Daily Muse Papers

Summer Reading List

2018-06-30T13:44:00.002-04:00

When I was writing my first book,Pale as the Moon (published 1999 by Coastal Carolina Press) I had a vision of who would read it. In my mind I saw a little girl at the beach. She was sitting in one of those Adirondack chairs on the deck of a beach cottage over-looking the ocean. That was because the book is set on the Outer Banks of the NC coast. Pale as the Moon is a good beach read, even some adults have confessed to reading it.

This is the season for beach-reading! I haven’t published a new book in a couple of years, but I’d like to introduce you to some friends who have released books this summer.

My friend RJ (Bob) McCarthy has just released the third book in his Tony Quarry Carolina Mystery series – Quarry Steps To. The story is set in the rural community of Sligoville where factory closures have left the residents jobless and filled with resentment. Some have turned to criminal activity including drugs.

In protecting a retired teacher from teenage vandals, Quarry then has to deal with their enraged parents. The turn toward criminality has been partially held in check by Tink Sputter, their self-anointed preacher with an Old Testament sense of justice. In turn, Sputter’s efforts are more than leveled by the vengeful Fireman Lowbridge whose weapon of choice is arson. Quarry faces the dilemma of his life – to use karate in a circumstance other than to defend himself or to help someone else, a key element of his morality. Quarry Steps To delivers an action-packed and enjoyable read. If you’ve read McCarthy’s previous books in his series, you will be reacquainted with characters you’ve met before and grown to love. I really like Russ, an over-sized Golden Retriever, who plays an important role in the action.

KF (Kay) Whatley just released her first novel, Making Corrections, this month. Kay is owner/editor of The Grey Area News, so she is a seasoned writer of non-fiction and has also had published some short stories.

In Making Corrections the main character, Carrie, didn’t believe in time travel, but she’d do anything to go back in time to when Mig was still alive – when he was still standing at her side doing yard work, running the newspaper, sleeping beside her every night.

And, so she called Mr. Braggin, expert in time travel, a strange character who taught her more than how to go back in time. This book is a love story which asks the question, “If you could go back in time and change some sad events, would you also be ready to deal with the consequences?” I recommend this heart-warming book as a pleasant and thought provoking read.

Another friend, Kim Beall, also has just published her first novel, SevenTurns. This book also crosses genres: fantasy/sifi/romance. Seven Turns is the story of recently divorced Callaghan McCarthy whose income from her best-selling book, a ghost story, is running out. So, has her inspiration for writing. In an effort to create a sequel she is bound for a ghostly bed and breakfast in a small Southern town, recommended by a new internet friend who promised she would once again find her muse within its walls. She learns there are more than ghosts residing at Vale House and finding her way around is almost as difficult as finding her way through life. As I read Seven Turns I had the feeling it was much more than an entertaining tale, but a metaphor for being lost and not knowing which way to turn after a great loss as in divorce or death of a loved one.

All three of these books are available on Amazon in print and ebook form. Take them to the beach with you – or read them from your favorite cozy reading spot. Be sure to review it on Amazon. Those reviews are like gold to an author!

When the Lights go Out

2016-06-22T11:03:00.001-04:00

It is hurricane season, which heightens the chances of going without out power for a while. I learned there are lots of things we don’t really need to survive. Well, I already knew it from countless camping trips my husband and I took with the kids when they were little and we were poor.

First of all flashlights will get you to the bathroom without stubbing your toes. And you can read by flashlight, find the potato chips and check to make sure the kids didn’t sneak out in the middle of the night.

Second, cooking on the grill or over a wood fire is fun – for three days then it’s a pain in the tail because the kids get tired of gathering deadfall.

Third, a five-gallon bucket and a toilet plunger will make a pretty good washing machine, and then there is the solar powered dryer, aka the clothesline.

There are plenty of things you can do for fun besides watch TV or hanging out on social media: board games, read, walk, play out doors, sew, paint and draw, arts and crafts, talk, tell stories, look at old pictures and photo albums, play with the cat or dog, and wash more clothes in the emergency washing machine.

Telling ghost stories is fun after dark, unless you have young and/or impressionable ones. Oh go ahead, they can sleep with you and you won’t get scared either when you hear those things going bump in the night. Big foot stories are fun, too. If its not raining and you are sitting around the campfire (don’t forget marshmallows are non-perishable and should have been in the emergency kit) the Bigfoot stories are the best fun of all. I promise you’ll hear him lurking in the shadows, he likes to eavesdrop whenever you talk about him.

When the lights go out don’t forget to wind up and set the old alarm clock – or just sleep in.

Oh, and there is making love. What a nice way to make good use of that time in the dark. Of course, if you are camping in a tent with three kids that might be a little tricky, but, not impossible.

The sun will dry your hair. Save the battery powered radio for the weather report.

Make a list of what you miss the most, and what you don’t. That might help re-evaluate your priorities later on when the lights come back on.

What is Your Idea of a Cozy Mystery?

2015-12-10T15:19:00.000-05:00

My new book, In the Garden with the Pruning Shears, is described as a cozy mystery. There are many blogs exploring the definition of a cozy mystery. It is a mystery sub-genre of the crime novel genre that usually does not have explicit sex or violence or strong language. That is the simple explanation. The sleuths are clever, sometimes bumbling characters, but usually likeable, and usually manage to get into some sort of trouble while bringing the murderer to justice. There can be a hint of romance, but never sex. Blood is kept to a minimum. Many times the murder took place prior to the beginning of the book, so there is not a witness to the violent act, not even the reader sees it happen.

Click to buy

When I think cozy mystery I visualize curling up on a winter day in a big chair, ideally in front of a fireplace, but at least in a warm and cozy spot. Perhaps in front of a sunny window, feeling like a cat, or wrapped in a snuggly throw or quilt with a cup of hot tea nearby. All is quiet and I have time to read my book without interruption. A cozy mystery can just as well be enjoyed on a summer day, perhaps in a lawn chair in a shady spot of the yard, substituting the hot tea for a tall glass of iced tea. Another image that comes to my mind is me at the beach on the porch of a little cottage with the sound of the surf in the background, a sea breeze whispering in my ear and laughing gulls swooping down to grab morsels up out of the ocean.

That’s what I think when I think cozy mystery. What about you, what’s your favorite cozy reading environment?

