Spring Snow

When I was quite young, I had a vivid, colorful dream. (Yes, many of us do dream in color.)  I stepped into the backyard, which was exactly as our yard was at the time, and it was covered in snow. Growing up in Central Illinois, that doesn't seem like a rare thing to dream. However, this snow was warm. And it was colorful, all different colors. It was deep, as well, enough to create nice warm caves or snowmen. But warm. I was absolutely in heaven. I always loved playing in the snow, except that I hated to be cold. I still hate to be cold, and I'm cold very easily. It felt like a magnificent gift.

That dream, more than any other, stayed with me through the years. It meant something. I couldn't tell what it might mean, but it meant something, down deep within my soul.

Fast forward through years of finishing school, marriage, moving, kids, more moving... and then eleven years ago, we chose a place to "retire" (retiring to us meant to stop moving every few years and creating an actual home base). We randomly chose western Pennsylvania. I say randomly because we had no family or friends here. We'd driven through a few times in our travels, but there was not real connection that could be quantified. I was set, though, on this area. It called out to me.

Yes, some of my ancestors did come from PA. A great aunt lived in another part of the state and I remember that visit with all of the gorgeous trees and the green everywhere you looked. There are those memories. But something deeper called me here.

I'll say now that spring is my favorite season. Despite the fact I'm allergic to everything that comes to life in spring, I still love seeing it come to life. I love the spring color: forsythias, daffodils, tulips, azaleas, red buds, dogwoods... every color under the sun everywhere you look. All mixed together. And, of course, the magnolias.

We moved here in the fall as my youngest was starting high school, after my oldest had just graduated. So, many of the plantings in the large yard of the house we bought were dormant. That next spring, to my delight, the small tree I could see from my office window turned out to be a magnolia, just like the one outside my grandma's front window that I always loved, for its artistry and its magnificent big blooms that appeared before the leaves filled in and joined the painting.

It felt like a message from Grandma, an I'm still with you sign. By the time we moved here, we'd already lost her to dementia. That was a hard blow. I was Grandma's Girl, always had been. I didn't see her often in those last years since I was always out and away, but she wrote letters, with little drawings for my daughter -- she was always drawing cute little animals and such, and did some painting, as well -- and I sent photos of my babies and where we were, telling her about our temporary homes. (Never underestimate the power of a hand-written and mailed letter!)

Almost exactly a month after we settled here, Grandma moved on up over the rainbow (one of her favorite songs). The kids and I drove back to IL to say our goodbyes. To me, there was a certain peacefulness about it, because I felt she was finally free from the body that had shut her down and pulled her spirit down. She was too vibrant to be held back.

She was born in May, 101 years ago.

Every year when the magnolia blooms, I say hello to her again. I feel like she led me here, to this place, this house, with its magnolia and lilacs.

And then there's the spring snow. Never, anywhere else I've lived, have I seen dandelion snow. Every May, our yard is absolutely filled with dandelion/thistle seeds that looks exactly like big, warm snowflakes. It even gathers along the edge of the driveway like small snowdrifts. My daughter, who has just moved back here after her own wandering years, says they're not getting much of it in town. So, a few miles down the road, and I would miss it.

There's a reason I'm here. Not only here as a general being alive thing, but here in the place we "randomly" chose. I don't need to know why. I feel it.

Now to get my brand new magnolia planted, a yellow one for my favorite color, close enough to the other that I can welcome their blooms together every spring.

A Cold and Scenic Travelogue (pt 2)

(scroll down to catch pt 1)

Continuing into Pennsylvania on 62 South, we came to Warren. The courthouse in the photo is only one of the magnificent buildings we saw as we cruised through the main part of town and then headed east toward the Allegheny National Recreation Area. Our only stop there was at Kinzua dam.

I again couldn’t help thinking I’d like to grab a notebook and sit out on one of the tables under the trees overlooking the branch of the Allegheny Reservoir and stay a while. At least, I’d love to do that some day when it’s warm and not threatening rain.

I have several beautiful photos from this area, but my favorite is the one where we found the hawk resting on the wooden fence. He sat patiently and prettily until I got a decent shot of him, and then he flew off majestically. Such pretty birds, hawks. Last year, we had a nest outside our back yard, but I think the dogs have deterred them this year, since they were constantly running after their flight path and barking at them. *sigh*

We doubled back a few miles to Warren, where I got an almost decent shot of their stately library! One of these days, I’ll have to go back and visit. The library has a few quotes etched along above the big windows, in Roman architecture style.

