I'm Up Earlier Than I Want to Be

 . . . but it’s okay, since no one woke me up, not even the dog. The house is quiet, the Christmas tree is on, the fireplace is lit, and a brewed pot of coffee was ready to be poured when I padded to the kitchen.

Today is my birthday. It isn’t a day I usually look forward to. I do my best to plod through it, but it is a day I miss my grandparents so much I can hardly breathe. I miss my mom too, who would be here with us at this time of year, spending too much money on the boys for Christmas, and attempting to do something grand for my birthday. 

This has been quite a year for me. Last year at this time I was filling out a bid package for work at the Air Force Academy that I didn’t really want, but got. It has been a tumultuous year in that regard. It is always a roller coaster ride, but one that I think may be coming to an end sooner than expected. The contract extension I expected to go through the end of July, may not be extended, which means at the end of January, I’ll be done. 

From a writing standpoint, this has been an incredible year. My Crested Butte Cowboy series has hit a mini-stride. Books are selling like I never expected them to, even pre-orders for a book I hope to work on today, are selling. A phenomenon I can’t always wrap my head around.

I went on a book tour to my beloved Crested Butte, and met some really wonderful people. And to my first writers’ conference, where I met more. My hopes skyrocketed, and then plummeted, and then skyrocketed again. It’s the way of the publishing world. What I thought I’d write when I began this journey less than three years ago, isn’t what I’m writing at all. And that’s okay. In the year ahead, I’ll write even more of that I never thought I’d write, in order to advance the writing I thought I would.

This year I’ve made friends I’ve never met. Another side effect of being a writer. Online relationships are formed out of support for one another as writers, or with readers, or with people who allow me to ask questions about their world, so in turn I can write about it in a way that is real, and authentic. I count some of those people among my closest friends. I suppose it isn’t any different than Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett, without the subsequent romance.

I saw people this year, who I never thought I’d see again, renewing friendships that have grown to be so important to me. I cannot tell you how much my faithful band of beta readers mean to me, and getting to see a few of them this summer, was magical. 

I spent time with other friends too, who mean the world to me, some of whom I never thought I’d see or talk to again. I never understood high school reunions, but now I do, although it isn’t likely I’ll ever go to one. 

When I sat down to write this post, I expected it to be very different. More of a timeline of things I did this year, a recollection. But instead, in writing this, I realize once again that the events of the year—every year—revolve around the importance of the people in my life. Relationships, that’s the stuff life, and great books, celebrate. 

Badass Babes and Buckers

I sat down with my literary agent this week and we hashed out our respective to-do lists. Mine is all about writing. It isn’t all book writing however. I have to write three different bios, fifty words, one-hundred-fifty words, and long (whatever that is). I need to write queries, summaries and tag lines for each of the books. I have to create a tagline for myself. The title of this blog is the one I came up with—writer of badass babes and buckers (as a joke); she didn’t laugh.

On November 1st, I’ll be starting a new book, either LAST (in the East Aurora series), or the fifth book in the Crested Butte series . . . if you’re reading this and want to vote, feel free to tell me which one you’re most anxious for.

The other thing I have to do, and this is the most difficult, is I have to cut about sixty pages out of each of my other books in order for them to meet the submission guidelines for the publishers who have either requested the manuscript or I’ve been referred to. This will be painful. Really painful. I cannot even comprehend doing this. However, I can leave the books at the length they are now, and sell 500 copies, or cut them and sell 500,000 copies. The decision is easy put that way.

I have a class to teach today, and then I’ll come back home . . . and write. My house is clean, my chores are (mostly) done, and for the first time in three weeks, I have a quiet weekend at home. There are no soccer games, basketball games, swim meets, writers' conferences, book tours or out-of-town guests this weekend. I almost don’t remember what a free weekend feels like. I’m anxious for the reminder.

Life is good, great really—a mantra I need to keep repeating. It is easy to get bogged down in the perceived stresses of life, when in reality, the life I lead is a really, really good one. My worst case scenarios are the stuff dreams (not nightmares) are made of. I am very fortunate. Not letting the petty crap in is an every day challenge. Someone this week asked me what was wrong now. I can’t get those words out of my head. That isn’t who I think I am, but obviously it is who I am communicating I am. This weekend will be all about nothing being wrong.

Badass babes and buckers—can’t be too much wrong in my life if that’s what I write. Right?

Book Tour Part I: Black Mountain Ranch

A week ago I was in Crested Butte, one of my favorite places on earth. To be honest, I’d give anything to be able to wiggle my nose and be back there right this minute. And where I am and what I’m doing is nothing I’d complain about . . . 

It was a whirlwind of a week. We left on Tuesday. Our first stop on the tour was Black Mountain Ranch (http://blackmtnranch.com). It was everything I wrote and more. Someday I’d like have the time to interview cowboy/rancher/owner Nowell, who assured me he could write several books himself about the romances that have begun at the ranch. 



I signed a book for him, which he accepted gladly with the caveat that he would have his girlfriend read it first. I was tempted to tell him that real cowboys aren’t embarrassed to read my (steamy romance) books. I held my tongue. 

