“A man’s reach should exceed his grasp or what’s a heaven for?”  ─ Robert Browning

Brid, Franny, and Sofia all believe in the power of changing what doesn’t work. MacCullough’s Women is about the ability that women have always had to adapt to meet the demands of their lives.

This week, the very last of the year, is a favorite of mine because it allows you to set the stage for the year to come. I stopped making resolutions long ago but I am a firm believer in the power of setting goals. I have learned not to make too many. Here are some things that you can do in preparation for the first day of the New Year.

The Magic Hat

Write down your goals on separate slips of paper. Be as specific as possible. Don’t write “I want to lose weight.” Instead, write, “I want to lose 10 pounds.”  Write down as many goals as you want.  Put them in a hat, shake it and pick out four slips of paper. Those will be your goals for 2012. You can decide to pick less if you wish but don’t pick more. If there is one thing you feel you must do, then write it down and don’t put it  in the hat. Instead, make that your first goal. Pick as many as three more from the hat 

The Vision Board

Create a vision that reflects your goals. Take a piece of poster board and cover it with pictures, words, cards, fabric, paint swatches, etc. You can use anything that illustrates your goals. Vision boards are highly personal and very motivating. Once your vision board is complete, place it where you will see it every day.

Make a Plan

Use whatever method works for you: a notebook, your IPad, an Excel spreadsheet, a calendar. You need some way to document what  to do in order to achieve a specific goal.

Gather Your Tools

This is the week to buy your sneakers, bathing suit, pedometer, or Rosetta Stone, find a piano teacher or a walking buddy, or open a saving account labeled “Trip to Paris”.  You get the idea.

2012 is going to be a great year. I can feel it.  Have you thought about your goals?

 “I’ve learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights.”  ─ Maya Angelou

“Franny’s main concern tonight seemed to be the Christmas tree lights.” Neil answered. “I suppose she’s in shock. “She kept saying who’ll put the lights on the Christmas tree now?”

Decorating the Christmas tree is one of winter’s hallowed traditions and for so many of us is the storehouse for some of our most cherished memories. As the years pass and our lives change, when we place our treasured ornaments  on the tree, we often find ourselves surrounded by loved ones who are long gone.

I am hoping this holiday season finds you celebrating with the people you love and good book to read in front of fire.

“If you are not discouraged by your writing on a regular basis, you might not be trying hard enough.”  ─ Maxwell Perkins

I certainly have been discouraged by my attempts at blogging! What I have learned since I began last summer is:

• A lot of people blog, some more successfully than others.
• Blogging is NOT the same as talking.
• It’s really hard!

Last week I consulted with blogging expert and teacher, Wendy Thomas. She gave me some wonderful ideas that I will be trying out  in my blog over the next few months. I hope you enjoy them.

The week before Christmas can be full of magic if we allow ourselves to relax enough to see it.  

 Enjoy the anticipation of what lies ahead. Sometimes that alone can be enough to make the holidays special.

Look for joy in unexpected places.  This week you can find it where you least expect it.

One of my most cherished Christmas memories was creeping into the hospital shortly after dawn on Christmas morning with my sister and our families to surprise my mother who had fallen and broken her hip two days before. The laughter coming from her room brought an audience of doctors and nurses on the early morning shift peeking in the door see where all the fun was.

 We are surrounded by the artificial and the forced. Give yourself  a break from the mall and take a walk. Soak in nature’s way of celebrating.

 What is your own most cherished Christmas memory? Maybe this is the year to make one…

 “Honour the miraculousness of the ordinary.”  ─ Andrew Motion

People, real or fictitious, are seldom simple. All characters a writer creates are composed of layers. It is the task of the writer to flesh out these layers with details that are almost always composed of ordinary things such as Sherlock Holmes pipe or deerstalker hat.  When I begin to shape a character the first thing I do is select five words that help to show my readers who that character is. Here are the five items that I would chose to define me:

1.  Red Shoes

Red shoes make me happy. I usually have at least one pair in my closet. Currently, I own three pairs. The small pair of red double buckle sandals were my daughter’s. I keep them on my desk to remind me of how precious she will always be to me.