It Could be Worse

2015-12-01T12:17:00.004-05:00

My bathroom is under repair – so my toilet is sitting in the spare bedroom while the floor in the bathroom is being reinforced. It is an old house and I love living in it. My landlord is great about fixing things. It isn’t his fault I spent last night using a porta john set up under my carport. I decided it would be an adventure. In my younger days we did a lot of camping so it sure beat going in the woods. But, I am getting a little old for adventures of that kind. It was cold outside last night.

The whole experience reminded me of Daddy telling me the story of when he was a little boy and in winter with two feet of snow on the ground he didn’t want to go to the outhouse at night. So, he peed in an earthenware vinegar jug. He'd kept that jug, storing it on a shelf in his workshop. I told him I wanted him to leave me the jug in his will so I would have it to remember him and his story. I have the jug on a shelf in my barrister bookcase. I wrote a poem about Daddy's little vinegar jug.

Little Brown Jug

My heirloom.

Little brown jug.

Earthenware, glaze flaking,

the jug Daddy peed

in when he was a little boy.

he gave it to me

soon after he saw

Jesus in a vision.

He told me how the wind

blew snow in through the

cracks in the walls

leaving a powdery layer

on the bedcovers.

And he'd have to pee in the jug

because it was cold and dark outdoors

where the outhouse stood.

Little brown vinegar jug,

like an urn, stands protected

in my barrister bookcase.

The only grave site

I will visit. No visions of

decaying flesh does it hold.

It conjures up memories

of stories and laughter

and guitar playing.

I feel him sitting on the edge of my bed

and between strumming songs about

lonesome cowboys and dead hobos

he'd tell the stories. . .

about the time he picked the

poison mushrooms

and the time he got his head stuck

in a hollow tree

looking for a raccoon.

And it reminds me about

love and feeling safe and

rotten apple fights

between cousins and brothers.

It immortalizes a fatherhood and

the smell of gun oil and talking

adventures in the workshop.

I can recall him telling

me to clean up my messes

and to respect other folks property.

And to be good so I don't

get a piece of coal and

switches in my stocking

like Uncle Jerry did.

So, last night, or rather this morning at 2am, when I ventured out to the porta john I thought to myself, “It could be worse. At least I am not having to choose between hiking through snow to the outhouse and peeing in a jug.”

I have been promised my toilet will be reinstalled by tonight. Yay!

Getting Down to Writing

2015-11-27T06:24:00.000-05:00

Writing distraction in my front yard

I live in a writer’s retreat. Really, I do. I rent a house located on a 200 acre farm with woods on two sides, a cow pasture in front and a little field and a pond out back. Every window has a pretty view. My writing desk faces a wall of windows overlooking the pasture and woodlands. Deer, fox, coyote, ground hogs, squirrels and an occasional raccoon parade through my front yard on a regular basis.

I should be a lot more prolific a writer than I am with a set up like this. I just finished reading Nancy Peacock’s A Broom of One’s Ownand have some satisfaction in reading I am not alone. She says it is not the exterior writing place that has to be just right, but the interior place. That is the truth. I lack of self-discipline and my mind is all over the place most of the time. I tried, and succeeded for about two weeks, to force myself to write 2,000 words a day. Then I went back and read those words and realized they were drivel.

When writing non-fiction I can outline and plan and I have never missed a deadline. Fiction is another story – it can take me years to finish a novel, even the ones for children. Pale as the Moon took about five years. Of course, I wasn’t writing those five years. I kept pushing it to the back burner while I took up other projects. I was running my own business, divorced and raising a grandchild, so writing was part time. That was my excuse to myself.

Now, I live alone, and quite happily. I have a part-time job that I love. A quiet, beautiful environment where my distractions are few, except for watching wild life in my front yard and the calves playing in the pasture.

So, it is my interior that is cluttered and messy, not my exterior. I really have a hard time settling down to write, even though I love writing. It was the same way with horseback riding when I ran the stable. I loved riding, but just had a hard time breaking away from the distractions and getting ready to ride.

Now I am sixty-nine and have this feeling of the sands of time running way too fast through the hour glass. I don’t know if I have time to take my time writing a novel. Nancy talked about dying before finishing a book means the characters die, too. That probably doesn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things. But, still, I think about it.

That whole thing of time running out is why I am drawn to self-publishing. It seems a lot of time can be wasted on querying and waiting for rejections over and over in an attempt to finding a traditional publisher. My latest release, In the Garden with the Pruning Shears, is self-published for that reason. That, and not wanting to be held to a contract saying I have to write more cozy mysteries in a certain frame of time. I didn’t think I’d want to write a series, although after declaring that to my writers group I am about one third into a second Olivia and Gail caper.

Writing is how I’d like to make my living. So, far, it is a small supplement to my part-time job and my social security check. This year has been a good one. I sold and wrote the fourth in my series of equine books, The Book of Donkeys. It will be released in April. And I released my first cozy mystery, In the Garden with the Pruning Shears.

Now I am feeling the “what’s next” pressure. If I can pull some things off their back burners I’ll be fine. Soon as that deer is out of sight. I have to take time to watch the critters.

Non-Traditional Places to have a Book Event

2015-11-15T16:59:00.001-05:00

I joined an on-line discussion on book signings recently. It reminded me that some of my most successful book events were held in venues other than book stores. I’ve read and signed in coffee shops, a restaurant, a university, tack shops (horse supplies and riding attire), feed stores, elementary schools, and art galleries.

My writing journey began in 1999 when my first children’s historical fiction novel was published by Coastal Carolina Press. CCP was great in that they set up several book events for me, some in book stores and others in less traditional places including a university, where I was part of a panel of authors speaking to a large group. It was so scary!

Schools are one of my favorite venues for signing my children’s historical fiction books. I visit schools and do programs about the history of North Carolina’s wild horses and colonial history as both are the inspiration for Pale as the Moon, Bear Song, and An Independent Spirit.

When my series of horse books with The Lyons Press came out one by one, I had book signings in tack shops and feed stores in addition to the usual bookstores. When promoting The Book of Mules the cover-girl-mule, Sadie Mae, joined me and even “signed” books with a rubber stamp of a horseshoe and her name.

My book launch for Puddin’ Tain, a children’s horse story, was held in a local restaurant. The owner didn’t charge a commission and guests bought their own food. All I had to do was show up with my books. It turned out to be a lot of fun and I sold books.

