Come Rejoicing by Liz Flaherty

I can't write today because my brother Joe died yesterday and my mind isn't working, but he wouldn't accept such an excuse for not "doing my job," so I guess I won't, either. This is old, from August of 2023, and from my personal blog, so I'm not sure it will make sense to you, but this is for him. I think he probably liked it. Thanks for being here today. - Liz

Sowing in the morning, sowing seeds of kindness,
Sowing in the noontide and the dewy eve;
Waiting for the harvest, and the time of reaping,
We shall come rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves.

I have nothing to say today. Actually, I do. I have plenty. There are times, I admit, that I wish I wrote a political column--not one where I just get political sometimes, but a real political one.

But that's not going to happen. I don't know enough--and yes, that should be a stopper--and my skin is way too thin--and wrinkled--to survive the backlash. 

So, let's just talk.

Has that moon the past few days not been the most beautiful thing? We were coming home last night and I'm almost sure I saw the man in it!

Jan and Gary Wooten

We listen to music a lot. (One of us plays it, too.) Last night we got to listen to old, familiar songs at a friend's house on Lake Manitou. Tonight, Second Saturday, we will listen at Gallery 15. One day this week, while searching out the lyrics to an old hymn, I sang "Bringing In the Sheaves" to no one in particular while I wrote. (I take the term "joyful noise" very seriously.) 

I wouldn't be me if I didn't offer advice. If you don't do lunch with friends, you should. It's so much cheaper than therapy, you can pack a boatload of memories into an hour around a table, no one cares at all about your thin and wrinkled skin, and there isn't time for grudges. (Actually, there should never be time for grudges, but that's another column where I might need to have a teeny bit of focus to offer the subject.)

Are you planning a trip? Where are you going? My idea of travel is a new place every month and Duane's is an old place every four or five years, so you can see why I'm curious. It's called traveling vicariously. Although my friend Nan and I are going to Michigan for a few days soon and it will be so much fun, I have an itch for a new place. Where do you suggest?

I love trees. Just saying. And flowers. I want some of those "naked lady" lilies, some ditch lilies, and every purple flower that grows wild. The ones in this picture were included in my birthday bouquet. The roses are long gone, but these are still brightening up my desk. Other than kids and kittens, I don't grow things well, but if I did, I'd have those lilies and purple flowers. 

We've had the windows open this week. Although, as a survivor of hundreds of hot flashes over the years, I'd never give up central air conditioning, I have enjoyed the reminder of how much I love to hear the birds. 

So that's how I'll leave this one. I hope you've seen the moon, heard the birds, and enjoyed the flowers this week. Oh, and experienced lots of joyful noises, too. Until next time, have a good week, watch out for kids walking to school and school buses stopping--that means you're supposed to stop, too--and take the detours out there; you might see something new. Thank a teacher, hug somebody, and donate to a worthy cause. It'll not only make someone else's day, but your own as well. Be nice to somebody. 

Your Heart is Listening by Liz Flaherty

 "Be gentle with your words, your heart is listening.” ― Carol 'CC' Miller

I wrote the bones of this post five years ago this week for another blog. Let me just say that I'm really sorry nothing has changed for me. I'm a little horrified that five years ago I was complaining about writing slow and ... guess what ... I'm even slower now!

The truth of it, what is really the same, is that I need a gentler time. Getting honest about it, I'm a wuss to end all wusses. I want people to be nice to each other, to care about each other, to laugh together until their stomachs hurt. To never lie or propagate other people's lies. (To keep the honesty going, it took me three tries to spell propagate correctly. But I so love words.)

No, I'm not going to talk about politics. I would, and I often do, but not on this blog. But it's politics that have made me long for the gentler time I mentioned above. It's the stream of hatred and name-calling and let's-offend-or-hurt-anyone-we-can that makes what is unarguably a hard time so much harder even than it has to be.

If you are affected--as I obviously am--by the political climate, how is it influencing your reading and writing? I'll tell you about mine, but I'd love to hear about yours, too.