2.      Books 

Plain and simple: I love books and everything about them – the words, the covers, and the illustrations. Like many of you, I reluctantly joined the world of e-books three years ago. While I have come to appreciate the conveniences that e-books provide including buying them while sitting in bed and being able to easily carry a stack of stories on a trip, I confess I still love to hold a book in my hand. As a child, I would ask for a book rather than a toy. A short list of some of my favorites include: Gone with the Wind, The Wilder Sisters, All the Harry Potters, A Piece of Heaven and The Shell Seekers. It is no surprise that with the exception of Harry, these books all are about women who have stayed with me since I met them in the pages of these books. Scarlett, Rose, Luna, Lily, and Penelope have all become old friends who I revisit whenever I need a lift.

3.      Hats

I have always had hats, some decorated with feathers or fur, pilfered from my godmother’s attic and some purchased on a whim. As a teenager, I wore hats when nobody else did. Long before the expression “Signature Style” was in vogue, I was known for my hats. Like  my red shoes, hats make me happy and when I wear one, it is a sign that all is right in my world.  

 4.      Animals

I have shared a home with an animal (or animals) all my life. Dogs, cats, birds, turtles in college, and a lop-eared rabbit named Cornelius McSweeney. I loved them all. Unlike humans they offer unconditional love, never make you feel that you have screwed up and listen without interrupting. I can’t imagine my life without them.

5.  Dolls  

Francesca’s Foundlings, the doll shop in Lynton, comes from a dream that I once had of opening just such a store. Every year at Christmas, when I was a little girl, my clever mother would buy my sister and me a doll and make a trunk of beautiful doll clothes for the dolls to wear. One of those dolls, “Kathy” sold by Madame Alexander in the 1950’s plays a cameo role in Francesca’s Foundlings.

What five words would you use to describe yourself?

 “Writing is conscience, scruple, and the farming of our ancestors.”  ─ Edward Dahlberg

Last month I went to Ireland to visit my daughter and her husband. One rainy Sunday, on what the Irish call a soft day, I found myself in the small town of Scartaglen in County Kerry chasing the ghost of my paternal grandmother. A woman of many names according to the legal documents she left behind that list her as Kathleen, and Katherine, she is buried in Calvary Cemetery outside Boston as Catherine. A trip to the Irish Life Center on Lower Abbey Street in Dublin confirmed that it was as Catherine she was born on the 25th of November 1882 the daughter of Cornelius and Ellen O’Connor.

We drove white-knuckled through the Irish countryside on roads grudgingly forced to accommodate two cars to Scartaglen where the Post shares a home with the petrol station. We told the man behind the cash register we were trying to trace my grandmother whose name was Catherine O’Connor. He told us that we might try O’Connor’s Pub ‘just along up the road.”

It was now about 10:30 on Sunday morning. Opening the door to the pub, we took a step back in time. In a cramped dark space, smelling of peat we found three men who would not see seventy-five again sitting around the bar nursing their pints. The barkeep was a woman who identified herself as Joan. We told her that we had been sent there in search of Catherine O’Connor, daughter of Cornelius O’Connor who had once been the parish clerk. She conferred with her three patrons. In a conversation dotted with Irish, they decided we must mean Connie the Barrister who had been the  clerk at St. Gertrude’s, the old chapel. His house, they informed us, was up the hill. Joan disappeared for minute and then returned to tell us she had called a classmate whose mother lived in the house of Connie the Barrister. The lady had put on the kettle and was waiting for us. After a receiving a set of elaborate directions that included, passing a green field once owned by a lad who went to America where he died of a broken heart, we walked up the hill to find my personal piece of Irish history.  

The lady of the house, Julie Brosnan, (yes, indeed, she IS his cousin) was waiting for us along with her son, Paddy. Julie showed us the room where Connie died and she believed that my grandmother was born. The house was tiny. It was instantly clear why Catherine, James, Patrick and Mary had left for America. Walking back down the dirt road they traveled as they began their journey, I thought about the controversy surrounding immigration today. I realize that this is a complex issue. However, I think people often lose sight of the fact that so many Americans are descended from people who also came with only what they could carry in search of a better life. And if they had not made that brave journey, where would we be?  