My latest book launch was for In the Garden with the Pruning Shears, my first cozy murder mystery. It was held at my county arts council’s art gallery. I teamed up with another writer and good friend. She was releasing a book of poems. We figured since the two of us were promoting very different kinds of books we’d draw more people and hopefully they’d buy both books. We served refreshments and gave away door prizes. It worked like a charm.

Think outside the box when planning a book signing. Depending on your book’s subject, there are all sorts of places to have a book event. Gift shops, coffee houses, cafes, schools, or community buildings can be excellent locations to hold a book event. Did you write a cookbook – then a grocery store might be the ideal place to kick it off. Maybe the murder weapon in your mystery was a hammer or you wrote a how-to book - have a signing in a hardware store.

Often the venue owner will not charge a commission on sold books. They are happy for the new traffic and PR your event creates. If they do charge a commission it is often less that the 40% usually required by bookstores. Get terms clarified before the event. The downside is you will have to bring your books. The Independent publisher/writer will usually have to bring their own books at bookstore signings, too. Some venues provide refreshments, but most of the time you will have to do that on your own. In the case of coffee shops or restaurants people buy their own food.

You will be responsible for your own PR. Send press releases to area news media, send out post cards, and email invitations and make good use of your social media outlets.

Make if fun. Do readings and have a drawing for door prizes. Folks love free stuff so give away some freebies like book marks, pens, and the like. When I did a signing of one of my children’s books at a mall gift shop the owner provided free colorful plastic horses to all who stopped by. Folks like free stuff. Be sure your bookmarks have all your contact info, website and Amazon link so even if someone doesn’t buy your book on the spot they can find it for purchase later. Print out coloring pages from one of your book’s illustrations for kids.

Provide some entertainment – if you sing or play an instrument do a short performance. If you are not musically inclined, then ask a friend to help you out. Having Sadie Mae along for my mule book signings added a fun element to those events. Sadie is the sweetest mule ever. She let folks pet her and little kids sit in the saddle, which she tolerated very patiently. If animals are involved be sure they are suited for the unexpected and are very good tempered. Have the owner supervising.

I find book events are not so much about selling a ton of books as they are a way to introduce yourself and your writing to the community and just celebrating the hard work that led to be published – whether traditionally or independently. But, I have been fortunate to have sold enough books at most of my unique book events to have made the day worthwhile.

Have you had a book signing in a unique venue? Or have you attended one? Share your experience with us in the comments section.

In the Garden with the Pruning Shears

2015-10-22T09:23:00.004-04:00

I’ve just released my first novel for grownups! Yes, I do have four books written for the 18+ readership, but those are non-fiction horse books. In the fiction genre I have previously written for kids. You can visit my website www.donnacampbellsmith.comand see all about the horse books and the kid’s fiction.

I’ve been a fan of mystery stories since I was a little girl and found my mother’s box of Campfire Girls books. My Aunt Myrtle introduced me to the Beverly Gray mysteries by Clair Blank when she gave me some for a Christmas gift. I grew up and read Agatha Christie, Mary Roberts Rhineheart, Mary Higgins Clark, and I absolutely love the “Cat Who. . . “ books by Lilian Jackson Braun. So, I don’t know why it has taken so long for me to write my own cozy mystery novel, In the Garden with the Pruning Shears.

Click to order book

I did not start out with the intention to write a mystery novel. In fact, it all started with a writing prompt on a writers’ forum: The Writers BBS. The prompt was “crime of passion.” I wrote what eventually became the first pages of my now novel. That was years ago. One day I was just scrolling through old files in my computer looking for ideas. I stopped and read the prompt. I thought, “Maybe I can write a short story around this.”

Ten thousand words later I realized I’d gone way past short story. I was apparently writing a book! I started reading the chapters to my writer’s group. They were very encouraging and seemed to enjoy what I was writing. By the time I’d gotten half way through I realized my method of letting the story take me along, just writing until I got to the end, was not going to work with a mystery. I had to plan it, plot it, OUTLINE IT. I HATE to outline, although with four non-fiction books to my credit, I do know how to do it. So, I stopped mid-book and started plotting, figuring out who did it, how the girls would find out, and what trouble they’d get into along the way. I started writing again, and with an idea of where I was going it went a little faster.

I was sure Crime of Passion had to have been used as a book title already. A quick search on Amazon proved me right. I had to come up with an original title. In addition to being a mystery book fan I also love the board game Clue. I thought it would be fun to have a Clue-like title that would let book browser know it was a mystery novel. I played around with several ideas before settling on In the Garden with the Pruning Shears.

Since I planned to publish the novel myself, my next job was that of cover designer. I found a picture from a stock agency I liked. I bought it, played around with making it look more like art that the original photograph. I was right proud of the results.

Meanwhile I attended a mini retreat with a successful romance writer and Independent publisher as hostess (Tammy Falkner). Tammy also spoke at our spring writers retreat. I’ve learn so much from her and I trust her advice. So, when she suggested my cover looked more like it belonged in the horror genre than cozy mystery I listened. She even went so far as to design a cover for me. I’d already ordered a box of books with my cover. “What do I do with these books?” I asked. “Give them away for review ARCs,” she said. It took me a few to figure out that meant Amazon Review Copies. I’m new at this.

So, after many months of trial and error I have my first cozy mystery available for purchase. Hey, if you order a copy from Amazon and want my signature just send me your mailing address and I will send you a signed book plate: donnacampbellsmith@gmail.com. BTW, both covers are still visible on Amazon. I am going to have to take time and figure out how to get it corrected. But, if you order you’ll get the new cover and the contents are the same with either one anyway. Oh, and if you like it, please write a review.

I told myself I wasn’t going to write another Olivia and Gail book. But, guess what, I am well into my second one. I did my plotting and planning first, so I expect the first draft to go faster and easier. The title is In the Library with the Dictionary.if you like Books by Donna Campbell Smith on Facebook you will be first to know what I am up to writing-wise.

She Speaks to the Woman Within

2015-05-09T08:15:00.000-04:00

My friend Jackie Dove-Miller is a poet and a spoken word artist. She writes about things that matter to women. She gets into the heart and soul of what women feel. Her voice is the voice of a best friend, a mother, a pastor, a teacher, a counselor. She tells us to re-examine who we think we are, to stop listening to those voices telling us we are not good enough, because we are women who CAN.