The one on the front corner says: “Philosophy – the thoughts of men about human thinking, reasoning, and imagining, and the real values in human existence.”

The one next to it: “Literature – the storehouse of knowledge, the record of civilization, the fulcrum for the lever of progress.”

The next says something about “.. elemental passions but ever aspiring.”

Heading out of Warren, there’s a beautiful old bridge. I love bridges, also, and had to grab a shot of it.

As it was growing late in the day, we headed west toward our destination for the night and I found another incredible library in Oil City:


As this isn’t very far from us, I’ll definitely be back that way to explore the inside. Doesn’t it just look like a great place to spend the day?

At the Vietnam Memorial at a crossroads of the town, we were treated to three Vets standing in front of it with a sign asking drivers to honk in support of the troops. There wasn’t much traffic at the time, but there was honking, including us. They seemed happy enough to pose for a quick photo as we stopped at the light. 

Finally, as we came into the final stretch of the ride, the clouds began to break and the sun peeped out as if to say, “You made it fine even with me in hiding.” Never mind I felt pretty much like a popsicle by then and rushed right in to find the shower and plenty of warm water. Hey, we went for an adventure and found one. At the end of the day, that’s what matters.

We topped it off by visiting the original Quaker Steak and Lube in Sharon, PA and my very adventurous husband put his name on the wall of flame by managing to eat 5 of their hottest hot wings. Better him than me. I’m not quite that adventurous. But I bet he warmed up faster!

Did you know the closest living relative to the tyrannasaurus rex is the chicken? So the Lube says.


By the way, Sharon PA is home to the Buhl Mansion. Formerly owned by a big steel magnate, the mansion fell to the state’s hands and then to disrepair and was rescued and restored by the local man who invented the Club (you know, that thing that was supposed to keep cars from being stolen). It now hosts an inn and spa, a park with a gorgeous walking path, and a health center for the community.

Oh, along the way from Warren to Tionesta, we traveled along the edge of Allegheny National Park and marveled at the water-side scenery of homes along the edge, on stilts or up the bank slightly. I don’t have a photo, except in my head, but I can see it becoming part of a story somewhere.

Western PA is biker’s heaven, at least during the more temperate months. You can’t hardly be in the area without seeing them out enjoying the area.


[WATCH for bikes and Start SEEING them! We’re everywhere, and we’re not the Hell’s Angels, regardless of media portrayal.]
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A Cold and Scenic Travelogue

There’s nothing like a cool, crisp morning that turns into a sunny warm day for a day-long ride on the back of a Harley. You see more from a bike than from a car or truck. You see not only the road beneath, but the sides of the road and the birds overhead. You feel the change of the air as it shifts from pavement-reflected warmth along the interstate to cooler and fresher along little tree-lined roads. You know without looking when you’re passing by or bridging over a stream or river because of the sudden moist chill in the air and the smell of the water. You’re more fully connected with and part of nature on a bike, even more so than rolling all four windows of your car down and allowing the wind to gush in and cause a racket.

Of course, then there are those days when a cool, crisp morning turns into a cloudy, colder, rainy day. That’s not great bike weather, and you better hope you’ve remembered to pack your rain gear, but a cold, damp day on a bike is still more soul-refreshing than a day in a car.

This is true even when you’re easily cold and completely un-enamored with being cold and if it takes you two days to warm up again.

Over the weekend, that’s the kind of day my husband and I had when we agreed to meet a friend from New York (state, not city) and have lunch and cruise around in between our two home areas. We started off chilly, drove up into the rain, and kept counting on the weather prediction of clearing skies and 70 degrees. Neither happened.

Ah well. We still put over 340 miles on the bike in one day and I, of course, had my camera in hand. Here’s some of what we saw:

As it’s mid-September, the trees in northwestern PA are turning all shades of fall. The hovering mist and clouds interfere a bit with the crispness of the colors, but it does add a soft variation.

Our meeting point was a little NY town called Hamburg where I had some incredible chocolate chip pancakes (yes, I splurged) and coffee to add fuel for the rest of the day. From there, we moved down farther south through back roads and farm land and Amish country.   

A tip: while in Amish country on a bike, watch carefully for slippery obstructions from the horses! We managed to avoid this pitfall, thank goodness!

