secrets so ____ that it has never been told before this evening.  One of the books , in plain sight upon these shelves is a diary, an honest confession of a deed so horrendous that the victim cannot wait another moment for the truth to be known.  The book waits….silently …for someone to notice its worn leather cover and the title printed in faded black ink.   

This  Tuesday evening ,  a curiosity lured Alee to search the shelves.  She is not sure what she is looking for and only knows, knows without a doubt that she will find it. She finds herself drawn to the back wall, behind the circulation desk, there amongst the shelves housing books of local history she searches.  She stops. There is a sound… the faint sound of weeping.  She hears a child weeping and glances out the window but sees only her distorted reflection in the wavy pane of glass.  She kneels, lower to scan the books resting on the bottom shelves. The weeping seems to be more audible, a little louder….a little more clear. And then….

The crying stops, as if the child is holding its breath. Waiting.  And the weeping becomes a whimpering , and the whimpering becomes a whisper, “find me.” The child voice urges. “Find me.”

Alee moves the books looking for the tape recorder, or some new technical device that has brought her to quivering.  There was little light here, back in the corner , down by the lowest bookshelves and her body was shading the very space she was examining from the dimness.  She took out her phone and used the flashlight app to see.. Cautiously, she moved and removed books from the lower shelves.   There was nothing technical that she could see, no microphones or speakers, no tiny recorder, but she knew pranksters were very clever and could rig up this scary moment for her with little effort.  She so badly wanted to catch them at their own game.  “Find me” the child voice whispered reminding Alee of her search.

Alee followed the sound, the tiny sound of whimpering.  “Please.” The voice begged.  Goosebumps tingled  Alee’s arms and she shivered.  The flashlight app was strong, and so she searched. She began reading titles and flipping through tissue thin pages of very old books.  Nothing.   “Find me.”

Alee could hear the quiet conversations of the others in the writing group.  They spoke of poetry and autumn and the beauty in the nature of colored leaves.  She rose quietly, embarrassed that she had been so completely fooled, embarrassed that she had been so completely frightened by their hoax.  She stood as she heard a collective chuckle.  They seemed to be pretty pleased with themselves.  Sure, scare the new resident of the town.  Well, it worked.  She was scared. 

As she stood and  tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear  her earring fell to the polished wooden floor and disappeared beneath the bookshelf.  It wasn’t an expensive earring, but it was hammered silver, a gift from her husband and she really liked them as a pair.  She knelt once again and ran her fingers gingerly along the floor, underneath the edge of the antique bookcase. Dust bunnies came alive with the movement of her hand.  She felt a string and pulled it out.  A screech  nearly escaped from her throat as she realized that she touched the skeletal remains of a mouse .   She questioned, only for a second, the value of her cherished earring. Composure regained, she focused the beam of her app light pleased to note that there were no more skeletons, she found her earring and what was that?  A book, seemed to be wedged between the bookshelf and the wall. There was no way she could reach it. She stood.  “Find me.” The whisper voice urged.

Alee found a wire coat hanger in a small closet.  She pulled the hanger out of shape so that it would reach and once again lowered herself to the floor.  She worked the hooked end behind the book and wiggled it free, then carefully, slowly drew it out from its hiding place.  She flipped through the pages. It was an elementary arithmetic text book from 1868.  

She opened the cover to read the penciled inscription.  In childlike cursive, a riddle in the form of a poem, There is a secret that I hold, no man or woman has been told,

     I saw a murder years ago, I can’t tell anyone that I know.

     If you should seek the truth this late,turn to page sixty-eight.

With shaking fingers she turned to page 68.   

     The one who did this evil deed, is filled with hatred and with greed,

     he stole a child, a friend of mine, and hid her where the sun don’t shine.  

Alee smiled nervously hoping , so hoping, that this was some childhood prank.

      I cannot say where she is buried,this child of two who are not married. 

     The husband of her mother learned, the lover of his wife still yearned,

     so in his rage he killed my friend,a sweet young  girl, her life at end,

     If you are one who should know more, turn now to page eighty-four.

Alee sat in a chair behind the circulation desk and turned the pages until she found more. 

For all these years I’ve  feared the man, who killed a child with his hand, and to this day, I cannot tell , for fear he’ll throw me in the well.