The trip to and from the ranch was almost as interesting as driving around the ranch itself. There isn’t any question that the Antler Craft will appear in a future book; effectively describing this place will be daunting.

Our next stop was Juicy Lucy's Steakhouse in Glenwood Springs. As much fun as it was for me to revisit these places I liked enough to include in my books, it was more fun to watch Vicki and Carolyn’s reactions when they entered a place they’d only read about previously.

There are more stories about cab drivers and dirt roads . . . but some I need to save for future books. Next up: Book Tour Part II: Crested Butte.

Book Tour: Pre-Tour Anxiety and Elation

I’m leaving this morning to go on my first “book tour.” It seems as though it is something I should document, something I should remember.

I’m headed to Crested Butte, with a stop off at Colorado Black Mountain Ranch on the way. We’ll stay in Glenwood Springs tonight, eat at Juicy Lucy’s, and then take Kebler Pass from Aspen to Crested Butte tomorrow. Any of you who have read DANCE, might recognize a few of these names. Doug gave me a couple names of places to check out while I’m over there . . . because he’s decided we’ll ski Aspen, Snowmass and Buttermilk for my birthday this year (you will hear no complaints from me about that).

I’ve been up since 4:45 this morning, when I took Frank to swimming. Everything that can be done, is done, including all the laundry, several meals in the fridge, and all the work I could possibly complete. I’ve been behind since the start of the academic year at the academy, so to be caught up, finally, is a tremendous relief. I can go into this trip relatively stress-free.

I hope there are still leaves turning, just because it will be nice to see. I have no idea whether we’ve missed them all. The Aspen grove on top of Kebler Pass is the largest in the world, so if they are still golden, it will be a breathtaking sight.

I alternate between being ridiculously anxious and nervous, and being elated. My plan is to enjoy this trip, no matter what. I have few expectations, other than enjoying five days in a place I love, seeing things I’ve written about, and visiting favorite shops and restaurants. My understanding is that Saturday night we’re having dinner at Soupçon, and the chef is beyond excited. Django’s is closed for a couple weeks, seasonal break, I’m disappointed, but that means we’ll try a new restaurant perhaps, that I’ll write into the next book. 

Speaking of the next book, I’m starting the book tour week on page 195. I hope to spend time writing while I’m in Crested Butte . . . there couldn’t possibly be better inspiration for doing so. Besides, I have to finish FLY before November 1, so I can start on LAST for NaNoWriMo, a tradition I love.

So here I go, another book adventure awaits. I’m thankful every day that I get to write, something I am passionate about, something that brings me endless joy.

Long Overdue: Kings of Leon

Eleven days ago, which seems like eleven weeks ago, I went to see Kings of Leon. It’s taken me this long, and seeing another band, to be able to write about the KoL concert. 

I looked forward to this concert every day between April 22, when I bought the tickets, and September 24, when the it took place. I listened to Mechanical Bull, Because of the Times, Come Around Sundown, Only By the Night, Holy Roller Novacaine, Aha Shake Heartbreak, and Youth and Young Manhood, over and over and over again. 

I am (admittedly) obsessed with Caleb Followill’s voice . . . well more than just his voice, but I don’t need to write about that anymore than you need to read about it. Last year, in my top ten picks of album of the year, Mechanical Bull was my number one.

It’s hard for me to say which of the songs from that album is my favorite, probably Last Mile Home, or Wait for Me, neither of which they played on this tour. Submitting my pick for #songforthecity was near impossible. They played Arizona at Red Rocks, a song I didn’t dare to hope for, but one I cannot believe was not on their setlist anyway. Without question, one of their best songs—I’m so happy I had to opportunity to hear it performed live.

They did play Fans, Pyro, The Immortals, Back Down South, Temple, Use Somebody, Sex on Fire, Molly's Chambers and many others. The two-plus hours they played seemed more like fifteen minutes . . . and I could’ve stayed and listened to them all night long. 

Those Followill boys didn’t disappoint in any way. The music was fantastic, their interaction on stage was a sight to behold . . . it was worth every penny we paid to sit right up front, just to be able to see their expressions, and the occasional smile that crossed Caleb’s face.

I also have to admit, there was a while before KoL came onstage that I held my breath. I told Frank that if there was any concert I really hoped lived up to my expectations, it was this one. I hoped all the band members were healthy, and professional. They were. And then some.  

As a budding musician, guitar player, and newly-minted band member, I hoped Frank saw and appreciated the amount of work goes into being THAT good. I think he did.

Another thing Frank and I talk about whenever we go to Red Rocks is how it must feel to play there as a band. It is rare that a band takes the stage and DOESN’T say that playing at Red Rocks was a life-long dream. Most look around, at the rocks, the scenery, and the audience with awe in their eyes and voices. A few have gotten emotional, the whole experience bringing them to tears. I always say to Frank, “can you imagine what it must feel like to be on this stage and hear the entire Red Rocks audience sing your music back to you?” Yeah, I’d get pretty emotional too, if I were them . . . cause I get emotional just watching them. 

