Fiction Imitates Life

I have been AWOL from the blog for quite some time now (what else is new?!).  There have been so many family goings-on since I was here last, and I definitely want to get my online scrapbook of memories up to date.  But there's a reason I haven't been blogging as often as I should...because I've been busy working on a different sort of writing project, another novel that I hope to publish myself as a gift to my grandchildren. I have been working on this book, an historical fiction novel that is a sequel to Erin's Ring (but a "stand alone" book, I believe) for a little more than a year now.  I've blogged about this several times over at my secret blog, where I sometimes write posts dedicated solely to the subject of writing.

I love writing fiction.  I love creating characters who start out inspired in part by real people I know, but then totally take on lives of their own once the writing gets underway.  This happened with both of the books I've had published so far, but especially with Finding Grace. And I'm finding that with this new story titled Marguerite's Diary, there is one character who, though she isn't just like me or meant to represent me, shares many of my thoughts, feelings and passions.  She's a 19th-century Belgian immigrant named Camille--a wife, mother, and homemaker, a pioneer woman with five children and another baby on the way.

This passage (still a WIP) is about Camille, but I could have almost written it about myself, if I'd lived when and where she did:

Home was Camille’s happy place, to be sure; and she felt that making a warm, safe, beautiful dwelling where her family could grow and flourish was a noble endeavor, a true vocation.  She was a wife first and a mother second, and then homemaker was her third-highest calling.

Making a home: it took so much more than wooden planks and shingles held together by nails!  It was no use having a well-built roof that would shield them from the weather if what was found underneath that roof wasn’t cared for properly.  Camille believed that it was a wife and mother’s job to create for her family a domestic Church, an earthly reflection of what they could expect to find in the next life, in Paradise.  That’s how seriously she took her housekeeping duties.  A home needed someone to tend to it lovingly, to keep it clean and orderly, to give it the decorative touches that might not even be consciously noticed (by that trio of little ruffians she’d birthed, especially, and their doting father) but were unconsciously appreciated, nonetheless.  She had made this home her life’s work, and she loved it so.  Indeed, she loved the safe haven she and Henri had created for their family out here in the Wisconsin wilderness so much that she sometimes wondered if she’d made an idol of it.  Did she love it too much?

Camille had to remind herself daily that this home was not her real home, and that her only purpose on this earth was finding her way to that one.  To becoming a saint in Heaven.  She prayed fervently for detachment from worldly comforts and desires, but she knew that her great weakness, her attachment to the things of this world, was something she would always struggle to overcome.  Every time she thought of her good fortune—of her happy marriage and healthy children, of Henri’s financial success that had afforded them the lovely nest she’d feathered with such care—she was also assailed with a fear of losing everything.   “God, help me to yearn only for You!” she would silently cry, whenever she became too enamored of the things of this world.

But the joy Camille felt when she looked around the large, sturdy wood cabin Henri had built for his family was achingly deep, almost painful in its intensity.  All about her, the history of her most cherished loved ones was on display.  Everything she saw, no matter which way she turned, filled her with satisfaction and gratitude, and her heart was full to overflowing.  Even the sight of dirty overalls tossed haphazardly on the floor by one of her careless boys was merely a reminder of how lucky she and Henri were to have so many surviving children, whose clothes bore the telltale signs of a busy life filled with farm chores and tree climbing and all kinds of outdoor activity. 

She stooped down to pick up the overalls, adding them to the laundry basket in the corner.  It was full to overflowing and would keep her busy at the washbasin in the coming days. But how lucky she was to have so many dirty clothes to wash!  It was a sign that there were many bodies to care for in this house.

Camille’s eyes, watery now, lit on her grandmother’s dishes, which were lovingly arranged on a shelf of the oak sideboard in the dining area.  She moved closer, so that she could better see the delicate hand-painted flowers that graced the rims of the porcelain plates.  She licked her thumb and used it to wipe away a bit of dust she’d spied on the edge of one piece.  Next, she removed the gilded lid of the sugar bowl and checked to make sure that it was full; it was, so she gently replaced the lid.

From the sideboard, the happy homemaker made her way to the pie safe in the kitchen.  She opened the door to check on the two fresh ones stored there.  She leaned in, breathed deeply, and smiled; they smelled delectable, and Henri would be so pleased!  Her husband worked so hard to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table; making him dishes that he loved was her favorite way to show him how grateful she was and how much she loved him.

So now you know how weak I am, how much in need of grace I am...but also how much I love being a wife and mother and making a home for my family!

I am 126 pages into a book that will probably be about 200 pages long by the time all's said and done.  It's a big BIG story, involving an amazing and awe-inspiring historical event about which few people really know (I never did!).  I have gotten to the point in the narrative where things really start to heat up--and it's at times like this that I usually get a case of writer's block, because I'm afraid I won't be able to do the story I'm working on justice.  Wish me luck, dear readers!  I could use it (as well as prayers, of course!).

*I used the phrase "full to overflowing" twice in the above passage; I kind of did it on purpose, to show how many things in Camille's life could be described that way.  But do you think it's too repetitive?  (Come on, play editor!  Leave me a comment, I promise I won't be offended!)

"Laura's Project," a Poem by Nancy P. Gordon

One of the major life influences I had growing up was my late father's sister, Nancy (but she went by the childhood nickname "Toni," so she was always "Aunt Toni" to my brothers and sisters and me).  She was a constant presence, with a warm hand affectionately rubbing my back if she was nearby or a lovingly and eloquently written letter (in her instantly recognizable and inimitable cursive!) if she was not. She asked us kids probing questions and was unfailingly interested in the answers, no matter how unimportant they might have seemed to most grown-ups. But among all the ways she shaped my childhood, it was her deep love of literature and of reading that helped to inspire me to become a writer.

This beautiful octogenarian still plays golf and could
run circles around most people half her age.  She is
an inspiration to her aging nieces and nephews!