My writing is already godawful slow. That has come with age for me, and I don't like it, but it's better than stopping, so I live with it and it's not getting any faster as I go along. However, I enjoy it in ways I never have before. I don't worry about pleasing an editor, although I hope I do. I don't do it for the money--which is a good thing--so speed isn't an issue. So, yeah, I just write. And enjoy. And find comfort. And gentleness. Not everyone wants comfort and gentleness in the stories they tell, but I do.

Then there's the reading. I still read new stories, but I spend more time on old ones. I just downloaded James Herriot's All Things Wise and Wonderful and have listened to Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, and Anne of Green Gables on audio while I walk each day. I've re-read some Mary Balogh Christmas stories--my favorites--and some Pamela Morsi historicals. I've re-visited Cheryl Reavis, Cheryl St. John, Kathleen Gilles Seidel, and Kristan Higgins.

2025 - I'm still doing this, although I'm also listening to many new audiobooks. I get attached to certain writers--Sarah Morgan is one--and listen to both their recent releases and their old ones. I also still have auto-buys like Nan Reinhardt, Marta Perry, and several others but admit I am becoming notoriously hard to please. 

Although this time in our lives is anything but gentle, its rendering in books is still a wondrous gift from authors to the readers who need it. I thank them all for it.

I have to admit, though, that it's just me. I realize thrillers and horror and books-with-mean-people are very popular. I'm so glad they're available and that everyone is free to choose what they want to read. They can even do it without having to say how much they hate one genre just because they prefer another one. 

So what are your preferences? Does my quest for gentleness and my nearly year round reading of Christmas books drive you crazy? Do you wish Stephen King and Lee Child could clone themselves? Is the memoir your choice? 

You know, just asking. If you answered five years ago, I won't remember. 😀

Since you're here, I have a Christmas in July special. The Dark Horse is an old favorite, available now for 99 cents. 

In THE DARK HORSE, widowed Chloe Brewton has made a life for herself in Christmas Town, Maine, teaching literature and being the drama coach at the high school. Although she’d loved her husband and their life in the army, she doesn’t really want to start over with someone else, but when she meets Major Row Welcome, in Christmas Town to spend the holiday month with relatives and decide about his future, she feels stirrings of old wishes for happily-ever-after. The attraction is mutual, although the last thing Row wants is to try marriage again, plus he’s about as interested in having a family as…well, he isn’t. But then there’s Connor Michaud and his three younger siblings. Oh, no. What now in Christmas Town? 

https://a.co/d/5vwZd7N

Lessons Learned by Liz Flaherty

I spent most of the past several days reading back over my one and only historical romance, Home to Singing Trees, which first came out in 2010 and again in 2015. I don't know why there are two publication dates listed, since it was the same publisher, but that's not why I'm talking about it. It's a fictional story that is set in a real place, with real names, and with some real events. Singing Trees farm is still in my family, although it's never had that name except in my mind.

My writing has changed some since those days. Better in some ways and worse in others. I wasn't a POV purist then and, frankly, I'm still not. I still typed with two spaces after a period. But I think the story still stands, and I hope for its re-release.

Now, for the reason I started this. I started reading romance in the 1960s, when I was in junior high and started reading teen romances. Then I used to sneak around and read my mom's True Story magazines, which I thought really were true. Then I read the Avalon romances Mom got at the library, and my love for the genre took root. 

I thought I would try to make a list of lessons learned books and authors that turned corners (sometimes to go down alleys) as a writer. I'd love to know what and who your influences were, too.

The only author name I remember from the Avalon books is Peggy O'More, who wrote a lot of books under several pseudonyms. I don't actually remember her books, but I do remember that she was funny. That was when I found out I liked funny, smart romance.

Lesson # 1: Humor.

In 7th grade, I read Gone With the Wind. I've read it several times since, but the thing that sticks out even now is that Scarlett O'Hara wasn't actually beautiful despite her 17-inch waist. She wasn't always admirable, either, but her lack of classic beauty is what stuck 

Lesson #2: Relatability in looks. 

I read a book when I was in my early 20s that to this day I don't remember either the title of or who wrote it, but I am everlastingly grateful for how she ended one chapter. Paraphrased, the cliffhanger was: She cried. And cried. And cried. 

Lesson #3: Use syntax to illustrate emotion. I suppose it's another way of saying show, don't tell. But 50 years later, I still remember that I cried with her.

