I’ve always enjoyed listening to the audio versions of my favorite books, even back in the day when I had to carry around a stack of tapes to play in my battery-powered Walkman. Audio books have been comforting companions and sanity-savers on my many long commutes to work, stressful business flights and the countless hours spent pushing various strollers around the block to quiet a sleeping baby or cranky toddler. Now that audio books are easily accessible and convenient to stream on my smart phone, I always have a book or two queued up, ready to transport me to that special place only a good story can take me. So, this month I'm sharing my love of audio books by giving away an audio book version of The Lovely Here and Now. Readers (and listeners) can enter the drawing by signing up for my author newsletter.
To enter the drawing please visit my website at:
Happy Listening to all!
My in-laws visited a few months ago and kindly planted a lovely little garden next to my “thinking spot” where I do much of my planning, reading, writing and, well…thinking. As summer approaches the flowers are thriving, the colors ranging from fiery orange to royal purple to cottony white.
When I recently noticed several lush new leaves had miraculously sprouted up in the garden, I rushed to email my mother-in-law and tell her that the sunflower seeds she’d plant had finally decided to make an appearance. Unfortunately, she responded that the rapidly growing leaves we're actually weeds that had crept over from the next-door neighbor’s yard. (What can I say? I’m a writer, not a gardener).
My disappointment was short-lived however as I pulled out the impostors the next morning and realized that the delicately designed harmony of the little garden had been restored. The enlightening (and vaguely embarrassing) episode reminded me of the temptation writers have to allow word weeds (unplanned and inelegant words, phrases, and descriptions) to creep into our work. And now, when I sit in my thinking spot plotting out my next book, it’s a timely reminder that a story, like a garden, requires careful pruning.