The concert was everything I hoped it would be and more. We met some great people that night; we danced and danced and danced; we couldn’t talk on the way home because our voices were long since gone from singing and screaming and cheering . . . and our faces hurt from smiling so much. 

A day or so after the concert I posted something about how I hoped one day my books would be made into movies, if only for the soundtrack. I can tell you, they’d have to be BIG budget movies . . . cause I’d insist there be at least one KoL song used in each one of them. 

Is it Evil or the Best Thing that Ever Happened?

I belong to a couple of writer’s groups, and there is one in particular that I get a daily (hourly, minutely) email thread update from whenever someone posts a comment. That in and of itself annoys the crap out of me, and there is no “make it daily or weekly” option. It's all in, or all off. I've learned to use the delete button liberally.

HOWEVER, today there is a thread that is baffling me. It is about what they’re referring to as the "evil big A company," and a boycott of it. 

Amazon has done more for the book industry, and authors, than any other company, entity, or PUBLISHER . . . EVER.

Amazon has made it possible for me as a writer, to bring you my books myself. Not just ebooks, paperbacks too. And the other thing it has allowed me to do, is sell those books MYSELF to independent book stores, who can carry it quickly and easily. I don’t have to worry about how long it might take them to get the books through their normal distribution chains, and a myriad of other issues that come into play with a distribution channel that can be described as archaic at best.

And traditional publishing? What does that even mean anymore? To me, and many other authors, it means that even if you do get a book deal, you still have to do much of the marketing for your book or books yourself. And they get the lion’s share of the profits for those books.

Until such time as you are a mega-best-selling author who NEEDS a big publisher to allow you to go mass market, there isn’t a lot of benefit to smaller authors. The wheels of publishing turn painfully slowly. Excruciatingly slowly. Mind-bogglingly slowly. In the meantime there are hundreds if not thousands of really good books written. There are also books written that are crap. It’s up to the readers to differentiate. I’ve read plenty of mass market, traditionally published mass market books that have been utter crap.

Here is the other thing, Amazon allows authors to make some money from their books. The perception is that if you’ve got an agent, and/or a publisher, you’re making big bucks. What you’re really making is pennies on the dollar, because the rest of that dollar goes to feed the publisher and their NYC address, and/or the agent, and the book distributor, oh, and with paperbacks, the book printer . . . leaving next to nothing for the author. 

Amazon does away with the majority of that. There is much Amazon cannot do for an author. They can’t negotiate deals, get books in front of publishers, or developers based on years-long relationships . . . but there is so much more they can do. 

Writing a book(s) is one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. It is also one of the most rewarding. Selling those books is far more difficult than writing them. If I believed based on years of experience, that my only hope for getting my books to the masses would be to get a big publisher to pick it up, then I would be working diligently to make it happen. That doesn’t mean it ever would, it just means that is where I would base my concentrated efforts.

Instead, I’ve read books, articles, and blogs, attended webinars, listened and listened and listened, and what I’ve learned is that you have to work your ass off as an author to promote your book. Period. Big publisher or no publisher. You have to get in the trenches, pound the pavement, burn up social media in a way that is effective . . . YOU. 

So boycott the evil big A? Not me. To me that would be the same as saying I’m not going to read J.K. Rowling’s books because . . . the reason doesn’t matter. J.K. Rowling, like her books or not, inspired an entire generation (my son’s generation) to read voraciously. Her books inspired them to line up at midnight for the next book’s release, something that I hadn’t seen or heard of as it relates to that generation. 

Others in that YA category have picked up the gauntlet and continued what she started, but to say you’d boycott her books . . . or say you’d boycott a distribution channel who has revolutionized the way readers read books, and gotten books in front of billions more people is as short-sighted as I can imagine for an author or a reader. 

I feel the same way about iTunes. Good Lord, iTunes changed the way I listen to music, and as a music fanatic, it changed my life. So would I boycott them because it isn’t what I might think of as a traditional way to buy music? Not a chance in hell. What iTunes has done to the independent music stores is beyond sad, but Amazon has not necessarily done the same thing to independent bookstores. It has hurt them, certainly, but in adding READERS, it hasn’t hurt them in the same way. 

The new news is in distribution. Self-publishing used to be a sad thing. Oh, how sad, she had to self-publish. Amazon has made it possible for me to self-publish and hold my head up high about it. It allows me to drive to my local bookstore, which I LOVE, and sell them my books so they in turn can sell them to you. It even allows me to self-publish and then make my book available to the big distributors . . . something that even two years ago was unheard of. 

Clearly I have a strong opinion about this. The group with the email thread is having a conference this month, that I am attending. As I always do, I will sit and listen. It is unlikely that I will share my opinions because I am new to this group and never go into anything thinking I know more than those who have been doing something years long than I have. I’ll even listen to see if there are things in my beliefs about publishing that I’m wrong about. But in the meantime, I am shaking my head.

Linger: Today More Than Last Night

I had a very long day yesterday, so when I arrived home after almost twelve hours, I was surprised to see the package sitting on my desk that I had all but forgotten was due to arrive.

