Summer Solstice...

Happy Summer Solstice to all.... one of my happiest days and one of my saddest.  I know, how can that be, but it's true.  It's a happy time because we have all summer in front of us -- beach days, trips, cookouts, days in Oyster Point :-)  and baseball games.  But on the sad side, the days will be getting shorter.  Well the days are always twenty-four hours long, but you know what I mean, the amount of daylight starts to wane.  I love the long sun filled warm days and the tropical feeling nights... a little humidity on a coolish breeze.   But those days seem to pass quickly... when I was younger, summers seemed endless.  

But this time of year is also very special for a different reason.  Today, I was working on the sequel to She's Not You in my office and had the window open behind me.  There was a nice cool breeze blowing in.  All of a sudden, I heard this gorgeous warbling.  What a serenade ... my pair of house wrens were back.  AND, they had built their nest right outside my window once again.  One of them came and sat right on the window and sang.  If you haven't heard them, they are small birds with large voices and many beautiful songs.  Made me smile while I wrote.  I actually turned my radio off because their songs were much more inspiring than what I was hearing on the radio.  But that's not always true... I was out running some errands, roof open, radio up and heard a song called "Crying" by the Lettermen.  I search out these groups  because their songs make me think of circumstances that I can incorporate into my stories... try it.  A wonderful love song like "Can't Take My Eyes Off of You" or "The Way You Look Tonight" transports you back to a time and place when maybe you had a first love or a lost love - listen to the words and feel...

Enjoy these priceless days because soon the cool winds will be blowing... remember days at the beach with your guy, long walks in the sand as the moon rose, sweet kisses parked by the water as a teenager... remember all these very special moments, but remember to make new ones... I certainly will be.

I'm awaiting the new contract from my next novel... it's done and we should start the development of the cover, the editing, and the joy of seeing the final product with my name on it.  It is so exciting!

Keep writing and work on digging deep to make the readers feel your joy or sadness.
Till.
Judi

Happy Father's Day

Today I think that I'll share a short story that I wrote a while ago... This is dedicated to my Dad... gone too soon.

A father’s belated gift   (Copyrighted 2014)

My younger sister had wangled a business trip from Houston to Buffalo in order to come home for Mother’s Day.  After her meetings finished on Friday, she would fly into Logan Airport where I would pick her up.  We planned to spend the weekend together with my mother.  My father had been dead for many years.

At the time of this story, the drive to Logan Airport took you right down the Southeast Expressway and through ‘The Tunnel’.  On a Friday afternoon, you were at the mercy of the traffic – it could be at a standstill for hours.  This day, I whizzed right through the city, arriving about an hour before the flight was due.

In those years, there were no restrictions on people approaching the gates.  I relaxed in a seat near the door where my sister would soon appear.  From that spot, I passed the time by watching the aircraft taking off and landing.

People milled around, waiting to board a flight leaving for Los Angeles from my sister's arrival gate.  One group stood right in front of me, an older man saying goodbye to his daughter and her family.  I tried not to eavesdrop, but something in their body language drew me to their conversation. 

 “I’ll miss you Dad.”

“I’ll miss you very much, my darling.”  He hugged his daughter tightly, closing his eyes.  He pulled back and touched her shoulder length brown hair. 

 “I really wish you would think about flying out to see us this summer.  It’s not a long trip.  You can stay a month or longer if you like.”

“I’ll think about it.”  Her father smiled a placating smile that only a parent can pull off.  I had seen that look on my own father’s face.

“Think about it, please.  We are hoping to come back for the holidays,” she added, trying to make him feel better.

“That will be wonderful.”  The sadness in his words said it all.  For him, being alone, it was a long time from May to the Christmas holidays.

An announcement to board their plane interrupted the conversation.

“Oh Dad, I hate to leave you.  Please fly out and visit us.” She hugged him, tears filling her eyes.

“I’ll think about it, my dear.  Don’t worry about me, I’m fine,” he whispered, the grief of her leaving etched in his lined face.

“We have to go.”  She kissed him, touched his cheek, and then, grabbed the hands of the children while her husband embraced the older man.  Seconds later, the family ran down the passage way, waving back to where he stood.  They were gone, the door closed, and he and I were there alone, in what felt like a total vacuum.  The life and vitality that filled the room only moments before had been sucked out.  Even I felt it.

The plane taxied away from the door.   He stood in front of the large plate glass window.  I sat behind him.  He watched for his daughter’s plane to take off; I waited for my sister’s plane to arrive, both lost in our own thoughts.

A few minutes later, the huge LA bound airplane lifted off the runway in front of us.  He knew it was her airplane.  Without thinking, he reached up his hand and touched the aircraft through the glass as the plane fought its way up, higher and higher - a final contact, the final embrace with a child as she flew away. 

In that one moment, the poignant tableau of a father trying to connect with his daughter one last time touched me so that even though he had been in my presence for all of ten minutes, his words and actions stayed with me to this day.  I often wonder if his daughter knew how much her father loved her and missed her as soon as she was out of his sight.  Did she know how much her leaving hurt him, how he couldn’t let her go, yet did?