I hear her call me, I hear her scream, I see her murder when I dream, Her mother searches night and day, why would her daughter run away?  This tale is true, set my sole free, from the guilt that burdens me, turn now my friend to 93.

Alee turned the pages. 

Do you hear her painful cries? The memory lives behind my eyes.  He hid her body wrapped in rags, beneath a pile of garbage bags. She needs a final resting place, a site of happiness and grace. Go find her now, she waits for you.   Go to page 102.

For all these years she’s had to bode with James and Bill on Black Hollow Road. She aches to rest from running wild, and be with her mother on Fairchild.

Find her now, you must be brave, and lay her gently in her grave.  Listen. Listen. She calls you there.  Find the girl with golden hair.  Her name is Amy, say aloud and she will guide you to her shroud.

“Amy?” Alee barely whispered.  “Amy?”

Alee felt a cold breath on  the back of her neck.  

Remember....please leave a comment.  Thank you.  and have a safe and scary Halloween.

WELCOME BACK

It seems I've forgotten about keeping up with this blog.  Although I have had snippets of time where I could have been writing here....I shamefully didn't.  I have been on Facebook.... you can visit my fan page there at ALee Drake/romance author.  I had some creative moments... some inspirational adventures and events in the past few years that have kept me busy and provided fodder for my stories. 
 I have a new book coming out.  It is entitled Men In Ts and it is a sweet contemporary romance that revolves around a 1916 Model T car. I grew up around model T cars and went to the international Model T convention in Indiana a couple of years ago.... well a story brewed and I started writing.  I am not as prolific as I'd like to be, I have friends who write four books a year....I publish one book every four years.  I'm working on that tho. 
Well, now that I've  reacquainted myself with this site.... I will be back... as I hope you will be back too.  I am planning on writing here once a week to start.  That will require me to get out my calender and pencil in blogging as an appointment... or I'll never remember.

Please stay with me.... Men In Ts will be coming out soon.  I'm so excited!!!!   I've read it a hundred times.... and still like it.  

Welcome New Year

It's been a year since I've posted anything on my blog. WOW...time flies... doesn't it ?
I have trouble here because I don't want to ramble for the sake of using up space...and I usually don't feel I have anything of value to share. But I do tonight.
This morning I was greeted by the thrilling announcement that the review of my first book, Thistle Dew, by SERIOUSLY REVIEWED was number 1 of the"most viewed" review of 2010.
This is quite an honor and really boosts my confidence in my writing. Thank you SR for such a terrific review.
And only to accentuate that life is indeed a roller coaster ride, our family sadly begins the new year with the funeral of my lovely mother-in-law. In previous blogs I've written of heroes and heroines...my mother-in-law is another heroine I've had the privilege to know and love. There are numerous jokes and stories about mother-in-laws...I really lucked out. She loved me like a daughter from the start and how could I not cherish the woman who raised her son to be my best friend, husband and wonderful father to our children.
My mother-in-law, a proud woman of Polish heritage taught me to make golumpki, perogi, and kapusta. She taught me to make a Polish Easter table, carve a butter lamb and make borste. I've been her daughter-in-law for 39 years. My mother-in-law and I were friends...and I will miss her dearly.
So...on that note...what about you're mom-in-law? Friend or foe.

Both of my daughters are amazing women. I didn't raise them to be amazing but they managed to be anyways. All five of our children became alpine ski racers. Kirsten, a severe asthmatic, raced through high school and college. Oftentimes after each run, the ski patrol would be waiting for her at the bottom of the hill with an oxygen tank as she collapsed struggling for breath. They usually suggested she forgo her second run, but she never quit. She would finish her second run with every ounce of energy she had and usually final in a respectable top seed.

Sarah, likes to climb mountains. She hiking most weekends to achieve the esteemed recognition as a 46er. (One who has reached the summit of all 46 Adirondack high peaks.) She has also been accepted as one of the 12 women globally who will be climbing the three highest peaks in Africa in a program called 3peaks 3 weeks in January 2011. Heroines indeed.

Who are your real life heroines? We write about women who are strong, independent, wise. Women who we relate to and admire. I know they aren't wholly fictitious.
Who are the true heroines in your life?