Aunt Toni was my Dad's only sibling.  Brilliant and accomplished, she was a high school English teacher for many years, and then she had a second career as a corporate lawyer.  For most of our formative years our aunt was single--so we were the lucky five children upon whom she doted. And how we benefitted from her love for us and her desire to give us culturally enriching experiences we never could have had otherwise!  She lived in NJ and we were in Upstate NY, but she planned once-in-a-lifetime special trips for us to come and visit her.  Each of her nieces of nephews, one or two at a time, would ride a Greyhound bus down to meet her (back in the days when parents thought this was a safe enough thing to do!).  She'd pick us up at the bus stop in NJ and we'd spend a few days at her apartment, being treated to trips into NYC to see Broadway plays and eat out at fancy restaurants (and not-so-fancy ones, too, like the iconic Automat).

When I was 11 and my older brother was 12, we rode the bus down together.  During our weekend stay, Aunt Toni took us to see "Fiddler on the Roof” on Broadway and then she bought me the show's soundtrack album as a souvenir.  I played it over and over on my little portable record player and had the lyrics "Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match, find me a find, catch me a catch!" in my head almost constantly for months afterward.  On that same visit, she loaned me a copy of Wuthering Heights to read; and although I might have been too young to truly "get" all of it, I can remember being enthralled.  "Someday," I thought to myself, "I want to write a book that a reader loves as much as I love this one!" 

In her late 30's, Aunt Toni married a kind and gentle man who was both a university professor of physics and a NASA researcher.  (They did not have children, so we have remained the lucky recipients of her maternal affection!)  Similarly interested in learning, traveling, and reading, they share a love of books and have an impressive personal library. I have given my aunt copies of my own two novels (not exactly on par with the likes of Wuthering Heights, to be sure, but a byproduct of my own lifelong love of the written word--a love she helped to inspire).  If they sit on the shelves of her library today, that is an honor beyond description.

Aunt Toni has been participating in a poetry workshop, and she recently shared this copy of a poem she wrote last month.  It was inspired by a memory from when she came to visit us at our home in 1960, when we were still living in NJ.  I am tickled to be the subject of this original work of hers!  And I thought I'd share it here at the blog.

LAURA’S PROJECT

My two-year-old niece is on a mission.

She is focused, doesn’t seem to notice

that I’m in the room.

She walks (more waddling than walking, still)

to a closet, which holds a bag

full of magical papers.

She picks it up for closer inspection,

but she has grabbed the bottom corner

and suddenly there’s a storm of papers,

covering the closet.

She looks, surveys the damage,

sits down on the floor.

She patiently picks up each piece,

puts each photo, each paper,

back in the bag.

She spends time on this task,

carefully replacing everything.

Looking satisfied with herself, she stands,

a balancing act for her two-year-old limbs,

plants her feet and reaches for her prize.

Again she picks it up by the bottom corner.

Photos and papers and envelopes tumble to the floor.

A pause.  No exclamation. 

She stands, looking, for a moment.

She shrugs.

She drops the bag on top of the mess.

Shrugs again, and exits the closet

heading for the kitchen, mom, and a snack.

 

npg  September 2020

There are some snapshots of two-year-old me playing in the closet--as a matter of fact, I think they were taken at the very time of the incident described in Aunt Toni’s poem.  (Apparently, along with the bag of papers and letters, I found a pair of my mom's high heels to try out.)

I had this post almost finished, sitting in my “drafts” folder and waiting for an ending, when my husband and I went to daily Mass this past week. During his homily, the priest said something about thanking God for the blessings we receive via the people He puts in our lives...and I thought “yes indeed, how very true!” I am no poet, like my aunt; but Father’s words were like poetry to my ears.

One Last Book Signing

Back in mid-December, I was given the opportunity to do a book signing at our [relatively] new parish in VA, along with a much better-known and more commercially successful Catholic author, Steven R. Hemler, who has had several non-fiction works published by Tan Books.  Steve is a fellow parishioner, and he was going to be selling and signing copies of his books after Masses that weekend; the lovely woman who manages the church office had been made aware that I had written a couple of Catholic novels when I set up a table to sell them at the parish's annual Christmas craft fair/thrift sale the first winter we lived here, so she very kindly extended an invitation for me to join Steve.

I had this cardigan embroidered--with a Claddagh design and the title of my second book, 

Erin's Ring--back in 2014, to wear at book signings.  It has not been worn very often!

I did not sell a lot of copies of my books that weekend (#parforthecourse), but I had a wonderful time getting to know Steve (who also travels around to speak to groups about the Faith) and having in-depth conversations with him about all the blood, sweat, and tears that go into the process of writing books and getting them published.  He was so kind to me, an unknown greenhorn author, and gave me lots of tips and advice about how I might go about having my books republished (now that they have been discontinued by Bezalel Books, due to poor sales) so that they might reach a larger audience.  He encouraged me to think about breaking up my epic-length novel, Finding Grace, and making it into a two or three book series.  Because while I personally happen to love, love, love long books that don't end too soon, the vast majority of the reading public likes to consume fiction in easier to digest portions.  (The word count for Finding Grace is about 200,000, whereas the popular number of words for a novel is about 50,000, I believe.)

Someone snapped a picture of Steve and me sitting together at this table, which I would love to share here, 

but they forgot to send it to me.  Oh well...

Anyway, Steve gave me a contact at a well-known Catholic publishing house, a friend of his who both works for the company and is a fiction author himself, and encouraged me to get in touch with him.  I did send this person an email inquiring about the possibility of republishing, and I received the most thoughtful, surprisingly long response from this kind gentleman.  I can't even tell you how much it meant to me that he would take the time to write it.

For the past five years, I have felt a bit guilty that Erin's Ring, a book for which I was given an advance and a real author's contract from Cheryl Dickow at Bezalel Books, has not done better.  I've worried that I haven't worked hard enough to figure out how to make it sell, because I really wanted it to have been a good investment for Cheryl, who went out on a limb for me.  She believed that Erin's Ring might find an audience, at least among Catholic homeschoolers, but it has not.