Heading toward Jamestown, we were treated to a few pretty lakes and ponds. Have I said how much I love water? As we passed by, I thought this would be a wonderful place to set a chair and sit and write or read or daydream (writers must daydream, after all) on a warmer, dryer day.

Of course, while riding, you can’t pull out a map and ask your passenger where to go from wherever you are, so at one point we pulled into the parking lot of a little marina and grabbed the map from the tour pack. This is somewhere along route 62 and I think we were still in NY.

Had I known that next door to Jamestown is a little town called Lakewood, NY, I would have asked the guys to take a little buzz over in that direction so I could get a photo of the town sign. Why? Rehearsal is set in Lakewood. Okay, so my Lakewood is actually a fictional town in Massachusetts, but it would still be fun to post the town sign that matches my imaginary town. Yes, I’m easily amused.

I also wished I’d had the camera ready when we passed someone’s yard. They had a sign advertising something that had “Aim High” in big letters. [A- hem.. Highest Aim] *shrug*

Moving along, the parking area was bordered by alternating rows of these shrubs. I’ve no idea what they are, but they are beautiful. Aren’t they?

As this was quite the long trip and I’m being rather long-winded about sharing it, I’ll save the rest for tomorrow.


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Artistic Eye: in photos

Art is a way of seeing.

That’s far from a new thought, but yesterday I posted a few photos of a local park in the blog I set up for my county to show the area in all its glory. I posted the link in my Facebook and received a comment about my “artistic eye.” That’s what art is all about: seeing things in a different viewpoint, looking more deeply and at different angles to find details. I’m not sure if it can be taught fully, but there are techniques anyone can use to see things more artistically.

I’m not a good teacher. I never have been. I found this back when trying to help my kids with their homework. Understanding and teaching are different. However, I’m always willing to share what I’ve learned and thought I’d try today, using other photos from the park that are more artsy than descriptive, if that makes sense.

 
I have a thing for docks. There’s something romantic about an old wooden structure reaching out into the water, a path that leads seemingly nowhere, unless you have an alternate mode of transportation. I don’t see only the dock here. I see the possibility of a small boat coming to its open end, ready for passengers. I see a couple walking out hand-in-hand to the edge and sitting together enjoying the water (or slushy snow in this case) and serenity of nature, wordless, since quiet is a powerful means of communication. I see footsteps in the snow beside it that were there before the weather warmed and made treading out on the pond on foot impossible. I see the shelters in the background amidst the trees that hold the possibility of get-togethers and laughter. I wonder who made the footprints. I wonder if the water is seen as a barrier between the dock and the shelters or a connection. I see the changing season: grass beginning to show on the land while snow and ice still control the water. I see possibility of metaphor.


Angle matters. If I had centered my son in the photo, I wouldn’t see the little pavilion in the background and I wouldn’t get the path of water leading to it. I wouldn’t have the edge of grass that echoes the melting of the ice that echoes the short sleeves. I wouldn’t get the same angle of his head echoing the curve of the pond. There’s always more to a photo than the main subject. Background matters.


Catch the sun in the right place and it will assist your eye and transform your scene. Also, try looking up instead of always out. It’s amazing the beauty you can find just by raising your chin.



Catch the reflections.


And the tracks left by someone else. 

If you’ll return (and you can know I’ve left a new post by subscribing to your right), you’ll soon find more artistic eye entries: in fine art, in writing, in design, and maybe in social issues.

By the way, all photos online are copyright protected by their creators. If you would like to use my photos, please contact me and let me know where and for what. I don’t mind sharing with permission and credit. I have the better, larger versions if there is a good purpose for the larger versions.

Weeds and Flowers

There is Scottish Thistle growing along the roads beside our house. We’re in western Pennsylvania, which apparently has such deep Celtic roots and ancestry that thistle happened to spring up from the earth. Okay, I suppose someone brought some back from Scotland. It wasn’t us, although we were there last summer, and although I had a lot of  fun admiring the country’s national emblem growing wild in the highlands and along roads and being depicted on street signs and shop signs. I didn’t notice it here before. Maybe I wasn’t paying attention.

To be honest, it likely didn’t have the chance to grow as well as it has this year because … well, our state has yet to approve a budget so weeds alongside the roads aren’t being cut. At least that’s my theory as to why they’re taking over the sideline landscapes.