A reader once asked me if I had to do much research into the Irish culture in order to successfully write MacCullough’s Women. In fact, I did no research as the ghosts of my grandparents have always been in the background of my life . Their courage and sacrifices created the foundation for the lives their grandchildren live today. As far as Catherine is concerned, the trip to Scartaglen brought this lovely dark-haired Irish woman who died when my father was a toddler a little bit closer.

 “’Writing is a dog’s life, but the only one worth living.”  ─ Gustave Flaubert

The three animals featured in MacCullough’s Women are real. I changed their names and dropped them into the pages of the book. They arrived there straight from my memory, one because of a promise I made to him. I loved them all. My life has been full of cats and dogs. By the time I am finished writing you might meet them all.

THOMAS (the cat)

Thomas’s real name was Patrick. My daughter decided he must be Irish because of his orange-colored hair. So of course, he needed an Irish name. He soon became “The Paddy Cat” or just “Paddy”. The first time we saw him he was curled in a ball sleeping in his water dish at the Humane Society. He exhibited (as does Thomas) all the characteristics that make orange tabby tomcats so wonderful. He loved to cuddle, tended to be clumsy, sounded like he weighed much more than he did when he came pounding up the stairs, had the ability to appear to be laughing and ruled the dogs he shared the house with no mercy. I hope you get the picture because unfortunately I couldn’t find one for you.

LUCY (the English Lab)

My daughter dropped in to visit on the night of her 21^st birthday. She was in route back to Rhode Island with a group of her friends. When she called to tell me she was coming by, she mentioned that she had gotten a dog. I saw Teal’s blocky head and barrel chest coming through the door and I was convinced she was a Rottweiler. “Don’t be ridiculous,” my daughter told me. “She’s an English Lab.”  And so she was, as well as being a love. Teal never met a two-legged person that she didn’t like (small furry four-legged individuals were another story.)  She greeted everyone she met with a present, be it a hastily grabbed toy or, in a pinch, a spare shoe. She loved the car and had a horror of being left behind. In true boomerang generation fashion, she lived with us for four years sharing the house with a rogue springer spaniel who adored her. She put up with just so much of his antics and then would body slam him around the room to let him know who was really in charge. She holds the distinction of being the only big dog my husband has ever loved. We still miss her.

OLIVER (the English Springer Spaniel)

His grandfather, AM CH Sallilyn’s Condor aka Robert won Best of Show at Westminster in 1993. He was named for the last man to hold the rank of a five star admiral in the United States Navy. Halsey was special and he knew it. As an admiral, he outranked the retired Navy commander who paid for his dog biscuits. He was what is known as “typey” in the world of pure-bred dogs meaning he looked the way the standard for his breed said he should. He was funny, a wily thief, brave, stoical in the face of unrelenting pain from a  dysplastic right hip and he held my heart between his snowshoe paws. The winter before he died, there was an article in the Nashua Telegraph about New Hampshire writer, Jodi Picoult.  Her dog, also a springer spaniel, was mentioned in the article and was seated next to her in the accompanying picture. I promised Halsey that he could be in the author photo when I published my first book. Instead, he lives on as Oliver in the pages of MacCullough’s Women.

In case you are feeling sorry for the current occupant of the canine throne, you will be sick of her by the time you finish the third book in the Lynton Series.

“Everybody walks past a thousand story ideas every day. The good writers are the ones who see five or six of them. Most people don’t see any.”  ─ Orson Scott Card

Last Saturday night I went to the fights. I surprised even myself by going. It happened like this. My niece, Brigid, is engaged to the fighter Todd Wilson. Todd was fighting his eleventh fight (undefeated) and my husband and I were invited.  My initial reaction was to stay behind with the women and let the men go to the fight. My inner writer kicked me and said, “Whoa. When do you think you will ever get the chance to go to a fight in the ring again, huh?” So much to the amazement of many people who know me, I went along.

Our seats were high up and far enough way to be ideal for me. I had a panoramic view of the venue and was not spit or bled upon. I also didn’t hear any grunts of pain. There were several fights in addition to Todd’s. The one that surprised me the most was between two young women. And those girls punched.