HOWEVER, for the first time in a long time, I feel as if a giant burden has been lifted off my shoulders, because I realize that there really is little I could have done differently that would have made my books commercially successful.  The fellow from the big-name Catholic publishing house told me, "For whatever reason, fiction doesn't sell that well in our market...We don't publish many fiction books but the ones we do are lucky to sell several hundred, while we expect our non-fiction books, whatever the subject matter, to sell between 1K-5K in the first year and continue to sell after that."  So obviously, no publisher is going to want to republish a work of Catholic fiction that has already been discontinued by another publisher because it has failed to sell well after years on the market.  His advice was to "put those other books to rest and focus on something new."

These words sound like they might make an author feel like a terrible failure, but they had the opposite effect on me.  I have been trying to keep promoting my books here and there, over on Instagram, on Facebook, on Twitter, and here on my blog--because as I said, I felt I owed it to my very generous publisher to try to make them sell.  I joined Goodreads and LinkedIn as well, thinking that all those social media platforms might help to get them some exposure.  My marketing and promotion skills are very weak, to put it mildly, but I've tried the best I know how--without much success.  So that email yesterday was a gift!  Knowing now that even if my novels had been published by a bigger company with more name recognition than Bezalel, and even if I had been less shy about promoting them, it's doubtful they would have done any better than they have, I finally feel free of guilt and light of heart--freer and lighter than I've felt in years.  I can, as this helpful insider advised, put those books to rest.

Focusing on something new might be great advice...but I don't seem to have the time and/or passion required to start a third novel these days.  Every life has its definite seasons, and I am in the Grammy season right now, so my career as a fiction author may be coming to an end.  And that book signing at our new parish may be my last ever.  But I am totally at peace with that.

I still have in my possession a fairly large number of copies of both of my novels, which I purchased for book signings, gift-giving, promotional giveaways, or sending to reviewers--and even offering for sale here at the blog.  I don't expect a lot of blog sales will transpire, but that's okay!  I intend to keep whatever copies I have to pass down to the next generation of my ever-growing family, my ever-lengthening string of Pearls.  I would love for these books to be an inspiration to my grandchildren and great-grandchildren; if they have a dream, I want them to reach for it, no matter how unattainable it seems.  And if in the eyes of the world they appear to have failed, I want them to know that they can still consider themselves successful in the only way that matters--if the work they've done has given glory to God, from Whom all blessings flow.

God has a plan; I believe that with all my heart, and I trust that He knows what is best for me and for the state of my soul. He didn't think I'd need a lot of book sales or writing accolades...but He thought I'd need a lot of grandchildren.

You know, I like the way He thinks.

Blogging is Writing...Right?

My last post  here at String of Pearls bemoaned the fact that my writing career has been somewhat less than stellar, in terms of worldly success.  I have had two Catholic novels published, one in 2012 and the other in 2014, and if I measured their value by the number of book sales they've generated, I would feel like a bit of a failure as a writer.

But never fear, it was not a sad or negative post!   Because I do believe that the path my life took is exactly the one God had mapped out for me.  I know that writing success is not measured in dollars, at least not in God's eyes.

And what a bonus blogging is--because even if I don't have another novel in me, I have this marvelous writing outlet.  If nothing else, dear readers, I can still come here any day I want, write up a post, and push the "publish" button.  I am so grateful for this blog--which has brought so many blessings into my life over the years.  I have "met" people here whom I would otherwise never have known, and these connections have enriched my life in countless ways.  (One of these people is Kari Burke, author of a lovely pro-life novel called The Life I Dreamed.   If you can get your hands on a copy of it, do!)

So today, I am doing a very writerly sort of thing--the sort of thing I used to do when I was writing my second novel, Erin's Ring: I am sitting at a table at Panera, with my laptop plugged in and my stomach way too full after a pretty awesome lunch (comprised of half of a Bacon Turkey Bravo sandwich and a cup of tomato soup--is that TMI?).  And I am blogging--which is writing...right?

I've been meaning to reply to some lovely messages that were left in the comboxes of my last few posts, but I've been so busy that past few days with family events and activities that I haven't had the opportunity.  So that was the first order of business today.  And hopefully, while I'm sitting here without all the usual distractions of home (my favorite place to putter mindlessly), I'll also be able to type up a second installment of the "Refections on Theology of Home" series I started here.

If I was at home, I might put blogging on the back burner and instead find a piece of furniture to paint--like a sweet little antique table that my mother-in-law gave me decades ago.  This humble pine beauty started its life with us as a side table in our NH family room, with a honey-colored stain and a country-style stencil treatment.  Then it was painted black and used as a bedside table in the guest room.  It's been languishing in the basement storage area of our new house for the past few years, still black but nicked-up and looking a bit worse for wear, until just the other day--when I decided it should have a new home in our VA family room and gave it a chalk paint makeover.

My favorite hue for giving a room a "pop of color" is red!

I love that when I look at this little red table, I am reminded of Mom.  Because of that, I could never part with it.

I am an incurable homebody, and I can always find a thousand little projects like that one to work on in my endless quest to make my home as cozy and comfortable as it can be.  And don't even get me started on baking.  (Does anyone else out there find baking to be a deeply therapeutic activity?)

Luckily, with a family as big as ours is now, there is always a birthday cake that needs baking--so Grammy's Bakery is always open for business.

Well, that's it for this post, which is seems to be about nothing (like Seinfeld--remember that hilarious episode?).  It's kind of all over the place.

But hopefully I'll be back next time with more cohesive thoughts inspired by Theology of Home--a book that is beautifully written and filled with gorgeous photographs, a book that I highly recommend.

I Just Pray That God is Pleased with My Books; If So, Then So Am I

I received an email recently that I've been expecting, but it kind of broke my heart a little bit nonetheless.  The publisher of my two novels, Cheryl Dickow at Bezalel Books, informed me that Erin's Ring had only sold 9 copies this past year (and it has hardly been a bestseller at any time since its publication in 2014), and therefore she could no longer afford to make it available for distribution.  I know it broke her heart a little, too, because she'd had such high hopes for this book.  She pictured it being used in Catholic school classrooms and homeschool programs, as a part of the history, reading, or religion curriculum.  But despite the fact that it received two Book Awards from the Catholic Press Association in 2015, my sweet little historical novel filled with endearing Irish immigrant characters just couldn't find its audience.  What this means for Erin's Ring is that once they run out of the stock they have on hand, Amazon and other booksellers will no longer have new copies of the paperback available on their sites--although they offer used copies for sale from other sellers, in varying conditions at varying prices.