I met Jackie when we were volunteers for the Obama campaign in 2008. We quickly learned we both were writers and I invited her to a writers’ group meeting. She shared her poems and they made me cry. How did she, a black woman, know this white woman’s truth?

Jackie’s words show that we women share a common truth that transcends race, culture, or background. Sometimes the words are laced with humor, to help us bear our internal truths, and then the eternal truth shines through, that we are ALL God’s children. That knowledge lifts us up out of despair and hold us up as we walk forward, naked, exposed, yet unafraid.

Jackie has published two books of poetry: Some Things I Just Know and Change and Possibilities. She also has produced two CDs: A Spoken Word for Women Who Can and Speaking to the Woman Within. You can listen to tracks on Speaking to the Woman Within and buy the CD at http://jackiedove-miller.bandcamp.com/or visit her website for all of her products http://www.spiritofpeaceproducts.com/

Well, Bless Your Heart

2015-05-08T08:47:00.000-04:00

The phrase, “Well, bless your (or her or his) heart,” has been assigned an undeserved negative connotation these days, I believe from Yankee writers who pretend to understand the South.

When I was growing up, blessing someone’s heart meant just what it says. Folks said it to or about folks who were going through a difficult time or situation because there just were no other words to convey one’s sympathy, or more importantly, empathy, because we’d all known hard times. We were asking God’s blessing on that person.

Take for example if you were standing in the churchyard after services talking about sister Beth who had lost her husband, or someone’s child home sick with chicken pox, or brother Clyde who just came home from the hospital, “Well, bless her (or his) heart” preceded the plans to take food to them, visit, and pray for them.

When a little one fell and skinned her (or his) knee the grown up in charge would scoop up the child and with a “bless your little heart” followed by a kiss to make the boo-boo all better.

What “bless your heart” did not mean, was that the person saying it thought the person to which it was directed was so stupid that ‘bless your heart” was the politest thing to say – which of course it is not, since now folks believe that is what it means. Some folks think it is a synonym for “dumb ass” which of course they would never say out loud, so they say, “Bless her (or his) heart.

So, this is just to let anyone who knows me—if I say, “Bless your heart” I am really asking God’s blessing on you whether your pain is a small boo-boo or a life altering crisis. It means I love you and care, even if I can’t do anything to change your situation. And, bless your hearts to all you Yankees who don’t know any better, and young Southerns who believe them.

Stirring Up the Muse

2014-11-02T07:47:00.002-05:00

The past two weekends I’ve participated in writer’s events. Last weekend Jackie Dove-Miller and I traveled to Ridgeland, SC for the Second Annual “Novel” Wine Tasting, Arts, and Literary Festival. It was held at the September Oats Winery, a beautiful setting of live oaks dripping with Spanish moss. We were blessed with perfect outdoor-event-weather. Over sixty authors and artists participated. Walking the grounds in their 19^thcentury finery were members of Sons of Confederate Veterans Charles Jones Colcock Camp 2100 and the Massachusetts 54^th Company 1. As could be expected there was an air of having stepped back in a bygone time.

I met new people and had my first taste of shrimp gumbo. I am hooked and want more, more, MORE! The writers and artists were treated with a complimentary glass of wine and the wine tasting room stayed busy throughout the day.The icing on the cake was having two of my daughters, Deborah and Julia spend the day with us, helping out with everything from setting up our tent to shuttling me around in Deborah's golf cart. Deborah lives nearby and Julia was in town to visit her.

My friend, Jackie, brought me to tears with her beautiful reading of her poems "That Something Within" and "I Want to Matter" from her book, Some Things I Just Know. The event was capped off with a lovely after party with a wonderful spread of food and drink.

This weekend’s event was closer to home. The Franklin County Arts Council Writers Guild had its First Annual Writers Day Retreat. Again, we enjoyed a beautiful setting on the shore of Falls Lake. The park's community building itself was enough to call up the writing muses with its fireplace, glass walls, and the convenience of a full kitchen. The view included the lake and the woods in full fall color. We did not have perfect weather. It was rainy, chilly and windy. But, that did not matter to the group of writers. In fact, we all said it enhanced the atmosphere for writing. Poet and teacher, Phillip Shabazz, led the group in a workshop where he opened a discussion of the muses, siting that it was unique to the human being. We dug deeper with an exercise on what things, people, or events have made us who we are. The workshop set the tone for a day of soul searching, writing and sharing. We broke for lunch and readings, then back to writing.

I also found time to walk, take photographs, watch an eagle flying over the lake and met another photographer who had come to the park to take pictures. Being out in the weather was refreshing to body, mind and spirit. I was keenly aware of using all of my senses – even the act of breathing the cool, fresh air was inspiring. I didn’t start a novel or write anything particularly profound as some of the ladies did, but the day was healing to my soul. Just being in the presence of such loving, talented, and giving people made it a day to remember.

Two Peeling Tips that Will Make You Happy

2014-03-17T18:34:00.001-04:00

This is not a cooking blog. No way! But, after seeing a thread on Facebook about how to peel an onion and not cry I thought I’d share a tip my mother taught me on how to peel an onion without crying. It is so simple I don’t know why everyone doesn’t know it – cut the root end of the onion off first, before you start peeling it. Apparently the roots are the source of the chemical that irritates your eyes. Once it is removed and discarded you can peel and dice without crying.

My second tip will tell you how to how to peel a hard boiled egg without breaking the egg. All of my life I have struggled with trying to peel a boiled egg without it ripping out part of the egg. My mother-in-law advised not to use fresh eggs for boiling. She always had a dozen of week-old eggs on hand for making boiled eggs. That improved my performance somewhat, but I didn’t always have that extra dozen eggs on hand, and even when I did, at least some eggs would still break in the peeling.

I was discussing this with my friend, Jackie, a couple of years ago (I am 67 years old now) and she gave me the simple answer to peeling perfect eggs. Put them in a bowl of ice water as soon as you take them out of the hot cooking water. Voila, perfectly peeled eggs every time!

The Nightmare of Artist’s Block

2014-02-10T09:10:00.002-05:00

I tried painting the same subject three times and all were destined for the trash can. No, don’t tell me, “Never throw away your art.” It wasn’t art, it was a mess. I had a hard case of artist’s block.