Here are some interesting things that this writer saw:

• There were lots of senior citizens (men) at the event. Some with young children (their grandchildren?) usually boys.
• Many of the women were dressed in glittery dresses and very high heels and LOTS of makeup.
• One young woman was carrying an infant who could not have been more that two week old. (My inner writer immediately starts spinning a story on why this baby is there. Is the Dad one of the fighters?)
• Most of the fighters (called Warriors at this fight) walk in to their own theme music surrounded by an entourage
• If they were not hitting one another they could be dancing (I realize that you boxing aficionados know this, but I did not) so gracefully did they move around the ring.
• Some fighters have groups of supporters identified by tee-shirts. Todd’s are green. 
• The excitement and the need to yell things like: “Get him. Knock his head off! Etc…is catching. I was accused of being blood-thirsty by the person sitting next to me.

Todd won and is still undefeated. And I am pretty sure that there will be a fight in one of my books someday.  It was very informative and FUN.

I want to point you to some exciting new writing. If you like science fiction (even if you don’t usually read it, travel a little), another one of my nieces, Kate O’Connor, has just had a short story, The Sun Dodgers published in the anthology Pressure Suite – Digital Science Fiction Anthology 3. Kate introduces a great character, Amelia Redgrave, who I believe (and hope) we will see more of in the future. Kate is a talent to watch.

If you have read MacCullough’s Women and liked it, please consider writing a review on Amazon.com. MacCullough’s needs at least ten reviews to look credible and we are currently at five. As you will see when you read the ones that are there, the review does not need to be long. Thanking you in advance for your support.

“Self-confidence is the surest way of obtaining what you want. If you know in your own heart you are going to be something, you will be it. Do not permit your mind to think otherwise. It is fatal.”  ─ George Patton

What is it that you haven’t done, that you always wanted to do?  Or is there something that you used to do and enjoyed doing that you no longer do because you: are too old, not in good enough shape, don’t have the time or the money to do or are afraid of looking foolish?

I am a firm believer in two things: evaluating where you are and reinvention. As we move through life we all make decisions that direct our path. Some are trivial and some alter it completely. It is easy as time passes to tell ourselves that we have let something slip beyond our reach. I have wanted to be a writer since I was a teenager. I have talked about (and no doubt bored friends and family!) writing a book for years. I always let something get in the way. Last winter with some help from my best friend, who also happens to be my husband, I realized that the time to do it was now.

 I had been working on MacCullough’s Women for a number of years but it still needed polishing to finish it. And it was WORK; getting up every morning, being in the chair (before reading email, or Facebook) by six and writing until seven thirty when I start  my day job.  Initially, this was hard. I am a “dawdler” by nature. My dad used to call me “The Gonna Girl” as in “I’m gonna do it.” After a few weeks it became second nature.  This last month, getting MacCullough’s Women out the door, has been crazy and I have not been able to write. I find that I miss it. The point is that I wanted to write and publish a book and now I have rather than relegating that dream to the “I wish I had done that but…” pile that it is so easy to build as we live our lives.

This got me thinking. Was there something that I wanted to do that I hadn’t done or no longer did because…Riding my bike immediately came to mind. I am fortunate to live in a pleasant neighborhood without a lot of traffic. I decided to do what I am calling social bike riding. It is easier to explain what this is NOT. It does not involve bright colored spandex with writing up the side, bike clips, special shoes, anything with the letters ATHON at the end. Unfortunately it does involve a red helmet because I think it is wrong to give a bad example to the little kids I pass and because I need all the protection I can get. I remember with longing the days of flying down the hill without a helmet.

I have a two mile loop that I ride every morning. I confess that I spend at least five minutes in the empty parking lot of the neighboring temple practicing because it has been a long time since I rode a bike. Yes, I know that saying “It’s just like riding a bike.” The truth is that I was never very good at riding a bike. But I am doing it again and loving it.  So what is it that you still want to do? Or to do once again?

“A picture shows me at a glance what it takes dozens of pages of a book to expound.”  ─ Ivan Turgenev

Here at last is the cover for MacCullough’s Women. Tina Foss Hickman has taken the place I created using words and given it a true face. It was a thrill to see it and I couldn’t be happier. My editor, Lisa Jackson, suggested Tina for the cover when we met to go over the edits. We all knew each other in another life. Tina and I had even talked about doing a children’s book together about my dog, Halsey. We both got busy with other things and it never happened. When I contacted Tina she remembered me and told me she was interested in doing the cover but first she wanted to know something about the book.  And then she asked what for me was the critical question: Can I read the book?