A year or two ago, Cheryl had to drop my first novel, Finding Grace (published in 2012), from distribution for the same reason.  The good thing about this book, however, is that unlike Erin's Ring it is also available in the Kindle format.  But otherwise, henceforth only used paperback copies will be found on the Amazon site.

RIP, my babies!

And RIP, writing career.

Okay, that is just extremely dramatic!  And seriously, how can I be sad about the way things turned out when I had the opportunity to do what I love--to write fictional stories that showcase the beauty and truth of the Catholic Faith, of married love, of strong family bonds, and of openness to life--and not only that, to fulfill a girlhood dream of being a published author?  I always thought that was an unreachable goal for me, and it happened.  How blessed am I?  My husband used to joke--years before I ever got around to starting work on Finding Grace, after decades of being a SAHM--that I would one day write a blockbuster book that made me a millionaire, and he could retire early and be supported by my earnings in old age.  Ha!  He's 61 and 1/2 now, and mandatory retirement in his line of work is 65.  So with this latest email from my publisher, I would say that his dream will not be coming true!

God has a plan for all of us; and even though I question Him sometimes, I know this to be true and I trust that He knows what I need to get to Heaven a lot better than I do.  If my books were meant to sell like hotcakes, they would have.  (I've told this story before here at the blog, and if you are a longtime follower, forgive me for the repetition: my husband, who makes me laugh every day, would always say, "But they're selling like lukewarm cakes.")

Early on, I was somewhat involved in the world of Catholic authorship.  My husband and I attended a Catholic Writers Guild/Catholic Marketing Network conference in NJ in August of 2013, and Finding Grace was a finalist for a Catholic Arts and Letters Award that year.

I even stepped way (way,WAY) outside of my comfort zone at that conference and did a short interview with EWTN when they stopped by the CWG booth!

Wow, looking at these photos for the first time in years, it seems like a whole lifetime ago.  And truly, it was.  Not too long after this conference, we had a whirlwind 11-month stretch during which three of our sons got married.  And in the summer of 2013, I only had three young grandchildren; but before long, our sons' families would start to multiply at breakneck speed, and this Grammy's life would become more and more about traveling afar to see them and less and less about traveling afar to do author-type things.

But I would not trade the full and busy family life I have now, with all five sons happily married and at last count, 16 grandchildren--all of whom live within an hour of their Papa and me!--for all the tea in China (or all the 5-star reviews and massive book sales in the world).

So I am not a bestselling author.  But I am an author.  And what's most important of all to me is that I believe God is pleased that I used whatever talents He gave me to give glory to Him--or at least I hope and pray He is pleased.  The fact that these two books didn't succeed in the eyes of the world is not the measure of their worth.  Even as I sit here, feeling a bit down about the fact that my books will not be as easily available to the young souls who might be inspired and edified by their messages (which are in direct opposition to the messages with which they are being bombarded by our increasingly secular-humanistic world), I realize that they were published for a reason, and if just one reader was meant to find them, he or she will (or has).

Luckily, I will still be able to order author copies of my books for myself, to give as gifts or to sell here at the blog.  These author copies are considerably more expensive than they used to be, so I can't offer the same lower prices that Amazon could, or that I used to.  But if you're interested in either book, there are yellow "Buy Now" buttons on the sidebar at the right on my home page under the images of the book covers.  If you click on one of those buttons, you will get to a PayPal page and can make your purchase there.

I am offering signed copies of my books here at String of Pearls, for the following prices (which include shipping and handling):

Erin's Ring: $12.00

Finding Grace: $17.00

I'm thinking that maybe with the holidays approaching, I'll run a little blog book giveaway.  What do you think?  I could offer one of the novels...or I could offer a copy of My Little ABC Book (a labor of love for my family which was never expected to be a commercially successful project!).

Which of these three books should be the giveaway item?  If you have any preferences, let me know in the comments.

I don't know if I'll ever write another book...but I'm glad I'll always have this little space on the Internet to come to when the writing bug hits.  God bless you for stopping by!

INSTAGRAM GIVEAWAY: A Signed Copy of Erin's Ring

I am currently running a giveaway on Instagram.  On July 25, I will randomly pick the winner who will receive one signed copy of my YA novel, Erin's Ring.

If you're interested in entering to win, you can go to my Instagram feed (where I go by @laura.h.pearl) and find this recent post.  (I also have a tab on the sidebar here at my blog's home page that will take you right over to my IG account.)

Erin's Ring was published way back in 2014, and I haven't been as good at promoting and marketing the novel as I could/should have been.  It is a book that I never thought I'd have time to write, as my family was beginning to grow by leaps and bounds right around the time that my publisher, Cheryl Dickow of Bezalel Books, approached me with an offer to fund a second novel--one that would be appropriate for younger readers than my first novel, Finding Grace, which was published by Bezalel in 2012.  All I could see ahead of me were the weddings of my sons (one of whom got married shortly before I finished writing the book, and one shortly after) and the imminent births of new grandchildren.  I was also suffering from some strange symptoms which turned out to be caused by hypoparathyroidism, and I had to have a non-malignant parathyroid tumor removed from my neck. We hadn't moved down to VA to be near our married boys yet, and I knew that I would be doing a lot of traveling from NH for all the upcoming family events.  I had no idea how in the world I was going to be able to write a novel (even a relatively short one) in six months' time, with all that was going on in my life and in the Pearl clan.  I am a wife/mother/Grammy first, always and forever, and the role of writer takes a back seat to those vocations.  But somehow, I got it done.  And not only that, but I wrote without panic or stress, in a state of almost complete joy.