Yes, I’m enjoying the purple thistle. It reminds me of Scotland and I have a true, deep love for that country. It doesn’t quite match the love I have for my own, but it would be one of two places I would relocate if I every got kicked out of here (and with some of my political opinions, maybe I will be). The other would be Italy, but then I’d have to learn Italian. The Scots at least speak English: not quite American English but close enough to catch on quickly.

No, I don’t have plans to move, but when I mentioned to my husband that a local plant nursery had thistle growing in front of their building, which I thought was very cool, he said, “I can’t imagine why anyone would plant a sticker bush.”

Oh. I suppose he has a point. As I thought about it, I decided I wouldn’t actually want it in my yard, either. It’s a weed, you know. It will spread and take over if it’s allowed. And although I enjoy the bit of it I see, there is a line things need to maintain or else they cause havoc.

I also enjoy the goldenrod not being cut down. I’m allergic to the stuff and definitely don’t want THAT in my yard, but in my car as I’m driving past with the windows closed, it’s very pretty. [Now I’m hoping I’m naming that bright yellow weed correctly. TC, my professional gardening friend, may correct me, a gardening amateur.]

But that’s the way it often goes – something that looks like a very cool idea in its bright and shiny glory at a distance changes once you start looking closer.  I think we see that in politics a lot. I’ll leave that thought for the moment. I blog politically blatant at Myspace and sometimes at Facebook, but not here. Don’t worry. I won’t start.

I know we see it in everyday life. And I see it in writing. Adverbs are weeds, for instance. In their proper place and kept at a minimum, they  are pretty words that help a writer get an image across. Left to spread uncontrolled, however, they muddy the waters and we’re left with so many of them it’s hard to see the grass. I love grass. It’s the basic structure, the spreading earthy grounding soul of a yard, and of a book. I’ve become obsessed with grass after living in the south for 12 years and having such a time trying to keep my yard green and fresh. I planted some recently here and go look out at it every day. It’s thriving. I did nothing but prepare the soil, throw some straw over top to hold it and mulch it, and timed it just before a few days of rain moved in … and it’s thriving on its own. A beautiful site.

The patch that was nothing but packed dirt and weeds is now soul-soothing (green will do that for you) and makes me feel like my thumb is a touch more natural than I thought.

Of course I have flowers, also. The marigolds in the photo above are now planted here and there around my flower beds. Many don’t like marigolds because they smell bad. Yes, but they are natural pest deterrents. Critters don’t like their smell, either. I put marigolds in with my veggies this year and have had very little trouble with Japanese Beatles.

Flowers are the extra description of a novel. They highlight the story, bring color and beauty. Again, though, too much of it and it  overpowers everything until the story is too hard to find.