There is nothing more annoying to me than when the cover turns out to have no relation to the content of the book or, worse, reflects things that are not true. An example of this would be: the dog in the story is a chocolate Lab and the dog on the cover is black. I read a lot of books across genres and I see it often. Tina read the book and liked it. We exchanged several ideas, the first of which was a cover with all of the women (Brid, Franny, Lorie and Sofia) on it. We both decided that was too many faces on one cover. Choosing only one woman seemed to me to be misleading. You will have to read the book yourself to see if I am right. Our next thought was to put Drew MacCullough on the cover but, wait. The book is about the women, isn’t it?

I took a step back and analyzed the covers of the last fifteen books that I have read.  I was surprised to see that most of them did not have people on the cover. Instead, there were pictures of places or objects connected with the story. This turned my thoughts toward a cover with a picture of the bar on it. Tina did the rest. I consider myself very blessed to have Tina agree to draw the cover for my book. Most books today use photographs rather than actual art. Check out Tina’s portfolio.  Isn’t she great!

Ceol agus Craic, the Irish bar and restaurant, owned by Desmond Sheerin, on the corner Main and Dock Streets in Lynton, New Hampshire is the scene of much of the action that takes place in this story. This is not a Christmas book. We decided to depict the bar as it would look in winter because the story begins and ends in December a year apart.

I look at this illustration and I want to open the door and find out what is going on in the bar. I hope you do, too.

“There is no use trying,” said Alice; “one can’t believe impossible things.”

“I dare say you haven’t had much practice,” said the Queen. “When I was your age, I always did it for half an hour a day. Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”  ─ Lewis Carroll

August is here and with it, the launch date for the e-book version of MacCullough’s Women. The last ten days I have been tweaking the story and “straightening the collar” like the nuns in grade school used to do with our uniforms. This requires reading the book again and again because every time you add or subtract something you run the risk of leaving an extra “the” or “him” in your wake. It’s a lot like walking to the end of the diving board, looking down and then turning around and walking back. But, as I have not yet had my breakfast, like the Queen quoted above, I believe that I am finally ready to jump. The cover designer has told me that the cover should be available next weekend so we are on schedule. The book will go to an independent proof reader the end of this week who will hopefully catch any stray left-overs that I have not caught.

I am launching the e-book version first to take advantage of the rapidly changing world of publishing. This makes sense for a first time writer because it allows me to offer the book to readers at a much lower price than the print edition which will be coming out in October. If you don’t own an e-reader there are free applications that you can download that will enable you to read the book as an e-book. More on how to do that later…

I have been told that I have been a little cranky and distracted as I have slogged through this last phase of writing. Not to worry though, a scale check this morning assured me the self-medicating I have been doing with ice cream and molasses cookies is working! This weekend I decided to take a short break and read once again (Yes, I am a re-reader of books and have read this one several times.) one of my favorite book, The Shell Seekers by Rosamunde Pilcher. I love this story. It encompasses everything, that as a reader I look for in a book, and as a writer I admire. I read many, edgy, critically acclaimed literary novels that have been awarded big publishing prizes. I am often left thinking that while I certainly admire the talent, and the imagination it takes to write one of these books, I would not have wanted to be the one to have sent that story or those characters into the world, not so with The Shell Seekers. I think I love this book because it is about very believable people, people like you and me, each with their own strengths and failings, who are doing the best they can living lives that just might remind you of your own.  First published in 1987, this is a wonderful way to spend your languid August days. I highly recommend it along with a plate of molasses cookies and a dish of pistachio ice cream. Enjoy!

                                                Molasses Crinkles

            1 cup brown sugar                                1 teaspoon cinnamon

            ¾ cup shortening                                  1 teaspoon ginger

           ¼ cup molasses                                    ¼ teaspoon salt

                 1 egg                                                    ½ teaspoon cloves

              2 ¼ cups flour                          2 teaspoons baking soda

Mix brown sugar, shortening, egg and molasses.  Mix in dry ingredients. Shape dough into walnut-size balls. Dip tops in granulated sugar. Place on greased cookie sheet and bake for 12 minutes at 375 degrees. Makes @ four dozen cookies

This recipe was given to me by magical my godmother, Viola Duggan, who could have stepped right from the pages of The Shell Seekers.