I can only attribute this almost otherworldly happiness I experienced while working on Erin's Ring to the Holy Spirit, who was definitely working in me bigtime.  I almost turned down my publisher's generous offer, for fear that my life was just too busy and I wouldn't be able to concentrate properly and meet the requisite deadlines.  Left to my own devices, I would have said no; but during that whole time I was trying to figure out what I should do, my husband's faith in me never wavered.  Even knowing how I sometimes suffer from an extreme lack of confidence, he convinced me that I could do it.  I prayed.  I prayed hard, very much aware that if I turned down this amazing offer, there would most likely never be another opportunity like it for me. And once I signed the contract, the first thing Cheryl did was to take it with her to Adoration, to pray for the success of the book while in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament.  (With a start like that, how could I doubt that I had made the right decision?!)

Of course, we all know that true success, the kind that is pleasing to God (the only Book Reviewer whose opinion matters at all!), is not measured by the world's standards.  By worldly standards, my poor little novel has not had a very good run--despite being the recipient of two Book Awards from the Catholic Press Association in 2015.  But I do believe that it can do some good in the world.  And that's what convinced me to have this giveaway, hoping that a copy of Erin's Ring will find its way into the hands of the very reader who needs it, who might be inspired or edified by it.

Thanks for stopping by, dear readers.  And if you do decide to enter the giveaway contest, may the luck of the Irish be with you!

A Holy Thursday Reflection

I may have two published novels out there, but I don't think of myself as an exceptionally talented writer.  I'm not even the best writer in my family.  I am related to people, by both blood and marriage, who absolutely blow me away with their ability to express the thoughts and feelings that live in the deepest recesses of the human soul--and express them far better than I ever could.

I'm not trying to be self-deprecating here about my writing ability (although self-deprecation is kind of my trademark move); I think I've been able to use a God-given talent for manipulating words to become a decent storyteller.  But a gifted essayist I am not.

This past week, I have been reading some deeply moving commentaries about the recent fire that nearly destroyed Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris.  So many writers whom I admire (people whose accounts I follow on Instagram, mostly) have been eloquently putting into words exactly how that tragedy made me feel, and these words have often brought me to tears.

@simplelifemusings had this to say about the tragic fire: "It is the beginning of Holy Week.  This does not feel like a coincidence.  The week that the world was redeemed through suffering and death.  It is the story that resounds with the most fundamental stirrings of the human soul that there is hope in the darkness, that we should not be afraid.  God's triumphant love wins.  And Our Lady, handmaid of the Lord, Mother of Divine Grace, Seat of Wisdom, Morning Star, Undoer of Knots, Refuge of Sinners has once again shown us the way."

Then there was this from @smallthings.gr8love, along with a picture of the large cross inside the cathedral that survived the conflagration: "Beauty rises from the ashes.  As the cross stands in the midst of fire and destruction, so does our faith."

From @catholicallyear, there was this: "We Americans hear so often that Europe, and especially France, has lost interest in her Catholic heritage and her Cathedrals and relics.  As utterly devastating as it was to see Notre Dame de Paris in flames yesterday, it was a gift to the world to see that story disproven.  It was beautiful to see priests and firefighters risking their lives for the art and relics that are such a part of our shared Catholic faith and history.  The people of France in their grief, being comforted by coming together in prayer and in hymn was a lesson to the world of how relevant our faith is.  I look forward to us coming together to rebuild this landmark of Catholicism for ourselves and our children."

I read so many other tender Instagram reflections on the symbolism of this event and the importance of resurrecting this iconic French cathedral--a beloved monument that is so important to Catholics all over the world--from the ashes.

I gave up Facebook as one of my Lenten sacrifices this year--in part because it makes me waste too much time, time that I should be spending on more important matters; and in part because some of the posts I see on there--shared memes being the usual culprits, especially ones that denigrate the Catholic Church and its faithful--tend to make my blood boil.  Scrolling Facebook, I believe, has become an occasion of sin for me, so I figured it was better to give it up and stick to the much more inspiring offerings on IG.

Well, for some perverse reason, I broke my Lenten Facebook fast for a short time today.  I felt guilty for being so weak...but then I stumbled upon an exchange that made me believe that perhaps I was meant to give in to this sudden urge to see what I'd been missing.

I figured the Facebook friends who aren't exactly fans of religion in general and Catholicism in particular would have some upsetting things to say about the Notre Dame fire, and sure enough, they did.  Here is a tweet that was shared that caused an almost physical reaction when I read it; I mean truly, it made my heart hurt. "Speaking as a Catholic here...please don't donate to help Notre Dame.  The Church is worth $30 billion. Donate to help Puerto Rico recover.  Donate to get the people of Flint clean water.  Donate to get kids out of cages.  Jesus didn't care about stained glass.  He cared about humans."

Blood temperature rising...because all I could think was that this self-proclaimed "Catholic" was probably pro-choice, too, judging by the liberal tone of her tweet, and didn't she wonder if Jesus cared about those little humans growing in their mothers' wombs?  (Unfair, I know; maybe she was a pro-life advocate and I was completely misjudging her.)  Then I thought, why is it assumed that Catholics who appreciate the physical beauty of churches--the houses of God--are not also concerned with helping the poor and suffering throughout the world?  Doesn't this person know that faithful Christians are more generous with their time and money when it comes to giving aid to the needy than any other demographic group on earth?

I was angry; my brain was on fire, and if I'd written a comment myself it would not have been calmly thought-out.  Luckily, I saw that one of my sweet daughters-in-law had left a comment on this post that said what needed to be said perfectly.  I thought it was brilliant, and I wanted to share it with you here.  My brave-hearted girl wrote, "There's no reason someone can't do both [donate to rebuild the cathedral and help others in need].  But to be fair, when you behold something as epic and grand as a cathedral, like that of Notre Dame, it ignites a spiritual fire within you.  It reminds you that there is something so much greater than you and that the majesty of God is beyond beautiful.  It's those moments that remind you to see outside yourself and remind you to look to others and help them, and sometimes move you to tears.  Since the fire of Notre Dame, people have been inspired to not just donate to Notre Dame, but to black churches here that were burned from arson.  This woman [who wrote this tweet] is seeing this from a very myopic perspective and fails to realize that by helping to restore a religious masterpiece, Notre Dame will continue, hopefully for centuries to come, to inspire Catholics around the globe to be in awe of God's presence and feel motivated to do more for their fellow man as well."