Nature is about balance. Grass should be central. The Japanese would disagree with me, but I’m an American and so my statement stands. We like pretty yards of rolling grass without weeds and highlighted by flowers. That’s how I like my fiction, also. Rolling grass [story] with maybe a dandelion accent [weeds] here and there and a flowery [descriptive] highlight. 

~~~
Tomorrow (September 4th)  I’ll be introducing myself during Classic Romance Revival’s “Author Intro” month, part of their grand opening celebration. Come by and see what you can win just by commenting!
http://www.classicromancerevival.com/blog

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Setting: The Watery Breath of a Story

 

"Water is the driving force of all nature."
Leonardo da Vinci

 

As water is the underlying basis for everything that lives, so setting is to every story that breathes.

 

Everything has to happen somewhere.

 

How do authors choose where their stories will happen? ~shrug~ I can't speak for others, as we all have our different reasons for sticking our characters wherever we stick them. Generally, it's love: the love of history or love of a certain place we visited or love of the unknown. With me, it tends to be a mix of all three.

 

By now, I've lived in six states and two countries and have traveled* a lot in between. [side note below] I've also taken an incredible cultural psychology class that further emphasized how we are affected by where we live. In the words of Anais Nin, "We don't see things as they are, we see things as we are." Setting is not only a place; it's character. It's part of who our characters are and novelists who ignore that are missing a huge chance to fill in the depths of the story.

 

Aphrodite, the ancient Greek goddess of love, was born of the sea.
from pureinsideout.com

 

In my first-to-publish novel, Finishing Touches, Jenna is a small town Midwest girl raised nearly on the banks of the Illinois River. The river and trees surrounding it play a large part of her story, the trees being symbolic of her inner strength and deep roots and the river of her unbound soul that flows along where life takes her. There's also the little bridge mentioned that she crosses over, pausing to look down into the shallow creek. A bridge is a metaphor for crossing a boundary, for change, or for pulling the two different parts of her life together. In addition to the structural "place" of the story, being from the Midwest helps make Jenna who she is. As each country has its unique qualities that help define its people, so do different sections of countries. As a small town girl raised in the Midwest myself, I fully understand Jenna and have a special love for the people who tend to be very earthy and natural, and rather conservative in actions and speech. Although the story is not autobiographical, other than the searching issue, the setting is. My first novel has the most involved setting; it's the most interwoven with the main character.

 

When I first started writing the Rehearsal series in notes and scattered scenes and character development, I was still in that small Illinois town, but my thoughts were always wandering elsewhere. I wanted to go out and see new things, explore new places. I couldn't do it often at that time, but my characters did. As a result, they are more worldly than Jenna, all transplanted from the beginning of the story which makes the setting less woven into their characters. Two are from Pennsylvania, three from New Hampshire, one from the UK. The story is set in Massachusetts, roughly thirty miles from Boston. However, it takes them out of their adopted town often, into other places, a metaphor for my own wanderlust.

Each of us "belongs" in a certain place. It may not be where we were raised. There may be some other place that calls out to us and helps us feel more settled once we're there. For me, that place was temporarily the Northeast and permanently the Mid-Atlantic. We lived in Massachusetts for some time and I adored the area, was sad to have to leave. At the same time, when we passed through Pennsylvania to go back to visit family in Illinois, it called to me, as it had during family vacations when I was young. And so, my two main characters from Rehearsal, Evan and Susie, had to be from Pennsylvania. I set them in the eastern part of the state so it would work better with the story, but put Evan's alma mater on the western edge. When putting him there, I never in the world expected to end up living so close to it.

 

My New Hampshire characters are supporting cast. I wanted them transplanted instead of being Massachusetts locals in order to give them that extra edge. Their personalities aren't MA personalities. It wouldn't have worked. I have yet to visit New Hampshire, so if anyone from the state wants to comment on whether they fit, I'd love to hear it! Of course, you'd have to read the book to find out. ;-)

 

"It is a curious sensation: the sort of pain that goes mercifully beyond our powers of feeling. When your heart is broken, your boats are burned: nothing matters any more. It is the end of happiness and the beginning of peace."
George Bernard Shaw

 

My next-to-come book, Off The Moon (fall 2009), has two main settings: New York City and Bennington, Vermont. The main character is heavily in the music industry and so it worked well to have him in the midst of one of the music centers of the nation. His family is in Vermont, which worked in different ways: it's a short enough drive from NYC so he's able to run back and forth easily, it's another place I've yet to visit (love of the unknown), and it has a wonderful lake setting that's important to the story since he adores boats and owns a pontoon he uses to escape his busy city life. With any luck, I'll be visiting the area before putting the final touches on the book. However, he grew up a military brat, so for him, place is very fluid and the lack of deep roots shows through his personality and his actions.

 

If you haven't figured it out yet, water plays a big role in all of my stories. I'm drawn to lakes, rivers, oceans, and even small trickling streams. I love to swim. I love to watch and photograph waterfalls. I love to be on boats of any kind. I think it's unlikely I'll write a book without this feature, as it's too embedded into who I am.

 

"My books are like water; those of the great geniuses are wine.
(Fortunately) everybody drinks water."
Mark Twain

 