So, I Googled “artist block” and found I am not the only one that suffers the malady. Just like for writer’s block, the advice is to either take a break or work your way through it. Since, I’d developed a headache the break sounded good.

Whenever I experience creative block, whether it is writing or painting, I start to question my ability. That self-deprecating voice inside my head starts in on me with the “you’re not good enoughs.” It doesn’t seem to matter I am a published writer with six books under my belt and hundreds of articles, or have shown in juried shows and sold my art. I sold some just last week. When the block rears its ugly head I don’t feel good enough to call myself a professional writer or artist. I feel like a wanna-be.

I have noticed that when I am stressed or distracted by life events I become blocked from expressing myself creatively, whether it is my writing, painting or photography. Sometimes, I can move from one to the other. If I can’t paint I go take pictures, or write. Or if I can’t write I paint or play with my photos in my editing program. Sometimes nothing works.

To gain back my peace I resort to prayer and meditation. I go out with friends for lunch or coffee, I take walks around the farm or sit in my garden where I watch and listen to nature. All of these things help me find peace and once I find peace I can usually find my art again. But, even then, it is a process. It is like slowly waking up from a deep, night-marish sleep. It takes a while to focus on what’s real.

If I still can’t actually put brush to canvas I will plan a project in my mind until it forms enough reality that I can do some thumbnail sketches. I make a list of writing ideas, maybe try some prompt writing. Gradually I can hear my muse again. I can paint again, and in so doing leave my cares outside the studio door, lose all track of time and produce a work I love. My prompt writing turns into a poem or story, I get a fresh idea for an article. Something that makes me feel I am good enough again.

Happy Thanksgiving and Merry Old Christmas

2013-11-27T11:41:00.002-05:00

I am blessed to have grown up in a family that loved tradition, but didn’t mind being flexible when circumstances called for changes. Daddy worked shift work, so sometimes birthdays and even Thanksgiving dates were moved so he could be part of the festivities.

Now that my children are grown, and even their children are grown, we gather at my house on Saturday after Thanksgiving Day. That allows my girls to have Thanksgiving at home or with their spouse’s families without them having to take turns or try to hectically fit it all in on one day.

This year we are not even going to try to do the whole turkey dinner thing. The center piece of the menu will be my mama’s scalloped oysters. Julia will make them since she gets it closest to “right”. Mama didn’t have a recipe written down, so it is all by memory. I am fixing a spiral cut ham and roasted veggies. I am cooking up some fresh pumpkin and haven’t decided what I’ll do with it yet. My daughter, Julia, says she is bringing collard and cornbread sandwiches. That will be something new to me, but sounds yummy.

I have changed my old tradition of putting the Christmas tree up on Mama’s birthday, the 16^th. I put it up on Thanksgiving Day now, since I have a nice quiet day to myself. Then the great-grandkids can see it when they come on Saturday.

I don’t remember Daddy working on Christmas, so we kept pretty close to tradition with Christmas morning festivities. I can remember as we got older Daddy used to comment that we should celebrate on Old Christmas so we could buy gifts on sale. We laughed. I don’t think he realized how prophetic his idea was. But, some years ago we adopted that old Outer Banks tradition of observing January 6^th (or the first weekend in January for us) as Christmas, complete with the oyster roast. Everyone comes to Memaw’s House (that’s me). After I read the Christmas Story from Luke 2, a tradition my mother started when I was a child, we exchange gifts. Then we start preparing the food. The oysters are cooked outdoors and we also cook a Low Country Boil. There is beer for the grownups and hot cider for the youngsters. The evening usually ends with us huddled around the fire, toasting marshmallows and making smores for dessert, while singing to some guitar playing by my talented daughters.

This new tradition allows my children to have their own Christmas at home or with the spouse’s family, and they don’t have to travel in the holiday rush. And like Daddy said, “You can buy presents on sale.” I’m sorry it took so long, Daddy. But, just want you to know it was a really good idea.

For more about Old Christmas on the NC Outer Banks you can read my article at http://donnacsmith.hubpages.com/hub/North-Carolina-and-Old-Christmas

Do You Need a Literary Agent?

2013-11-09T06:59:00.000-05:00

Some writers, once they have finished writing a book, struggle over whether they should look for an agent or a publisher. “Do I want to give 15% of my royalties to an agent?” they ask themselves.

I have had both experiences. My children’s fiction was published without an agent and I can say I had no problems in dealing directly with my publishers. The publisher was a regional, non-profit and we had the same goals – to share North Carolina’s stories with young readers.

When The Book of Miniature Horses was published I was collaborating with a photographer, and he already had a literary agent. I “inherited” the agent with the collaboration. I went on to writing The Book of Draft Horses and The Book of Mules without collaboration but still with the agent’s representation. I have never regretted that she gets her 15%. I think she earns every penny of it. She negotiated my contract with the publisher, getting a higher advance than they offered, caught clauses that were not in my best interest and is just an email away from answering all my stupid questions. I would have been floundering on my own without her, dealing with a bigger publisher and a more complicated contract.

Now that I have a novel (for grownups) to market I am querying fiction agents first. I am glad to pay them to help me search for a publisher, and then help deal with the details after we find a publisher. So, onward, and back to the agent list in my new copy of The Writers Market.

How Long Does a Spider Live?

2013-11-07T20:56:00.001-05:00

There is a little spider that has been living in my office window between the glass and screen for a long time. I am sure it has been keeping me company well over a year, maybe two.

One day as I watched it travel up and down its enclosed environment I wondered, “How long do spiders live anyway?” Of course I turned to Google to find my answer. I learned it depends. It depends on the gender and species of the spider.

Females generally outlive males – in part because some spiders like the Black Widow eat their mates after mating. Females can live several years. Some live only two years while the big ones live the tarantula can live as long as twenty-five years.

I am not sure of my spider’s species. It is small, at least compared to the wolf spiders that show up on my patio at night in search of bugs drawn to the light. I don’t think it ever leaves its habitat between the screen and glass of my window. I suppose that is a safe place for a spider to live. Nothing can get to it. So, maybe it will live a full life, whatever that may be for a spider.