I hurriedly opened it, so excited to see what was inside. There, in my hands, was the proof copy of LINGER, the first book I wrote, the book closest to me personally. Tears pooled; my heartbeat sped. To be honest, I didn't think this book would necessarily ever be published, but there it was, with my husband's beautiful cover design, and all 80,000 of my words inside.

I marveled, I cried some more. I opened it and read random pages. All the while, barely able to breathe.

When I woke this morning, there it was still, sitting on my nightstand. I picked it up, and looked through it again. I looked at the front cover, and the spine, and the back cover. Again, tears. Even more than last night. 

I called my friend Tommie and asked her if she was at the bookstore she owns today. She said she would be there this afternoon. She asked if I needed to stop by, and I told her it was more that I wanted to. You see, she was one of the first readers of LINGER. Her opinion and counsel meant so much to me. I want her to be one of the first to see it. It may seem silly to her, but this is more for me than for her.

Another friend, Vicki, stopped by. When I see Vicki's number appear on the called ID, when I know she is reading one of my books, I can predict with certainty, that when I answer, I will hear the sound of tears in her voice. Because she cries at everything, and especially everything I write. They're not always sad tears, sometimes they're happy ones.

When she held LINGER in her hands, I saw her eyes fill with tears. Just as mind had. Can you imagine how that made me feel as an author? Indescribable.

The other thing Vicki and I did, was enter LINGER in the Pikes Peak Writers Zebulon contest. This is the first book I've entered in this particular writer's contest, and the first contest I've entered LINGER. The fact that I entered it the morning after I received the author's proof is significant to me.

Today I am feeling the emotional significance of this book even more. I cry randomly. I'm not working today. In fact, in a few minutes Frank and I will leave for Denver, where we'll spend the day together before going to Red Rocks in Morrison, for the Kings of Leon concert. It will be a very special night, complete with early access, VIP passes and fourth row seats. We love all three of the bands performing tonight, KONGOS, Young the Giant, and those heart-wrenchingly, swoon-worthy Followill boys. 

At each significant occurrence in the process of becoming an author that I began a little over two years ago, I have made a point of recognizing, documenting, and savoring every one. Today is extra special to me, and I'm so thankful I get to take the day off work, spend it with one of my favorite people on the planet, and . . . linger in the moment.

You’d Have to Live in a Cave

Frank and I are going to see Kings of Leon on Wednesday. You’d have to live in a cave . . . well maybe not a cave, but you’d have to not have read a single thing I’ve written on Facebook or Twitter since . . . uh, April, to miss that juicy tidbit.

So I’m pretty obsessed with them, have been since Mechanical Bull came out. Before that I liked them, but MB started the official obsession-phase.

We have seats in the second row, or the fourth row, but not further than that. In the middle. And we have parking (at Red Rocks, who knew?), and VIP passes, which get us in early, and some other stuff . . . like free drinks.

I hope not to drool when I see Caleb Followill. Or I hope he is not as hot in person as he is . . . everywhere else. And if I do drool, I hope Frank will overlook it. And not ever remind me of it, for the rest of my life. 

I’m not sleeping wonderfully these days . . . my to-do list is miles long and the minute I cross something off, the damn thing repopulates. BUT on Wednesday, to-do lists will be damned.

A Bluebird Colorado Day

When the sun is shining and the ski is blue, I want to be outside. Who doesn’t? I long to feel the breeze and sun on my face, hear birds singing and children laughing. My body begs to go for a long walk, and get my heart rate up. 

And at the same time, I want to write. Filled with guilt. About both.

At Long Last . . . Linger

A few minutes ago I received an email letting me know that LINGER is available on pre-order. The release date is October 1st. 

Linger is the first book I wrote, and the one that’s most personal. The day I sell my first copy of this book will be one of those days I will remember forever. Even thinking about it brings me to tears. 

On August 15 of 2012, I got off a plane in Denver after a visit to East Aurora. On the drive home I told Doug I was going to write a book. I’m not sure how much stock he put in that statement, but over the course of the following six weeks, he realized I was serious about it. 

We learned a lot about me as a writer, together. He’d come in to where I was writing and find me laughing out loud, or crying my eyes out, sometimes both within minutes of each other. We both found out how impossible I am to live with when I hit send on the email to the first beta reader, and how little sleep I get waiting for them to finish and tell me what they think.

The most impactful thing we learned was that I am capable of writing a book. The first six iterations of this book were not release-worthy, but after two years of writing under my belt (still a literary infant), I’m finally to the place where I'm ready to share this book with the world. 

Releasing it is terrifying, not unlike any other book I’ve released. Putting myself out there, exposing myself to the criticism that is inherent when you place your creation in the hands of others, is daunting. But here goes anyway . . . LINGER.

Pre-order Linger by clicking here.

I Wish it was Tomorrow - FOB

Frank and I have been looking forward to seeing Fall Out Boy since . . . January, when I bought the tickets. August seemed a long, long, long way off back then. We’ve waited impatiently since. With every concert we’ve gone to at Red Rocks between then and now, there has been a point in the evening when one of us says (wistfully), “Fall Out Boy is going to be so great.”