I could not have said it better--that girl can write!   And I believe God wanted me to see her beautiful comment today, to be reminded that even though the world sometimes appears to be an unsalvageable mess, the younger generation of Catholics who are raising their children right now are the hope of the future.  Their faith will move mountains--and rebuild cathedrals.

Before being burned at the stake for her faith, Joan of Arc famously said, "Hold the cross high so I may see it through the flames."

St. Joan of Arc, pray for us!

May we all continue to see Jesus' Cross and appreciate the enormity of His Sacrifice and His love, no matter how high the flames grow or how hot the fire gets.

Grace-Filled Tuesdays (Book Club "Meeting" #36): Writing about Writing about Writing

I love to write.  Writing is my favorite.

And one of my favorite subjects to write about, not so oddly enough, is writing.

So yes, as the title of this post has already warned you, today I'm going to be writing about writing about writing.

Confused yet?

I haven't been the best of bloggers in recent months (make that years), but my output used to be rather prolific here at SOP.  My archives are jam-packed with old posts about any number of subjects, and if you're ever bored and hungry for fresh[-ish] reading material, you could always scroll through them and hopefully you'd stumble upon something that would pique your interest.  The 1,300-plus posts are not all about books and writing, not by a long shot; but those grouped under the label "Grace-filled Tuesdays Book Club" most definitely are.

I started this little online book club quite a while ago, at the urging of my publisher (Cheryl Dickow at Bezalel Books), and it has indeed been a pleasure to host these book "discussions" with you over the years.  It's a great forum for talking about how my two novels went from tiny sparks of inspiration to fully fleshed-out stories filled with characters whom I got to know better and better as time went by.

I enjoy it so much when novels I read have Q and A's with the authors at the end, where a reader can learn exactly what motivated them to write their stories in the first place.  I usually flip back there before I even dive into Chapter One, because it adds another layer of enjoyment for me to learn how the writer was inspired to start the book and the amount of time it took to research and write it.  The writing process itself is endlessly fascinating to me.  So you can imagine why I get such a kick out of sharing my own stories here at the blog--about how I was inspired to write Finding Grace and Erin's Ring and how the books eventually took shape.

Most writers will admit that even the fictional stories they create have pieces of real people, places, and events embedded in them; that was certainly true for me--especially with Finding Grace.  But trust me, this novel is NOT autobiographical (or even semi-autobiographical).  So much of what was real was tweaked and reworked, and characters who were inspired by people I knew began to take on their own unique identities--which surprised and delighted me; truly, these characters became friends whom I missed dearly when I'd finished writing the last chapters.

I think this is a common phenomenon for fiction authors.  In his biography Becoming Jane, Jon Spence discusses how the peerless Jane Austen wove together real life and fiction in her work (I've brought this up before here at the blog, in this past book club post, and this one, and this one, too --sheesh, you guys, I'm like a broken record!):

"Jane wrote her early pieces for the amusement of her family and friends, and she put in shared jokes, teasing jibes, and allusions to real events in their lives."
 
"Austen is never autobiographical in the crude sense of recording what happened to her or to people she knew.  But a real situation was sometimes her starting point and developed in her imagination as something quite separate from the 'real'."

Yes, Jane, that's just what I ended up doing!  And I didn't even know that you did this, too, until I'd already written Finding Grace!  (I believe we would be BFF's!)

But Austen is by no means the only fiction author who did/does this sort of thing.  Here are a few quotes by some talented modern-day writers whom I also admire, about how real life sneaks its way into their fictional tales.

In the acknowledgements at the end of One Day, a book I absolutely loved, author David Nicholls writes, "It is the nature of this novel that certain smart remarks and observations may have been pilfered from friends and acquaintances over the years, and I hope that a collective thank you--or apology--will be enough."

Ha ha, so true: I am convinced that a novelist cannot help but employ tidbits of actual conversations that he's been involved in or overheard, tweaking them to fit the storyline he's creating.

In the Q and A section at the back of Anne Rivers Siddons' Off Season (a book that had some very strange elements, to be sure, but which I nonetheless enjoyed on the whole very much) the interviewer asks, "Do you base your characters on real people or are they purely products of your imagination?"  And Siddons replies, "There is always a flicker or a seeming of someone real in most of my characters, but by the time I have developed a character enough to carry them through a book, they become their own selves and there's no doubt about that.  I never knowingly copy anybody--I'm not that good at it."

Yes, Anne!  You, Jane, and I--if only we could go out for coffee together and talk shop!  How fun would that be?

I know that when I was writing about Peggy Roach Kelly's feelings for her five sons in Finding Grace, I couldn't help but channel my feelings for my own five sons, whom I adore completely.  Whenever my husband and I would walk with our tall, handsome boys across the church parking lot for Sunday Mass, I would watch them with eyes full of love and think, "Those are all mine!  Those wonderful young men belong to me!"  They had a way of walking, a "Pearl boy walk," that made them look alike from behind. So there you have it,  the inspiration for this scene in Chapter 6 (pages 61-62 in the paperback version), where Grace and her parents are following the Kelly boys across the church parking lot:

"It was interesting how much the five brothers resembled one another, particularly from behind, where one couldn't see the variations in their facial features.  They were all Roaches, similar in height and build, and all had Peggy's chestnut-colored hair (only Grace had inherited the stature and coloring of the Kelly side).  They shared a gait that was uniquely their own, genetically programmed, so it seemed--the "Kelly boy walk": they sort of dragged their feet, yet bounced, with hands jammed in their pockets and shoulders slightly hunched, their heads leaning forward a bit.  The five of them laughed together easily as they made their way over to the church, looking and acting for all the world like a set of giant quintuplets.  They seemed nearly identical in appearance from this view, and as they say about babies of multiple births, they had almost a language of their own.  They often finished each other's sentences, and laughed at the same moments.  Their hand gestures and the inflections of their speech were uncannily alike.

They shared a tight bond that was indeed extraordinary, one that their parents hoped would never be broken.