Bear Song, Sequel to Pale as the Moon

2013-03-07T08:24:00.000-05:00

If you enjoyed my first novel for young readers, Pale as the Moon, you’ll want to read its sequel, Bear Song. I wrote Bear Song soon after I finished Pale as the Moon twelve years ago. It kept sitting on the back burner after my original publisher went out of business, even though my first two book were picked up by another publisher. In the meantime I wrote three non-fiction horse books, which were published by The Lyons Press. When I did finally turn back to Bear Song I queried several agents and publishers, who while they complimented my book, for various reasons decided against publishing it.

Recently I attended a workshop on self-publishing and decided I had messed around long enough. I began that week the process of publishing Bear Song myself using Create Space. It turned out to be a lot of fun. I have always loved playing with designing brochures, flyers and booklets, so this new creative control over what my book would look like was very satisfying. I did have a few formatting issues to over come because I lacked some knowledge in using Word. But, I learned, with the help of Internet tutorials, and I think I have put out not only a good story, but a good product as well.

While Bear Song is a sequel to Pale as the Moon, you can follow this story without having read Pale as the Moon (although it is still available so you can buy them both). We pick up the story of the English colony some years after their escape from Fort Raleigh on Roanoke Island.

In Pale as the Moon the refugees were guided to a small village of Native People on the shore of a pocosin lake on the New World’s mainland. We learn in Bear Song that Gray Squirrel left her home with the Paspatank to join her husband, William Pierce, and live with the Lake People and the English colonists.

It takes patience and wisdom for the two cultures to learn from each other and live in harmony. Gray Squirrel has earned her position among the council of elders because she has those very qualities, as well as knowledge of medicine. She teaches young Virginia Dare skills to help the English survive in what they call a wilderness, and she helps Virginia’s mother overcome her fear and prejudices of the native people.

Readers will follow these characters in their quest to live peacefully and at the same time protect the secret location of the Lake People. This secret is jeopardized first when a Croatan hunting party captures William, and then when a stranger kidnaps Virginia.

But the whole village is at risk of being wiped out when a small pox epidemic is brought to the village through an innocent act of kindness. First the old and very young die. Gray Squirrel tries everything she knows to heal her people but nothing works. She loses all hope, and that is when the bear comes to her in a dream.

You can buy Bear Song and any of my other books from Amazon.com by following this link: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B001JP8KXO

Playing Chinese Checkers With My Grandpa

2012-09-26T12:51:00.003-04:00

Photo by Donna Campbell Smith

Playing Chinese checkers with my Grandpa as a little girl is one of my fondest memories. I remember we sat on the floor in the parlor with the board between us. We picked our marble colors and lined them up in opposite triangles on the board and the game began. Pom Pom was a patient teacher. Playing Chinese Checkers with him was a favorite pastime whenever my family traveled from our North Carolina home to upstate New York, Daddy’s home place.

The Chinese Checkerboard was made of tin and very colorful. The board had square base with a circular top that turned and revealed a storage space underneath for the marbles – ten of each six colors – red, black, white, yellow, blue, and green. My favorite was probably blue and I seem to remember Pom Pom always chose black. Within the circle was the playing field, a six pointed star. The points of the star were triangles and each had ten holes for the marbles to rest. The object of the game was to be first to move all ten marbles to the triangle directly opposite from the players starting triangle. Pom Pom and I sat opposite each other and our destination was to exchange triangles; his black marbles to my triangle and my blue ones to his.

You took turns moving your marbles, either moving one space in any direction or jumping over other marbles as long as there was an empty landing space on the other side of the marble you jumped. It was really exciting if you were able to jump all the way across the board into your destination triangle.

The game did not originate in China. The country of origin was Germany in 1892. It was first called Stern-Halma and was based on an old American game, Halma, invented in the early 1800s, which was played on a square board and the pieces moved from corner to corner. American businessmen Bill and Jack Pressman, came up with that name Hop Ching Checkers in 1928. From that it evolved to Chinese Checkers.

I had not thought about my grandparent’s Chinese Checkerboard in many years, not until a recent rendezvous with my first cousins. They’d come from New York and Illinois and I from North Carolina to meet at the Outer Banks. We had a grand time cooking and eating seafood in our hotel suite and remembering old times. Somehow the conversation turned to all the board games we played with as children. Jo Ann said, “I have Gaga’s old Chinese Checkerboard in the car. Would you like to see it?”

It looked just as I remembered it. We didn’t play the game; it was late by then and we were ready to call it a night. I did take time to photograph the beautiful board and went to sleep remembering those days long ago sitting on the floor with the board between us playing Chinese Checkers with my grandpa. He took the black marbles; I chose blue.

What Do we Do When the Lights are Out?

2011-12-27T10:46:00.002-05:00

I’ve learned there are lots of things we don’t really need to survive. Well, I already knew that from countless camping trips my husband and I took with the kids when they were little and we were poor. One of those unnecessary-to-life things we think we can’t do without is electricity. So, whether you’re on a primitive camping trip aka no lights or running water, or at home and a storm takes out the lights, you will survive.

First of all flashlights (or candles) will get you to the bathroom (or bushes) without stubbing your toes. And you can read by flashlight, find the potato chips and check to make sure the kids didn’t sneak out in the middle of the night.

Second, cooking on the grill or over a wood fire is fun – for three days then it’s a pain in the tail because the kids get tired of gathering deadfall.

Third, a five-gallon bucket and a toilet plunger will make a pretty good washing machine, and then there is the solar powered dryer, aka the clothesline. The sun will dry your hair. Save the battery powered radio for the news and weather report. When the lights go out at home and you have to go to work in the morning don’t forget to wind up and set the old alarm clock.

There are plenty of things you can do for fun besides watch TV: board games, read, walk, play out doors, sew, arts and crafts, talk, tell stories, look at old pictures and photo albums, play with the cat or dog, and wash more clothes in the emergency washing machine. Email withdrawal isn’t a real disease. Write a letter or read a book.

Telling ghost stories is fun after dark, unless you have young or impressionable ones. Oh go ahead, they can sleep with you and you won’t get scared either when you hear those things going bump in the night. If its not raining and you are sitting around the campfire (don’t forget marshmallows are non-perishable and should have been in the emergency kit) the Big Foot stories are the best fun of all. I promise you’ll hear him lurking in the shadows; he likes to eavesdrop whenever you talk about him.

Oh, and there is making love. What a nice way to make good use of that time in the dark. Of course, if you are camping in a tent with three kids that might be a little tricky, but, not impossible.