Tonight we talked about what time we wanted to leave on Tuesday. We were sad for Noah, whose mom waited to get tickets and now can’t, because its sold out. We decided what we’re going to wear, and yes . . . that may sound weird, but as a mom it’s also über cool.

Both of us, almost at the same time said, “I wish it was tomorrow.” Yes, we do. Six months and twenty-six days we’ve been waiting . . . less than forty-eight hours from now we’ll be there, at Red Rocks, in the center of the front row, dancing and singing our faces off. 

I wish it was tomorrow.

A Day

I had a day today. One of those days. It wasn’t a bad day. It was just a day that felt as though everything wasn’t lining up quite right. It started off weird because when I left the house, no one else was up yet. I don’t do well with change, evidently, given that threw me off a little.

And it’s been a long, long, long time since I put in a ten-hour day at the office. I put in plenty of ten, twelve, twenty hour days at my home office, just not in my away-office. 

And in the midst of it, I went from one thing to another, back again and then to another . . . learning new things, trying to finish things partially done, and revisiting other things I thought I never would again. None of that is unusual for me, I’ve been the wearer of many hats most of my life. It was just that not lining up thing. 

There were imaginary fires to put out, where someone yelled fire, but there really wasn’t one. Better to take a few minutes to make sure there isn’t, than have to deal with the fallout of something real.

Again, in the midst of it, one thing became apparent, and it is the reason for this blog post. I’ve worked with great people in my life, and I’ve also worked with not so greats. There was a time that I thought the place was what made people lean one way or another. In this environment, one I wasn’t completely sure of, I have found that the people make all the difference. It isn’t the place, it’s the people. 

In the course of my day, there were things I knew for sure. If I needed help, it would be there. If I needed guidance, I would find that too. And if I needed someone to go to bat for the program I facilitate, I could count on that as well. 

I feel as though I’m part of a team that was already in place when I got there, which no matter what kind of a day you’re having, makes facing the next day something to smile about. 

Was that Chicago?

I don’t think I’ve ever written a bad review of a concert. Almost always there is something redeeming. This will be my first.

Last night we went to see REO Speedwagon and Chicago at Red Rocks. Neither were bands I really ever got into, but with REO Speedwagon enough of their popular music played on the radio back when I was in junior high school, that I knew it. As for Chicago, it was another one of those bands that was nearly impossible not to know. When I looked through their set lists from previous concerts, I knew at least 80 percent of the songs.

I’ll start with REO Speedwagon. They were great. High energy performance; their songs sounded like their songs. They were fun, they engaged the audience, and I could’ve listened to them play another hour, at least.

I cannot say the same thing about Chicago. In fact, we left after a half dozen songs. The first thing I noticed when they came on stage was that no one was old enough to be Chicago. A few minutes later, the horn section came out, and those were the only guys I recognized. When they started to play the first song, I was incredulous. The so-called lead singer was so bad, and I mean so bad. He was horribly off-key, and kept pointing to his earpiece. I can only assume that meant it wasn’t working (or something), and he couldn't hear how horrible he sounded.

I hoped it might get better. It didn’t. When they continued to massacre songs I grew up with, I sat and hoped my two fellow concert-goers were hearing the same thing I was, and  might want to leave. I think it was one more song before we all fessed up that we were enjoying it equally, meaning not at all. 

We weren’t alone. People were leaving in droves. And the weather was perfect. So no one can say there was any other reason except the band being really bad.

The thing I’m most disappointed about is that I feel cheated. I feel as though someone sometime somewhere should’ve made it known that 75 percent of the band wasn’t original, or even close to original. I felt as though I was in Las Vegas watching a really bad Chicago cover band. 

The tickets weren’t cheap, even at face value. I sympathize with those who paid scalper prices for this sold out show. I’d be really mad had I gone that route. 

I haven’t posted an official review anywhere, but I plan to. I don’t know how many dates they have left on this tour, but I feel as though future concert-goers should at least be warned. I can’t say whether I still would’ve gone or not. Probably not, especially if I’d read a review that said it was bad.  

My next Red Rocks experience is Tuesday. And we’re seeing Fall Out Boy. And no matter what, that show will be amazing. So I will cleanse this bad experience through writing about it, and move on. 

She Scared Amos Lee

Last night Frank and I went to see ZZ Ward and Amos Lee at Red Rocks. She opened for him. It’s the second time we’ve seen her, the first was last December with Great Big World and the Fray. 

We were as impressed as hell in December, and honestly, we were looking forward to seeing her more than we were Amos Lee. She didn’t disappoint. We were in the fourth row, dead center. And from there, the sound wasn’t great. We heard more of the lead guitar than her voice, which was all sound system because her voice is a force to be reckoned with. The sound did get better as the show went on. 

There we were, dead front and center, and among the only two people standing up, dancing and singing along to every song. If you haven’t heard her music, take the time to listen. She is badass. No other word for it. 