I read a gazillion Harlequin Romances--didn't we all? I learned from a lot of them, and I loved the British voices, but then I read Janet Dailey and Nora Roberts. And read every release they had before the ink was dry on the pages. Later on, I quickly tired of Regency romance, but then I read Carla Kelly and Mary Balogh. I still do, all these many books later.

Lesson #4: It's all about voice.

I read the Harry Potter books, but it could have been any series that grabbed hold and didn't let go. I didn't get it, you know, what the big deal was. Why my daughter-in-law and granddaughter lined up at midnight to get the latest release.

Lesson #5: It's all about story.

Nan Reinhardt is a very close friend. We have work days together. We travel together. We read each other's stuff. She has several series with Tule Publishing that that are set in a fictional town in Southern Indiana called River's Edge. I love River's Edge.

Lesson #6: The setting is a character.

I read every word by certain authors, Kristan Higgins being one of them. I could write a book on the things I love about her books, but then there'd be a chapter somewhere in the middle about things she wrote that I didn't like and plot points that didn't work for me. There are a couple of her releases I've only read once, not going back to find the warm places I like to read over again. But even if I'd hated them, which I most definitely did not, I would still start reading her next one the day it comes out, because that's how much I love her writing.

Lesson #7: The writer needs to love her story, but once it's out in the world, it's up to the readers what they make of it. What they love and what they don't. 

There are people who write scathing, damaging reviews on books they sometimes haven't even read. I have no answer as to why they do this. Nor do I have any intent of making excuses for them. I'm going to share two of my worst reviews here just for the sake of the lesson. 

"This was such a boring read. I seriously had a hard time getting into it. Was it me or was Syd always talking to herself? And I also wished the author made it easier to keep the characters straight. Too many names at once were just too confusing. And why did the chapters have to be so long? Oh, that made the read that much more daunting. Don’t authors know that it’s easier to read shorter chapters rather than longer ones? No, they have to go with 12 REALLY LONG and ENDLESS chapters!"

"I didn't really enjoy this book. It seemed rather childish. I don't get the five star rating others gave it but if you like really dumb stories - go for it!"

Lesson #8: Nothing. Nothing at all. Just keep writing. 

What about you? What lessons have you learned?

Wine and Words by Liz Flaherty

I sold my first book in 1998. Alway Annie made its Precious Gems debut in 1999. There have been 20 since then, along with some novellas. While I don't often chase down book signings, I do a few of them every year. Sometimes they're hearteningly successful and sometimes they're...not. Sometimes I spend more money at the venue than I make from book sales. 

And sometimes they're just fun. My friend Nan Reinhardt and I had one of those this weekend. We sat in Whyte Horse Winery for several hours and didn't sell many books. We did drink some good wine, eat some good pizza, and talk to people. 

Nan Reinhardt and Liz Flaherty

The talking to people is what makes me happy. It reminds me that most people are nice, that we're more alike than we are different, that family businesses are special in a way I can't define, that the world--at least in central Indiana--is small indeed. Conversations were cluttered with the words "do you know..." and "that is so exciting." Because other people's good news is even better when it's shared.

I was reminded, as I have to be quite often, that just for fun is a good enough reason for anything you choose to do that doesn't hurt anyone else. Your bottom line isn't anyone else's business. Your friends and family aren't going to love you less on a day you sell three books than on a day you sell three dozen. You'll have those conversations to keep in your memory bank. 

Now I am reminded, once again, that while writing on life's downhill slope is different than it was on the other side, it's still just as much fun. And that's all the reason I need to keep doing it. 

Books2Read: https://books2read.com/FlahertyBlue

Amazon: https://a.co/d/eyEjPDA

What's Your Favorite? by Liz Flaherty

Let's talk about favorites. I don't use that term lightly. I have a favorite oldest kid, middle kid, and youngest kid--same with kids-in-law and the grands. (Each of the seven grands thinks she or he is my favorite and guess what--they're all right!) While I relate better to some than to others--and they to me--the love is unconditional and all its cups are full.

Not so much with books. Either the ones I've written or the ones I've read. 