Finally, make a list of what you’ve missed the most, and what you find you don’t miss all that much. That might help re-evaluate your priorities later on when the lights come back on.

With My Survivor Skills I Believe Maybe I Could Win

2011-12-26T08:58:00.000-05:00

My mama taught me to fish by the time I could walk. She sat me down next to a hole in the pier where a storm had pounded out one of the cypress boards. I caught more crabs than fish – crabs are real easy to catch. You don’t even need a hook. Almost anything will work for bait – dough balls, worms, pieces of hotdog, or what I used – cut bait. One little fish made for plenty of crab bait, and once I started catching crabs I even used pieces of crabmeat to catch more crabs.

So, surviving on a tropical island was not all that hard. They gave us a map to find fresh water. Thanks to all those years riding shotgun with my husband on family vacations, I know how to read a map. I also know how to walk in the woods and I don’t scream over spider webs. Trail riding on my horse in the woods, I learned to carry a branch out in front of me to knock them down before I ran into them.

At my age, the biggest obstacles were the contests, the physical ones. The mental ones I am happy to say were easy. I got along with the other folks okay. I learned that from arguing with my daddy. I soon learned it wasn’t as important to win an argument, as it was to love him. So, I learned to bite my tongue, even when he edged me on, and keep the peace.

None of the ladies worried about an over-weight sixty-year-old woman taking any of the guys they were eyeing, so I was okay there, too. The guys pretty much ignored me except at suppertime. I wasn’t asked to join any alliances, not at first anyway. And I voted carefully, mainly not to let anyone know whom I’d voted to leave. I kept that kind of information to myself. So, I played it cool, got along with folks, and since I wasn’t very physical I made up for it by catching our food and hauling water out of the forest. No one else wanted to do that, so they didn’t vote me off.

We had seafood chowder every night. I found wild onions growing in the edge of the forest. Cooking in the salt seawater, the onions, crabmeat and fish with the rice we were rationed made a good stew that was in fact darn tasty.

Soon it was nearing the end of the series of shows and I was still there on the island. I’d lost fifty pounds, so it was worth the experience no matter if I won or not. I’d gotten to know some very interesting folks and had written enough character studies in the notebook I’d brought as my one personal item, to start a novel, or two. When it got down to two people and I was one of them I was more than a little surprised. I had not even won an immunity challenge but I’d survived. Win or lose I was going home with some money. I would not have to worry about the rent money for a while. Maybe I’d just tell the world how dumb I thought the other 15 players were who couldn’t catch dinner or find water if their lives depended on it. Or how silly they were to be constantly bickering like children in the world’s biggest sandbox. Maybe I’d tell them I’d found the immunity idol and they could vote anyway they wanted to cause I was going home with a million dollars. No, better than that I was going to split it 16 ways and we could all go home with $62,000. That was more money than I’d ever had and I’d not have to worry about rent for seven years, and if I am still alive then I will have written enough books to get me by.

Waking up from this dream I ponder its meaning. I survived.

Getting Published Today: An Interview with Publisher, April Fields

2011-07-30T11:09:00.000-04:00

Getting Published Today: An Interview with Publisher, April Fields

I Wish I'd Asked Grandma

2011-07-20T14:48:00.001-04:00

“I wish I’d asked Grandma while she was still here about the time . . ..”

How many of us have said those very words? How many of us can’t remember the details of old stories once told out on the front porch after supper on a summer’s evening? Maybe we were young when the stories were being told and didn’t think we’d one day wish we’d listened more carefully. Wish we’d taken the time to write them down.

I am preparing to facilitate a weeklong writing workshop titled Front Porch Stories. In this workshop we will be preserving those old stories we used to hear the grownups tell out on the front porch after supper. Before TV and computers folks told stories for entertainment. On a summer’s night after supper we sat out on the screened in front porch to catch a cool breeze and let supper settle before bedtime. We sipped iced tea or lemonade and talked. The little children played in the yard, chasing and catching lightning bugs. But even the children finally came to rest and listen to the stories. We had our favorites and often asked requests: “Tell us the one about Great Grandpa Latham’s ghost!” or “I want to hear about the Lizard Man!”

Some told fantastical ghost or folk tales, some talked about family history. Some told of strange occurrences in nature, freak accidents or how it was in the good ole days. All of those stories are part of our history and culture and worth preserving - writing down on paper.

Hopefully, I can encourage workshop participants to ask the questions now they will regret having left unasked after parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles are gone. Then the stories are lost forever or reduced to bits and pieces of memories. We will combine writing down what we remember, interviewing relatives and old friends, researching through letters and diaries all in hopes of becoming the keepers of the stories.

Readers, I encourage you to start today writing down your family’s stories. Don’t worry that you’re “not a writer” and aren’t sure about spelling and grammar. All that really matters is getting down the stories. Fifty years from now when your descendants find and read what you wrote they won’t care at all if the words are misspelled or the commas are in the wrong spots. They will treasure the stories for the gifts they are. Hopefully your children and grandchildren will keep passing the stories down for future generations. That is what matters.

Life is a Train Wreck

2011-05-24T11:55:00.001-04:00

I hit a train broadside on the way to an Amway meeting. I saw the train, I hit the brakes, but it was too late. I remember the sound of the whistle, the feeling of flying through the air, and then nothing. And then I was conscious.

Before the ambulance arrived a black lady crawled into the back seat, leaned over the seat and talked to me and prayed for me. I don’t know where she came from, but she stayed right with me until I was in the ambulance. I never found out who she was. I have sometimes wondered if she was an angel.

The list of injuries included broken arm, broken ankle, broken ribs, cuts and bruises and a bruised kidney. After I was sewn and splinted up and in my hospital room I had the usual stream of visitors: family, neighbors and curiosity seekers.

One visitor was the woman who’d recruited me into the “Amway family.” When I told her I was not going to sell their products anymore she left and I never saw her again. Today I do not remember her name. Another visitor told me they’d gone to look at my car and saw a piece of my flesh on the seat, and another asked if my baby had been with me. I supposed they all meant well. Maybe their mamas never taught them how to be tactful.