Her dad came out and played harmonica on one song. Sweet, and cool, and special. Clearly the two are exceedingly proud of one another—the way it should be. 

In between her performance and Amos Lee taking the stage, Frank and I went down to the merch booth, and met her. We talked for a couple of minutes, took photos with her. I mentioned we were the two in the front . . . she told me she knew who we were. Which made us laugh and get a little embarrassed. Not that she probably meant it in a bad way.

We missed Amos Lee’s opening number, one of my favorite songs of his, but meeting her was more important at the time. While on stage, she told a story of meeting Amos Lee at his merch booth seven years prior. And now, there she was, opening for him at Red Rocks. Couldn’t help but think how cool it would be for Frank to one day say that about her. It isn’t exactly his dream, I mean, it’s probably a dream. He plays guitar, sings and writes songs all the time, he just hasn’t done anything to put a band together . . . 

So back to Amos Lee, but the segue works . . . he was a school teacher. And a self-proclaimed nerd. He used to play guitar and sing, but never in front of anyone. He said he’d go sit on a rooftop in South Carolina and play. Only one guy ever came and listened, or he only let one guy—who was nerdier than he was, so it was okay. It took him several years to be confident enough to play in front of people. He went to an open mic night, and the reaction he got that night was enough to convince him he should quit his day job.

Listening to him last night I wondered how it was that so many years went by without anyone hearing that voice. He is incredibly, remarkably, extraordinarily talented. How did anyone miss that? 

I have to be honest, I never thought much about Amos Lee. I like his music. Thought it was pretty good, certain songs I liked . . . but DAMN, last night changed all that. Often the way it is when fate puts you in the path of someone or something you hadn’t yet discovered only for you to be dumbfounded by how clueless you were to something so amazing for so long.

In the middle of his set, he thanked ZZ Ward. He said they stood and watched and listened to her, and then he said they were a little scared to follow her. I would’ve been too. I know this, without question, it won’t be long before she’s the headliner. All over the world.

Post-Vacation Vortex

I am spinning in the post-vacation vortex. Two months of work I wish was already done swirls in my brain. But, the price paid, and the fun we had, is worth the state I find myself in today, this week, for the next three weeks—at least. 

What I want to do more than anything is write. No different than any other day, or any other week of my life. Looking at my calendar, I have no idea when writing will fit in again. Perhaps over the weekend, when I can do it guilt-free, thus be more productive when I’m thinking about everything I should be doing rather than thinking about the story.

The boys are off camping. Next week Frank goes to Eagle Lake, and POOF! summer is gone, they’re back in school, and my life goes from a calendar that shows empty days to one where every day is jam-packed full of more things than can possibly be accomplished. 

But again, the time away was blissful, restful, wonderful. I wouldn’t trade it for anything, even having everything on my to-do list marked off.  

Politics

I make an effort to write only positive things on my blog, mainly because when weeks, or months, or years go by and I go back and read old posts where I’ve complained about something, I can’t remember what I was upset about. And then it bums me out that I reminded myself of something I wanted to forget.

I’ve got a situation now that really bums me out. And I’m at a loss as to what to do about it. It involves office politics, which I have always sucked at. There is a person I have to work with every so often, and run into every so often, that clearly detests me. And when I say detests me, I mean she won’t speak to me unless there are witnesses to our exchange. If I say hello to her, she glares at me, doesn’t speak, and keeps walking. Each time it happens I am dumbfounded as to how one human being can treat another human being so abhorrently. 

The biggest issue I have, is I have no idea why she feels strongly enough to bother. I mean, there are plenty of people I don’t like, but I can muster up a hello, or even a wave. To act the way she does, clearly indicates her feelings are beyond simply not caring for my face. 

We work together seldom, but we do work together. And in the weeks and months to come, we’ll work together more. 

Yesterday I posted something on FB about remembering that my life is good, and not everyone’s is. I don’t know much about this person’s circumstances, but I want to be empathetic and try to understand where the behavior is coming from. When it comes to my kids and my husband, I learned a long time ago that often it isn’t the behavior that is concerning, it is the motivation behind the behavior. I wish I understood this individual’s motivation.

It is the singular thing that makes my life unpleasant. Otherwise, I love the various things I do, and I am thankful every day to get to do them. If you happen to read this blog post and have any suggestions, words of wisdom for me, I welcome them. Sometimes I get too close to a situation and can’t see the forest for the trees. 

Community

Doug had the opening to his show, Fiddlesticks, at Wisdom Tea House last night. We weren’t sure what kind of turnout to expect, but even in our dreams we couldn’t have predicted last night’s. So many friends from our little town came out to support Doug, as well as some folks we didn’t know. 

He sold fifteen original pieces of art, which quite honestly, is huge for an opening. At least in our experience.

One of Frank’s friends, who is an artist himself, came and talked to Doug for at least a half an hour. Actually, he listened to Doug for at least a half an hour. And if you know Doug, you know he isn’t a big talker. At one point I overheard him tell someone, “I’m doing some mentoring.”

The economy has been especially hard on artists, as you can imagine. The phrase starving artist is based on fact. 