I'm currently in process of adding photos of some of the settings in my books to albums on my website. So far, I have the Finishing Touches album done and most of those photos were taken by family members. More setting albums will come soon.

 

***  This entry is part of Classic Romance Revival's Blog Carnival. Go to CRR to find more authors writing on the subject of setting!   www.ClassicRomanceRevival.com/blog ***

“The Truth is you are a part and parcel of the great being. You are one of the cells of the Great Being, you can call it. And once a drop falls into a ocean, it becomes an ocean. And once you become the ocean, you see the whole world in a different way, and understand the whole world as a beautiful place of enjoyment.”

Carl Gustav Jung

[side note: For those who have read the Rehearsal books, yes, I spell traveled as "travelled" in the series intentionally. There are two reasons for this: back when I was in grade school studying spelling lessons, many of the consonants were still doubled as they tend to be in British English, including travelled. I well remember when that started to change and balked at the idea. I don't always do change well. And I like the way the world looks better with two "L"s instead of one. As this series started to come to life way back during my school days in the 70s, I left it "travelled" as it was still spelled then. Also, much of the series is set in the 70s and so it's appropriate to use the spelling of the time. There's also the third main character who is from the UK and so would also spell it in that manner. Other than in the series, I sigh and conform and drop the extra letter.]

 

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Joyous Easter Blessings

It has been a nice week around here, full of sunshine and baseball and red-budding trees. The daffodils are wide open and flaunting their bright yellow. The tulips and lilacs and forsythias are showing hints of the colors to come.

 

I think that has to be much of why I love spring as I do. Of course, it also signifies winter's end and the hope of warm shirt-sleeve weather. But the colors of spring are amazing and filter joy into my soul.

 

This week has also been a time of more interaction with young people: the boys on the field, the children buzzing around the bleachers, children again on their bicycles and on shank's mare (a Scottish term for on foot). On top of that, I received a lovely letter from an eighth grader wanting to know more about what it's like to be an author. It was flattering and joy-inspiring. Touching the minds of young people is an honor. It should always be respected as such.

 

Speaking of, my children are waiting on me to finish Easter dinner and go watch a fun movie with them -- our Easter tradition. Afterwards, we'll work it off romping with the dogs.

 

I leave you today with a link to a free story I wrote some time ago, Jacob's Cross. "Alicia goes fishing in the dark of night to wrestle with her grief and to try to understand the nature of loss and sacrifice." It's religion centered but also has general life connotations. If you check it out, I'd love to hear your thoughts.

 

Wishing you a beautiful, spirit-filled, peaceful Easter and a beautiful spring full of joyous events, large and small.

come to life

I have been neglecting this blog horribly the past few months. However, I haven't been stagnant; far from it. My biggest project has been moving out of state, for the first time to a place we chose. For years, we have pondered settling in Pennsylvania and it has finally happened. Why here? It's beautiful. And it's friendly. It's in the north but not the northernmost north (nothing against the south but I can't help being a northern girl at heart). It feels like home.

Those who have done a lot of moving for business reasons will understand how "home" is more than wherever you live at the moment. There is a feeling attached to actually being "home" that can't be found anywhere you happen to reside. My Eastern astrology sign tells me I'm meant to be in the northeast. I could feel that long before I ever read it. It's where I'm comfortable, although I was raised in the midwest and still have a fondness for it. Now, I'm in the northeast but bordering on the midwest, and I'm home.

The move itself was quite stressful, followed by other stressful things falling upon its heels, and I'm still trying to settle physically. Mentally, I was settled here from the day we drove into our new driveway (new to us, that is). I look forward to the relaxed creativity that I know will be spurred by finally being in the right place. In fact, since we arrived, I have written two short stories; the second was finished while sitting outside on my back porch feeling the breeze against my skin and looking out over the gorgeous fall colors and the rain of leaves.

Atmosphere matters to artists. I suppose it does to anyone, but artists are, I think, more greatly affected by where they are moment to moment, as everything around is an inspiration or a barricade to creativity. I am affected by the view, by the weather, by the culture and how friendly or distant people are when I have to be out and about. I am affected by how well or how poorly my flowers are doing, how cluttered or uncluttered my desk is, and how much positivity or negativity I feel around me.

Now, I am surrounded by incredible maple trees turning bright yellow and orange and red. I have a front porch for welcoming guests and a back porch that's completely private where I plan to do much of my writing that doesn't need to be done on the computer. I am close to civilization but not right within it. This is a writer's place; a place I had only been able to dream about during the previous times of my life, the times we were told where to live and making do with hearing neighbors running up and down their stairs and having no individual breathing room. It comes with sacrifice, as all things do, but that makes it more special and more meaningful. I appreciate it as I do the sunshine after bouts of rainfall.

In a few days, I will be again participating in Nanowrimo. The novel I will be writing is darker than my others; more literary and less romantic. Still, glimpses of that life-giving, refreshing sunlight will seep through. I'm not sure how my readers will respond to the different genre, but I won't be held back by worries of acceptance. There are many stories that need to be written and they must be told in the way that works for the story. As strong as it is in my head, it needs to be written. "Katie" must come to life.