Mama was there every day, looking so worried that it scared me. I know now it is just impossible for mamas to hide their love and worry for their children. By the second week I was getting very depressed at not seeing my children. In those days children under the age of twelve were not allowed in the hospital. So, their daddy began to bring them around to my window so they could say, “Hi, Mama.” I only got more depressed to see them and not be able to touch them. Finally the hospital relented and allowed a real visit from my little girls in my room. I think back and wonder if the visit may have frightened them, seeing me all bandaged up with casts on my arm and leg.

After two weeks I was released to go home. I was excused from appearing in court for my “willfully and unlawfully failing to yield the right away to a train” ticket since I couldn’t climb the courthouse steps with my leg in a cast. Upon the advise of a lawyer I pleaded guilty. I eventually got my ankle and elbow flexible again. Months later I picked a tiny piece of glass out of my knee. It took a while to work its way to the surface. There was no physical therapy back then. Things got back to normal just by using my body. I guess folks are in more of a hurry these days.

What still remains to this day, after forty some years, is that I am still startled when I am driving and anything approaches unexpectedly from the right, and train whistles still make the pit of my stomach clench into a knot.

Even though the wreck seldom crosses my mind anymore, I recognize it as a turning point in how I viewed life. Things CAN happen to me. With that knowledge filed away neatly in the recesses of my mind, I wasn’t as surprised as I could have been when one Thursday in 1991 my husband took me to buy groceries, have tags put on my horse trailer and caught up the bills. He helped me put away the groceries — then announced he was leaving, and he did.

Neither was I surprised when a series of other unfortunate events took place later in my life including finding myself a single mom for sixteen years as I raised my grand daughter. My father’s cancer and death, my ailing sister’s death, and finally my mother’s ordeal with cancer and her death were all painful events, but not surprising. More recently, when someone broke into my house and took the few things I had worth pawning, it just reinforced what I have known since the train wreck; stuff happens. I expect life’s unexpected events, and so far have survived. I ran into the side of a train and I am here to tell the tale.

Girl's Empowerment Day

2011-04-15T14:54:00.003-04:00

Yesterday I participated in a Girl’s Day of Empowerment at Franklinton High School. I and three other ladies manned the Franklin County Arts Council booth to answer ninth grade ladies’ questions about our careers in the arts. It was the first I’d heard about Girls Empowerment programs but a quick Google search reveals schools and civic organizations are sponsoring these celebrations of womanhood all over the country.

At first thought it seems a little sexists. Why just girls? It is a little sad to think that the females of our species have such over-all low self-esteem that we need a day to remind us we can be powerful and successful in whatever we wish to be. But if it helps girls feel they CAN, then it’s a good idea.

My two books, Pale as the Moon and An Independent Spirit, have strong female leading characters with “I CAN” personalities. Gray Squirrel, a fictional character in Pale as the Moon, had a quiet spirit, but was able to rescue a small group of English colonists through her wisdom and intelligence. We don’t really know what became of John White’s Lost Colony, but we have strong evidence some did survive.

Betsy Dowdy, the lead character in An Independent Spirit, was daring, courageous and independent. We’ve all been taught about Paul Revere’s historic ride to warn the “British are coming.” You had grow up around coastal North Carolina to have heard the story of Betsy Dowdy riding her Banker Pony fifty-one miles, swimming the Currituck Sound in the process, to warn Lord Dunmore was heading for North Carolina from Virginia. Dunmore was stopped at the Battle of Great Bridge due to her warning. By the way, Revere only rode thirteen miles, no swimming involved.

I am glad I had a small part in yesterday’s celebration, Girl’s Day of Empowerment. I hope they learned about all the opportunities the world has waiting for them beyond high school. I hope each and everyone of those ninth grade ladies feel in their hearts, “I CAN!”

Inspired by Wild Horses

2011-04-02T10:37:00.002-04:00

The inspiration of my children’s books, Pale as the Moon and An Independent Spirit, are the wild horses of North Carolina’s Outer Banks. There are five main locations where the horses live: Corolla, Ocracoke, Cedar Island, Carrot Island, and Shackleford Banks. The wild horses I am most familiar with are the ones managed by the Corolla Wild Horse Fund.

The horses have been designated North Carolina’s Official State Horse. North Carolinians cherish the horses for the part they have played in our heritage. When you think about it, had it not been for horses we would not have gotten very far in exploring and settling the New World. The horse helped us in our work, farming, transporting goods, in war and peace. And it all started with the tough, small, Spanish horses first introduced to the continent by European explorers.

It is a tribute to their toughness that descendents of those first horses still roam freely in parts of the North Carolina Outer Banks. But development and so-called-progress has dealt a hard blow to their survival. Because of the dedication of a few citizens the horses are hanging on, but for how long we don’t know. Its going to take a lot of people working and campaigning for these beautiful animals to survive.

The hardest thing for me to understand is the cruelty of some human beings. Why would anyone run down a foal with a four wheel drive or shoot these horses? If you find that hard to believe go to Corolla Wild horse Fund’s Blog and read the entries. If it doesn’t make you want to cry then I think you have a hard heart. If it does move you to tears then write your law makers and tell them how you feel and beg them to support the legislation that will help us protect our wild horses.

Hope Springs Eternal

2011-04-01T08:12:00.002-04:00

Springtime seems more and more a symbol of hope each year that I survive another winter. It’s not like I am living in the pioneer days where surviving winter really was a life or death experience, literally keeping the wolves at bay or having to find food in the middle of a blizzard. I read those stories when I was a child and loved how those strong and determined people of our early American history overcame all the obstacles nature put in their way.

No, I live like a princess compared to those stories. But, as I grow older the winters seem colder and dreary wet days make me depressed. So, I am a big fan of spring! The first warm days of March I make a beeline for the home supply stores, Lowes is my favorite, to buy plants. Yes, I know its too early and I’ll probably have to cover them up when another cold spell tried to keep a hold on winter. But, there is where the hope comes in because I know spring is right around the corner.

In April I start thinking of what annuals will look pretty where. I compliment my pansies for keeping such a brave front all through winter, smiling their happy little faces on the warm days and looking only a little bit sad through the cold snap. I know they will leave when it gets hot. Then I will have to replace them with begonias or impatiens.

When I go plant shopping I always buy a new bush, one that won’t really flower until the next spring or summer. Again, my hope is shinning through. I plant it with a little prayer that I’ll still be around to see it bloom. I add a few perennials with the same prayer. Hope springs eternal in the springtime.