Peggy drank them in with her eyes; Grace saw the expression on her mother's face and wished for a moment that she had ever been the one to produce such a look of naked adoration.  Then she watched her brothers loping along ahead of them, and if she'd had a mirror she would have realized that her own face bore an expression very nearly the same as her mother's.

'Aren't they something special?' Grace thought, filled with tenderness. Right then she knew more than ever that she hoped she would one day be the mother of many boys."

How obvious is it that that passage was written by a hopelessly smitten Boy Mom?!  I slid that little piece of real life in there as an homage to my beloved offspring; yet as much as the Kelly boys were originally modeled after my string of Pearls, they really did evolve and become their own selves the further along I got in the writing process.

Okay then, that's about it from here.  But before I sign off, I'll leave you with a few images of the six fabulous men in my life, who inspired me to write a book that included five completely lovable brothers and a perfect love interest for my shy little heroine, Grace Kelly.

Office Space (Just What a Writer Always Wanted!); and a CHRISTMAS GIVEAWAY!!

Once upon a time, when I was writing novels, I would have given my eye teeth to have an office space to work in like the one I have now.  That is one HUGE plus of our new house in VA, where we moved in March of 2017 in order to be closer to our grown and married sons and their families.  We did downsize considerably when we moved here; but one thing our old house didn't have was an office.  Oh, initially we did carve out office space in our basement, which was mostly finished off thanks to the DIY skills of my hard-working husband.  But after our boys got older and outgrew the desire to hang out together down there, playing with their toys and video games, heading down to the basement to write or do filing or paperwork felt like being banished to the dungeon.

I eventually fashioned an office space for my husband, behind the couch in the family room, where he could keep up with the family finances without getting a bad case of FOMO.  I did write most of Finding Grace down in the basement, because I was using an ancient (and finicky!) tabletop computer for the first few years I was writing it, and that old girl couldn't be moved to another room.  But after my husband saw that I really was going to do it--I was going to finish that novel!--he got me my first laptop.  And so by the time I was writing Erin's Ring, I either worked at the dining room table or went off to Barnes and Noble for the afternoon, where I ordered one Starbucks coffee (and maybe a pastry to go with it!) and sat at a little table in the café area, happily pounding the keys of my laptop until my battery started to run out.

In our new house, one of the four bedrooms upstairs had been used as an office by the previous owners.  Since we no longer have any boys living under our roof with us, and that means every bedroom other than the master is now a guest room, we decided to follow the previous owners'  lead and continue to use the fourth bedroom as an office.

His work area.

And hers.

More hers.

Full disclosure, dear readers: those photos were snapped shortly after we moved in and set up the room.  Almost two years later, the office has seen a few changes.  (And it is much messier than it was back then, especially on my hubby's side.  Wink, wink.)

I love that our grandchildren's artwork now decorates my side of the office.

My desk is crowded and messy...but I don't dare show you his!

I cannot tell you how absolutely wonderful it is to have a place where my husband and I can both work so efficiently.  We each have our own desk, our own printer, and we sit in matching faux leather rolling office chairs.  We have two filing cabinets and plenty of storage and shelving.  It is everything I ever wanted in an office, and as I said, it makes it so that in some ways, we are better set up than we've ever been--even though we loved our big Colonial in NH, where we spent 26 of the best years of our lives.

It's almost too bad that I don't really write anymore, now that I have a great place to do it.  I don't even blog as much as I used to.  (See above: we live near a small army of Pearl grandchildren now...and time spent with them and their parents trumps time spent at my laptop!)  I'm so happy that before life became too hectic to do it, I fulfilled that long-held childhood dream of becoming an author, of writing just one novel that might make some infinitesimal difference in the life of even one reader.

Well...Hopefully, that has already happened.  Because I recently was given the rather discouraging news that because Finding Grace has not sold well enough in the six years it has been in print, after the end of 2018 it will no longer be available to the public in the paperback version.  It will still be available as a Kindle download, however.  Erin's Ring has not exactly sold like hot cakes either (my husband, who makes me laugh every day, jokes that it's more like "lukewarm cakes").  For the coming year 2019, it will still be available in paperback from Amazon.  But after that...I'm not sure.  It was never formatted into a Kindle book, and unless my husband and I decide it's worth investing whatever it takes to have that done, it will probably not be available at all.

In our correspondence over the years, my publisher (Cheryl Dickow of Bezalel Books) often comments that although I have been blessed in so many ways, having my books be financially successful just isn't one of them.  But I do believe that there is a reason for everything: I fully believe that I was inspired by the Holy Spirit to write my first novel; and I also believe that it was not meant to be a best-seller, but had some other purpose (which I may never know in this life).  So I am a bit sad that the paperback version of Finding Grace will no longer be available for sale on Amazon; I much prefer it, personally, because I use a lot of dashes in my writing and they look the same as hyphens in the electronic version of the book, and I worry that it's confusing to the reader.  But at least it will live on in Kindle.

I vacillate between not even believing that anything I've ever written is of any real worth or that I am even a real writer at all (instead of just "sort of" a writer), and hoping beyond hope that my books will find their way into as many hands as possible--particularly the hands of young adult readers whose lives might be changed, even in some small way, by these Catholic works of fiction. I trust that God knows what he's doing, and if Finding Grace  and Erin's Ring are meant to go the way of the dinosaurs, there is a very good reason for that.  But I have to admit that in my heart of hearts, I'd love to see those books available for my grandchildren's children.

In the meantime, I have plenty of copies in the office to share with my family.

And you know what?  I think in the spirit of Christmas giving, I'd like to give away one copy of each novel between now and Dec. 15. 

Leave me a comment by Dec. 15 and tell me which one you'd like to win and whom you'd like to give it to, and I'll toss all of your names into a hat (one for each book) and choose two winners randomly.  I will mail the prizes out to the winners the next day, and hopefully they will arrive in time for Christmas gift-giving.

I think I'll head on over to Instagram and post the contest there as well.  Thanks so much for stopping by here--and maybe I'll see you over there?

Dusting Off the Blog

When I first started blogging in the spring of 2011, I could hardly wait to sit at my laptop every day to write about favorite family memories, or about what was going on in our household at the time, or just to do a bit of mindless navel gazing.  It was a joy to me to exercise my writing muscles on a daily basis.