My favorites from when I was a kid are Little Women and Understood Betsy. Really, they are. But then I think of the Little House books, Caddie Woodlawn, and Away Goes Sally and how they made me feel, and...no...I can't choose a favorite.

When I was in junior high and high school, I spent a lot more time reading Betty Cavanna and Janet Lambert than I did school books. Oh, and Rosamund du Jardin and Anne Emory and Elisabeth Hamilton Friermood. And every word Mary Stewart wrote. Surely among those, there is a favorite, isn't there? No, more likely 50 of them.

Then came Harlequin...and Candlelight...and Silhouette...and Loveswept...and a long list of other publishers and imprints who published books by women, about women, for women. Like most everyone here, I've read hundreds of them. I occasionally re-read Muriel Jensen's category romances and others by Betty Neels, Jenny Crusie, Nora Roberts, and Kathleen Gilles Seidel. And more. 

It is easier with my own books, although it took years for me to figure out that it was okay to have favorites. Just because they're mine doesn't mean they have to be anyone else's. One More Summer is my favorite. It took 83 days to write and 10 years to sell to a publisher. It's still sells and I still ache over the writing of it. I'm an emotional writer anyway, and that story pushed every single button.

But I have a few that share second place, and most of them are ones written about older protagonists, because I can feel where they are and who they are. One exception to that is The Happiness Pact. Like One More Summer, its story included clinical depression. But they survive and they thrive, 

A Soft Place to Fall is about family and quilting and rearranging the pieces of a long marriage gone wrong. It is another one that pushed all the buttons. I kind of think Early McGrath was me...only better. 

The truth, the ones I've chosen here--both the read and the written--are the favorites of the day. Tomorrow it will be books by Cheryl Reavis, Nan Reinhardt, and Cheryl St. John. But which ones? Hmmm...

Want to share your favorites? We'd love to see them. 

~*~*~

Early McGrath doesn't want freedom from her thirty-year marriage to Nash, but when it's forced upon her, she does the only thing she knows to do - she goes home to the Ridge to reinvent herself.

Only what is someone who's spent her life taking care of other people supposed to do when no one needs her anymore? Even as the threads of her life unravel, she finds new ones - reconnecting with the church of her childhood, building the quilt shop that has been a long-time dream, and forging a new friendship with her former husband.

The definition of freedom changes when it's combined with faith, and through it all perhaps Early and Nash can find A Soft Place to Fall.

Amazon: https://a.co/d/e0zSQ4t

Everywhere Else: https://books2read.com/u/bW57yx

We Are Family by Liz Flaherty

My friend Nan Reinhardt and I were talking after another writer posted a question on Facebook that asked about families. Most of us have different ones, don't we? They're comprised of relatives, church families, work families, even neighborhood ones. 

And writer ones.

I remember when RWA felt like a family. Although it was huge, every meeting I ever attended--no matter which chapter and whether I was a member of it or not--felt both welcoming and accepting. We talked writing, we critiqued, we held each other up--all things families do. At conferences, we talked endlessly, learned from each other, schmoozed. We met editors and agents and--oh, joy!--sometimes we got asked for a complete. Oh, and we drank, too--that was incidental, but it sure gave me an appreciation of hotel bars!

Spring Fling 2014

But my writing family has shrunk. The in-person family, I mean. While I enjoy the Facebook groups I'm a part of, I haven't been to a conference in years. Until AARP sponsors one, I probably won't. Just as I can no longer write 20-something heroines, neither do I have much in common with younger writers at conferences. Some of that is envy on my part--I miss being in that demographic, no matter how much I enjoy being the age I am now--and part of it is that I haven't kept  up with how the industry has changed. 

It's nobody's fault, but do I wish there were 50-and-over writers' conferences? You bet.

Segue here... If you want to make jokes now about things like going to bed at 9:30, charging hearing aids, making sure we know where our canes and walkers are, and carrying an arsenal of both prescription and OTC drugs, go ahead. We joke about them, too, although some or all those things are facts of our lives and they're really no big deal. 

Okay, back to the post... So, at least as far as in-person connections go, my romance writing family is mostly just Nan and me. We have work days and biannual retreats and we both count on those things. We're also long-time besties, which counts for a lot all by itself. 