The sorrow of the loss of my own father surfaced.  I have learned over time to keep the sadness of living without my Dad locked away.  Yet, this day, this father and daughter interchange unlocked it all.  I yearned for one last goodbye moment, like the one I had witnessed.  I hadn’t had that.  One minute he was there – the next minute he was gone. 

I wanted him to see me like this father saw his daughter, a grown woman with children of her own.  I craved to see the love on this stranger’s face for his daughter on my father’s face for me as he touched my face and hair – once more.  I wished for things I couldn’t have.

I felt like embracing this man for his unexpected show of love for his child, for touching me so deeply.  I knew that I couldn’t, that it would be intruding, and maybe embarrassing to him.  When his daughter’s airplane disappeared from sight, he turned, cleared his throat, and looked at me.  It was my chance to speak to him.

“Not easy to say goodbye,” I offered.

“Not easy at all.”

“How lucky you all are.”  I allowed my own loss to color my response.

He reached down and patted my hand.  “We are all lucky in our own way,” and he was gone.

I sat alone, waiting for my sister's plane to arrive, my thoughts staying with my father.  He had died when I was in my early twenties, yet he would always be a part of my life, of the person that I had become, of what I do, and what I pass on.  I treasure the fact that I have his eyes, his curly hair, his laugh….   I’m tall, like him.  I repeat his wise sayings to my family and friends.  He taught me to be resilient.  He gave me character.

By watching this man’s actions, I understood a little more how much a father loves his children, how much my father had loved me.  For that realization, I am eternally grateful to this stranger and his daughter.

THe End

Happy Father's Day to all!

Till,

Judi

Positive feedback...

I'm still recovering from working on campus for Alumni Weekend.  Being a Board member, I'm there all weekend and now have to tie up the loose ends of projects that we worked this year...then SUMMER vaction or as the Beach Boys say... fun all summer long!  

I met a couple of people who had read my new book, She's Not You, and the feedback was wonderful.  One man said that he had really enjoyed it and then asked a very poignent question... "How did you ever write that scene when she learns that her parents were killed?"  Here's a bit of the scene that he was speaking of...

"Jamie pulled back the curtain above her desk. She had been so intent in finding her saint that she hadn’t noticed that it had been snowing. The front lantern covered in Christmas lights showed through the snow that had turned to ‘snice’ as her parents called it.

“Looks nasty out there. Please be careful,” she said as her Mom hugged her.

“We’ll be home before you know it, honey.” And then they were gone.

...

“What? Tell me, what happened?” Jamie’s heart pounded. The ice? “Where’s Mom and Dad?”

Pita broke down sobbing, her face in her hands.

Jamie ran past Pita yelling, “Mom, Dad?” She turned at the top of the stairs, “No… no…. nooooooo.”

Pita held out her arms to her.

She didn’t want Pita’s arms; she wanted her parents. She bolted down the stairs yelling, “Mom? Dad? Please, please answer.”

She halted on the landing. Two policemen stood in the downstairs doorway, framed by the Christmas lights on the porch. Jamie’s hands shook. “No… please tell me they’re okay.”

Pita touched her shoulders. When she turned, Pita shook her head, tears streaming down her lined face.

“Take me to them, please Pita. I have to be with them,” she begged.

Jamie tore away from Pita, stumbled down the remaining stairs, and grabbed her heavy red plaid jacket hanging alone near the door. “Please take me,” she asked the policemen. She knew him. Joe, a friend of her father’s.

“It was icy, Jamie,” he said. “I’m so, so sorry, honey.”

“No… I won’t listen to this,” she cried, searching for the armholes in her jacket.

“A car hit them head on. There was nothing they could do. Your father still held your mother’s hand,” the other policeman added.

“No… no… stop saying it, it’s not true. I won’t listen,” Jamie sobbed, covering her ears. “It’s not them. You’ve made a mistake. They’re coming back to help me with my paper.” Then, as the realization of what had happened hit her, she slid to the floor, filling the house with a terrifying primal scream. Pita grabbed her up and held her close."  

There's more to the scene... the priest appears and then...

"That day had changed Jamie forever. She had lost her parents, her God and her protection. At sixteen years old, she was alone, an orphan. She felt her heart become hard as a rock as the molten rage that coursed through her cooled and solidified."

He said that it had touched him so much that he had actually cried reading it because it made him think of his son's death.  I told him that I had lost my Dad at a young age and as I wrote that scene, I had gone back in time and felt the pain of loss, the denial that he was gone, the betrayal of my God taking him from me... 

What this encounter showed me is that what my mentors had said through the years... you have to connect with your readers... is absolutely true. 

Well, the time is short and I have more writing to do, but I wanted to pass on a real example of what "touching your reader" means.  Dig deep and make those scenes real and connect to your readers.

Till,

Judi