As his biggest supporter, number-one fan, etc., I was thrilled to see him in his element, surrounded by people who care about me, yes, but also care about him. He is not as social as I am, and sometimes forgets how many friends he has, and how well-liked and respected he is.

I write often about how much I love this community. We’ve lived here for almost eight years, but it seems much longer.  

John Jolly

Frank and I went to the Elizabeth Stampede last Saturday for the first time. As far as rodeos go, it’s one of the best I’ve ever been to. Next year I’ll plan to spend more time looking at the vendor booths (and bring more cash with me). 

My friend Mollie and her family came with us, and that made it even more fun. Because we had to pick up two extra tickets, we didn’t all sit together, but at least we were in the same section, just a few rows apart. Frank and Mollie’s daughter, Emma, went and sat in the lower seats and I joined them. 

There was a man sitting next to me who appeared to be in his seventies, maybe older. He had a program and hurriedly made notes on it during each event. The two people sitting behind him were asking him questions about the rodeo, his life, etc., and I overheard part of their conversation.

As it turned out, I was sitting next to John Jolly, who was in his rodeo hey day in 1937. He was an all-around cowboy, and competed in every event except barrel racing because, as he told me, he “couldn’t pass the physical.” That night, his granddaughter, Katie, was competing in barrel racing so, “at least they let someone in the family in.” She knocked one can over, so her score wasn’t great, but her ride was. 

Mr. Jolly talked about his life and rodeo experiences the entire night, but always paused when something was happening in the arena so we could watch, and he could take down his notes, which were extensive. 

At one point Mr. Jolly turned to me and said, “I can tell you love this, the evening has been made much better for talking with you.” I told him I did love it, and in fact, I wrote books in which the characters have been barrel racers and bronc riders and even bull riders. “I didn’t do too well as a bull rider,” he told me. “Damn things always bucked me off.”   

The couple behind me asked about my books and whether they were written for children. “Uh no,” Frank answered for me. We talked more, the woman asked for the name of my books, and after a minute or two, she showed me her phone and she ordered And Then You Fall while we were sitting there. 

If you’ve never been to the Elizabeth Stampede, I highly recommend you go if you have the chance. It is a great rodeo, one that PRCA has named Best Small Town Rodeo, several years. The town of Elizabeth is one I want to explore more. 

I hope when we go next year, I run into Mr. Jolly again. When I write the next book in the Crested Butte series, I’ll write someone just like him into the storyline.

Mowglis Last Night

We went to see the Mowglis at the Black Sheep last night. It’s the second time we’ve seen them. They’re a great band to see live, and based on the three new songs they played last night, their new album is going to equal their first. 

It seemed as though there were a couple band members missing since the last time we saw them, but their energy level was as high, the music as good (or better), and judging by the crowd, the show was as much or more fun than the first we saw last year.

I am typically among the oldest people at these types of shows, however, I do not sit off on the side on the benches (or in last night’s case, stand on the benches). I’m right in there with Frank, or whoever I go to concerts with, dancing and singing my face off. 

One benefit of being my age (over 21 that is), at these shows is there is often no line at the bar, and sometimes if you get really lucky, one of the band members is standing there getting a drink the same time you are, and you're the only one who recognizes them. If the timing is right, I offer to buy them a drink, which usually ends with a photo or two with them, along with a very nice conversation, and much appreciation. Because, quite honestly, I’m probably one of the few who does recognize them AND is over 21, so someone buying them a drink doesn’t happen that often. Also, these types of bands, playing small venues, often aren’t raking in the dough. So again, someone buying them a drink is appreciated from that perspective as well. 

This is a big week for us for concerts. Tomorrow night is John Butler Trio at Red Rocks. I’m still on the fence about that one. Saturday is rodeo (not a concert but . . .), Sunday is the Fray at Red Rocks, and next Saturday we have VIP tickets to see OAR at Red Rocks, which means a meet and greet. I’m exhausted thinking about it, only because I didn’t get much sleep last night. By tomorrow, I’m sure I’ll be rarin’ to go again. Frank and I judge the success of a concert by whether or not we have a voice at the end of the night, and whether or not we danced our faces off . . . and I’m sure the next few concerts will be among the best we’ve ever seen.

He Used to Love to Read

Saying my son “used to love to read,” is difficult, particularly considering I’m a writer. I’ve had conversations with people about this. Frank loved to read until he entered whatever grade it was that Lit Logs were introduced. Reading went from something he did for himself, to homework. When he was required to read for a half hour every night and record the pages he read, he stopped reading for an hour or two when he felt like it, and instead, fulfilled the requirement. 

You may be able to ascertain I am not a proponent of Lit Logs. The premise is it will turn our children into people who love to read. I don’t love much of anything I’m required to do. When you take the choice away, sometimes the fun goes with it too. I can tell you, his teachers may not appreciate this, but I am not forcing Beckett to read. He reads because he loves it. And if he happens to read a half an hour every night (he reads far more than that), and happens to fill out his log, great. If not, I’ll deal with whatever the repercussions are.