Nan and Me

We've done some researching, and we think we're going to try to go to one of the smaller conferences next year and/or possibly join a retreat like this one https://michiganromancewriters.org/retreat-from-harsh-reality/. 

Jana Richards

Talk to us about your writing families. Suggest conferences and retreats. While you're at it, stop in at Word Wranglers and read Jana Richards's post on retreats. 

Every Stepping Stone @LizFlaherty

When one's mind is blank and one has a blog post due, she digs back into the deep and distant past and...okay, I went back four years. Things have changed since I wrote it; Nan and her husband live in a wonderful new house. However, most everything else still works, including the fact that the only contract I have right now is one for this year's Christmas Town novella (which I'm having so much fun writing!) I hope you don't mind reading this again. 

Sometimes the goofiest things will give you something to start with. My friend Nan Reinhardt and her husband are selling the house they've lived in for 35 years. The whole process has been...interesting. In the same way having a colonoscopy is interesting. So, anyway, we were talking this morning, and one more obstacle is out of the path. I said something about "big sigh," as in relief, and she said it was too soon for that. I said--get prepared for something profound here; it doesn't happen to me very often-- "Every stepping stone deserves its own sigh."

When it comes to books, I don't write fast--ever--anymore. Yesterday I had 600 words and called it good. A few days back, I think I had 26. Occasionally I'll get five-to-seven pages in a day and just burst with pride in myself. As someone who used to have 50-page weekends when I worked full time at the day job, this slowing down was hard to accept. I have wondered (and whined about) if it's time to put my novelist shingle in mothballs and stick to my beloved blog. 

Like all stepping stones, the ones in a writing career are hard and have a lot of distance between them. They have sharp corners, slick spots, and you stand a good chance of tumbling off into the water when you're only halfway across.

So you stick on Band-Aids, you take care on the slick spots, and you climb back out of the water and keep on walking. You're careful on your journey for a while then. You might try writing to market, to trends, to make your lyrics match the tunes of certain publishers. You skip around between sub-genres, although your heart usually leads you back to the one it lays the greatest claim to. You obsess over covers. Over reviews. Over promotion, promotion, promotion.

But then the day comes when you start that wondering-and-whining thing I mentioned up there. You've written 26 words in too many hours and they're not even particularly good ones. If, like me, you're a person who's always been proud of being productive, it's excruciating to realize that sometimes you're just...not.

I still wonder if it's time, but with the wondering comes a realization.

The thought of not writing books anymore makes me unhappy.

So I've given up being careful on the steps, no longer worried about splashes or sharp edges. Someone doesn't like protagonists in their 40s? Too bad for them. I'm not crazy about my cover? It's okay--I'll like the next one. People are tired of small-town stories? I'm not. My writing's too erotic, too sweet, my prose too purple or too terse, my POV stiffly pure or a little sloppy? Get over it and find another author, but thanks for trying one of my books.

Of course, there's a gasper, too, even in the middle of my hear-me-roar treatise on freedom: Other than a Christmas Town novella, I don't have a contract right this minute and I'm a mostly-trad author who doesn't care to go mostly-indie. I'm afraid I'll never publish another book. However, if I'm honest about it, it's exactly like when I get to that spot in the middle of a manuscript where I know I'll never be able to finish the book. It happens every time.

More stones in the path. Occasionally, I think I can see the other side, but I'll never get there. There are a bunch of old sayings about journeys and destinations, but we all know writing is all journey. We know that, while finishing the books and having them published are wonderful things, it's the writing that counts. It's what makes us happy. One stone, one step, one sigh at a time.

***

Still reeling from her divorce, Joss Murphy flees to Banjo Bend, Kentucky, where she'd been safe and happy as a child. The family farm is now a campground. Weary and discouraged, she talks owner Ezra McIntire into renting her a not-quite-ready cabin.

With PTSD keeping him company, Ez thrives on the seclusion of the campground. The redhead in Cabin Three adds suggestions to his improvement plans, urging color and vibrancy where there was none.

Neither is looking for love, yet the attraction they share is undeniable. Can the comfort of campfires, hayrides, and sweet kisses bring these two lost souls together?

Buy links:

Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/2s3rcznk

                

Barnes & Noble: https://tinyurl.com/yc7xyprw