For a good number of years, those muscles were in pretty good shape.  Now...well, they might not have atrophied completely, but if I don't start using them more often, they will.

If you come here much, you know that the Pearl family has been growing by leaps and bounds in the last few years.  When I started this blog, I had only one married son and his wife was a few months away from giving birth to twin daughters.  Since then, 3 more daughters-in-law have joined the family, and the grandchild count currently stands at 14 (with the addition of a new grandson just last month).

I have had so many great topics to explore here--so, so many--but ever since we moved down to VA so that we could see our kids and grandkids on a regular basis, it seems like I've been too busy living life to write about it.  I mean, here are some of the things I've wanted to write about, from the deep and serious to the frivolous and mundane:

1. My dad's amazing last week on earth and his beautiful passing into eternal life, about which I have not been able to write in full (and the second anniversary of his death is fast approaching)

2. My mother's trials since losing her husband of 60 years, her frightening health decline, and the astounding (practically miraculous) way she has bounced back recently

3. My saintly baby sister and her husband, who lovingly took my mom into their home a year ago and are more responsible for the improvements in her health than any of the medical procedures she's had done 

4. Pearl family birthdays and anniversaries (there have been many which I have not gotten around to documenting)

5. The births of new Pearl grandbabies (we got a new grandson in June, named after my husband's dad, and another one in October, named after my husband!)

6. Family parties (including a fun shower I hosted for my daughter-in-law when she was about to have a boy after 4 girls in a row--and which I thought was practically Pinterest-worthy, but I might have been giving myself too much credit!)

7. Notre Dame football weekends this fall, with our boys

8. More installments of the house tour, wherein I show you some of the rooms of our new house in VA (which I am slowly but surely starting to consider HOME, after leaving a beloved Colonial on a quiet street in NH, where we'd lived for 26 years, about a year-and-a-half ago)

Those are just a few of the things I imagine blogging about...and then before I know it, it's time for a bone-tired Grammy to go to bed and another day has passed without a new blog post.

Sometimes, I really do wonder if the whole blogging phenomenon is about to die off and go the way of VHS tapes (and even DVD's).  I mean really, who needs those anymore, now that there are new-fangled smart TV's that allow you to stream just about anything you want to watch?  And who wants to bother to visit a blog, when so many former bloggers are on Instagram, offering much-easier-to-digest posts that don't take quite as much time out of our busy lives as a full-length blog post does?

For whatever reason, however, I'm not quite ready to leave the blogosphere, a place where I've "met" so many amazing people who seem like friends.  I've been blessed in countless ways since I set up shop here in 2011.  So instead of giving up, I think I'll just dust this blog off and spruce it up a bit, and maybe find the mojo to keep at it.

I'm not sure if I'm ready to give my site a whole new look (even though I've heard that it's best to have a mostly white background...and mine is, as you can see, very GREEN).  But there are a few improvements I can make.  After my most recent book club post, which was all about writing, I got to thinking that perhaps it was time to update my "author photo."  The one I've been using for a long time now--here at the blog, on Goodreads, on my Amazon author's page, etc.--is one that my husband took of me back in 2012, shortly after the publication of my first novel, Finding Grace.  We thought I should be sitting at my laptop, with my trusty cup of coffee at my side, looking very "writerly."  So, this was the pose I assumed.

That picture was taken 6 years (and at least as many pounds) ago.  I was only 54, and I'm not that young anymore.  (It's amazing how when you turn 60, 54 seems young to you!)

Also, I have a smaller laptop now and bigger glasses.  I have 14 grandchildren and back then I just had 2.  And I no longer live in NH, where the photo was taken, so I no longer have that spacious dining room with the red walls and outdated-but-I-still-love-it wallpaper border.

On Halloween, 11 of our 14 grandkids and their parents came over to go Trick-or-Treating in our new VA neighborhood (which is just about the most perfect neighborhood for that activity I have ever seen: it's flat and well-lit, with hundreds of houses situated very close together, wide sidewalks, and minimal outside traffic).

A cute pair of Trolls: G-Man as Branch and Princesa as Princess Poppy 

(these are the two oldest children of son #3 and his wife Preciosa).

Pumpkin as the Cowardly Lion, Paquita as Dorothy, and Peanut as the Scarecrow, along with 

the parents of those adorable triplets--son #4 as the Tin Man and his wife Braveheart 

as the Wicked Witch.

Before they got here in their killer costumes, I wanted to test out the expensive digital camera my husband gave me as a gift years ago.  I'd lost the battery charger for it, and for ages now I've just been snapping photos using my cell phone.  I'd finally gotten it up and running again, and I wanted to see how pictures turned out using the "smart portrait" mode.  So I took this picture of my favorite guy while he had a "Why are you doing this?" look on his face.

And I took this selfie.

Those are the new (kind of ridiculously large!) glasses.  Those are the stairs of the new VA house.  I like that you can see my Miraculous Medal, and that along with my orange and black Halloween ensemble, you can see part of the white apron I was wearing while I made the mac and cheese for the grandkids who would be arriving soon--and then never got around to taking off.  This is real life, folks; I have an apron tied around my waist about 75% of the time.  One of my boys insists that I even wear it when I sleep, but that's pure exaggeration.

Okay, maybe not.  Here is a photo of my apron collection.

And that doesn't include my newest apron, this buffalo plaid flannel number that I was wearing when I took the picture of the others!

Anyway--

I have gotten so used to the old picture up there at the top, which I associate with anything having to do with my writing activities.  And I really love the Irish-green color of the sweater I'm wearing in it.  But I feel like it's not really "me" anymore.

So what say you?  Should I use the selfie-on-the-stairs pic here at the blog--or perhaps get my husband to take an updated one for me?  Or should I just leave well enough alone and be forever 54?  Should I change my blog's background, get rid of the green?  Your thoughts?  (I realize your thoughts might be something along the lines of, "I don't care!"  But you guys are so nice, you probably won't say that!)

Dust blog: check.  Stretch blogging muscles: check.  Let's see if I can keep this streak going!