Last week Frank and I reviewed his summer requirements for AP Euro. He has to read one book from the suggested reading list and answer six journal questions about the book. Each question requires a two-page answer. He went to the library to reserve his top two choices, and found he was on the waiting list for both, and he was twelfth in line. I told him instead I would download the books and he could read them on his iPad. I set up a Kindle account for him with a lingering hope that once he started reading electronically, he may be more open to finding books he’s interested in reading.

While we were in Santa Fe, Doug and I went out for dinner one of the nights by ourselves. When we came back to the hotel room, Frank said, “Uh, mom, I downloaded a couple books, I hope that’s okay.” Inside I was jumping for joy. Outside, I simply said, “Of course it’s okay.”

One of the books he downloaded was the Fault in Our Stars. He started it Sunday night, and finished it last night. Yesterday afternoon when I came home from a few hours at the academy, he hadn’t done the two or three simple chores he has to do each day. I asked him to do them, and then we ran a couple of errands. When we got home he seemed agitated. When I asked what was up he said, “M-o-o-o-m, I just want to be done so I can READ.” More jumping for joy on the inside.

Within minutes he was released from his servitude and disappeared until dinner time. When he came up to eat he said “I’m so mad. This book is so sad.” Yes, I thought, books can be like that. They’ll stir up emotions you don’t necessarily want them to, and if he’s anything like me, he’ll get so immersed in it that he’ll feel it for hours, maybe even days.

After dinner he disappeared again only to return an hour or so later. “It was so sad,” he said over and over, rubbing his face. It was clear he’d been crying but was trying very hard not to let on he had been. He went into the laundry room and discovered that I had put his favorite new shirt in the dryer, and ruined it. He came back out, put it on and it had shrunk to to the point it would no longer fit him. He chastised me for it, I apologized. A few minutes later I got up to see where he’d gone and found him stretched out on the floor in the hallway, face buried in his crossed arms.

“It’s just too much,” he said. “The book, the shirt it’s just too much.” Yes, I thought again. And isn’t that the beauty of reading? Being so powerfully moved by a book that all you can do is bury your head in your hands and absorb it, and it is so impactful that it heightens your emotions in regard to other things happening in your life. It’s magic, when a book can do that to you. Magic.

Today I opened the second book in the East Aurora series, which I haven’t looked at in months. Reading through a couple of random pages, I remembered how this book makes me feel. Not just the book, but the series. It’s magic. I’m thankful every day that I allowed myself, forced myself, to sit down and write. Hard to believe the anniversary of that day is approaching the second year mark. In that time I’ve written four books, with two more very close to being finished. I have four more ready to write. 

Yesterday afternoon I had a conversation with someone about the third book in the Crested Butte series, And Then You Kiss. When I asked her about a specific part of the book, she started to cry. “It was moving,” she said through her tears. And I started to cry too, remembering how I felt when I wrote it. Magic, for me and for her, that days, weeks, and sometimes months later, recalling a particular scene in a book can bring you back to the tears, back to the emotion. Magic.

Too Long Gone

I haven’t posted anything here since mid-March, and there are many reasons I haven’t, lack of something to say hasn’t been one of them.

Transition is the main reason. Taking on the contract at the Air Force Academy has been a challenge to get used to. Fitting in the classes and events, trying to feel my way around a program that was developed by someone else, who left none of their materials when their contract ended, even though they were bound to by the terms of the contract. It has been a good and bad thing. Bad in that I had to fly by the seat of my pants; good that some of the materials I had written for the previous contractor, and also, this is my field, it isn’t as though I haven’t been teaching this subject for the two years I was away from the academy.

There have been other transitions. I haven’t been able, or haven’t had the desire to commit myself to an organization on whose board I serve. My interest and belief in the leadership of the organization has continued to wain to the point where I knew I had to resign. Unfortunately, my timing sucked, but that is water under the bridge at this point. Sometimes it needs to be dramatic in order to stick. It was painful getting there, but now that I am, I know it is the right decision for me.

Doug, the boys and I went to Santa Fe this weekend. It wasn’t a trip we planned, but at the last minute, we were able to use rooms that had been reserved for a girls’ trip that didn’t happen. As a result, it was an inexpensive two-day getaway for us. One we didn’t know we needed until we were in the midst of it.

I’ve heard others say that being in Santa Fe changes their perspective. I agree. The timing couldn’t have been better, and being away from my usual routine meant that I immediately hit the reset button, didn’t question my decision at all, and was able to move forward without the usual second-guessing.

This morning marks the first Tuesday that I’ll join my friend Cathy for our weekly kayak excursion on Monument lake, another thing that grounds me like nothing else except going for a long ride on a fast horse does. That will come later. I’ve been too long gone from that as well . . . which I can blame on the weather without too much of a stretch.

I’d like to think I’ll be back now, writing here on a regular basis. There are a lot of wonderful memories I miss journaling about when I am not committed to this blog. In the event I don’t get back here regularly, the thing I want to remind myself the most, is how much I love my life. Life is good. Damn good. I could ask for little more.