Mona Karel Author

We all have those special people we feel have influenced our lives in some way. Maybe a

It’s Almost Here!

civic leader, maybe an entertainer. Maybe an author (well DUH) Then one day we meet them. Do we just stand there and stare? Are we struck dumb? Do we stammer out some inane statement, then hope they didn’t actually hear us?

Of course I’ve had those moments, and of course they were writers. One wrote about Salukis, and I was over the moon to meet her when I visited England. I dashed over to tell her how much I appreciated her generosity in sharing her knowledge. Except…the dear woman was totally deaf. What started out as an intimate chat ended up a near bellow, which she still did not understand. The people sitting around her were not amused.

An encounter with one of my all time favorite authors occurred earlier, and with a much more favorable outcome. At that time Elizabeth Lowell still lived in Southern California, was a member of the Orange County Chapter RWA, and often gave the morning craft talk. I gushed. I simpered. I stuttered. She smiled graciously, signed the book I held out to her. When I mentioned my recent litter taking me away from my writing, she demanded pictures. Then I asked: When would she write the next story in her Rocking M series. “Never. Contract issues with the publisher.” I admit I begged a bit.

She gave me a lovely enigmatic smile, and said: “You write it.”

From Amazon

So, I did. Well, not really. But I wrote about what might happen to a fighting man, wounded in body and soul, who meets that one woman who can drag him back to the light. I wrote A Question of Honor, then I put it away. When I brought it out again, looked at it with a slightly more experienced eye, I cringed. I cut out lovely scenes with a vicious pen. I molded. I sculpted. I sent it to. Black Opal Books

At the front, I wrote:

I would like to dedicate A Question of Honor to Elizabeth
Lowell, who encouraged me to write the books I want to read
and whose generous sharing of knowledge gave me the tools
needed.

Because, well, that’s what squealy fan girls do, when they can.

Most of those who read my blog know I’m involved in dogs. I’m here to confess that

Fire Dragon, a Saluki

involvement is in a big way. A HUGE way. My first Saluki came to live with me in 1972, and most of the hounds decorating my house are in direct descent of that dog.

Yes, I am a dog breeder. I realize that’s an epithet to many people. I’ve been vilified by other writers for being such a greedy individual as to produce puppies for profit.

Excuse me, that guffaw was out of control. Yes, there is money in purebred dogs…not quite sure where it is but I know I’ve poured an obscene amount of my own money into my dogs over the past forty plus years. Don’t tell my brothers, they already think I’m one step from certifiable. Being responsible to my dogs, throughout their lives, means sometimes eating boxed mac’n’cheese while they eat premium food. During the really rough times we all ate eggs and  oatmeal. Fortunately those times are behind me but the memories are there.

Glamorous? Not so much

Purebred dogs might have you thinking of those televised shows with everyone in fancy dress, racing around on carpet while lights glint off their diamonds. The reality is more like serviceable shoes and clothes from a thrift store, the venue more likely a convention center or packed dirt arena, or a park pressed into service for the weekend. If a carpeted show is Broadway, most of us are in local theater productions. Which brings the same (or nearly the same) thrill.

I was thinking about the implied glamor recently. I’d planned to breed Boo to Navad. Both have passed health tests, both exhibit intelligence and personality, both typify, in my mind, their breed. Notice I didn’t say much about both being obedient. I know my dogs too well.

Given these decades of experience I should not have expected Boo to wait around for me to drop a leash on her when we were ready for the breeding. Instead she

Navad and Boo

dashed off into the dark and through the gate to the two acre field that I generally close at night. Due to the magnitude of the storm that had blown through I didn’t get that done before dark descended.

So. I’m slogging through the ankle high mud, waving around the flashlight that’s in dire need of new batteries, peering into the intense dark. Occasional flashes of lightning in the distance, then not so distant mountains. Other than that, no sound. Anywhere. Being a female of a certain age, I’m reminded I should visited the bathroom before setting out on this adventure.

Finally, a faint sound. I flash the light in that direction, and this time see a reflecting gleam. Naturally Boo will still not come but Navad is more than willing to transfer his attention to me. When she sees her play toy being led from the field, Boo follows right behind, far more graceful than I could ever manage.

Fortunately no one was around to fall down laughing as we squelched our way back to the house, me placing my feet ever so carefully to avoid the slick mud, Navad wanting to rub against me. No one’s posterior made it to the ground but it was a close thing.

Glamorous? Not hardly. But hopeful, so hopeful, that Boo now gestates another generation to please the people who have been wanting her puppies for way too long.

In the meantime I’m endeavoring to finish up the next Stormhaven installment while so many other stories clamor in my head. Patience, guys, you can all come out to play.

Just because I love where I live

I remember this song as being, well, kind of a downer. Sort of a melodic way to dump someone. Great song, but…

Then recently I LISTENED. And heard something far different from what I remembered. Hmmmmm.

Let’s take it from the other direction. Both times, a declaration that no, I am not going to be your identity. You will not be able to use me to prop you up. Nope, not happening.

How many times have we been asked to be the everything for someone? Their identity, their wall, no matter what. No matter how they act.

Check out the amazing lyrics by Bob Dylan:

Go ‘way from my window
Leave at your own chosen speed
I’m not the one you want, babe
I’m not the one you need
You say you’re lookin’ for someone
Who’s never weak but always strong
To protect you an’ defend you
Whether you are right or wrong
Someone to open each and every door
But it ain’t me, babe
No, no, no, it ain’t me babe
It ain’t me you’re lookin’ for, babe

Go lightly from the ledge, babe
Go lightly on the ground
I’m not the one you want, babe
I will only let you down
You say you’re lookin’ for someone
Who will promise never to part
Someone to close his eyes for you
Someone to close his heart
Someone who will die for you an’ more
But it ain’t me, babe
No, no, no, it ain’t me babe
It ain’t me you’re lookin’ for, babe

Go melt back in the night
Everything inside is made of stone
There’s nothing in here moving
An’ anyway I’m not alone
You say you’re looking for someone
Who’ll pick you up each time you fall
To gather flowers constantly
An’ to come each time you call
A lover for your life an’ nothing more
But it ain’t me, babe
No, no, no, it ain’t me, babe
It ain’t me you’re lookin’ for, babe

Who’ll pick you up each time you fall
To gather flowers constantly
An’ to come each time you call
A lover for your life an’ nothing more

No. No. No.

Far better:

Don’t walk behind me, I may not lead.
Don’t walk in front of me, I may not follow.
Just walk beside me and be my friend.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

When I was young, really young, many many years ago…no we didn’t go to town in a covered wagon but our telephone number included a word, in this case Cherry 95700…I had two brothers, and a mother who believed in gender specific chores. Therefore I folded clothes and helped with dinner while my brothers got to mow the lawn.You read that right, I had ‘girl’ jobs while my brothers had ‘boy’ jobs. Given my propensity to high drama, you can imagine my expression when I placed their folded laundry on their beds while listening to the sound of lawn mowers and smelling the sweet green of new cut grass.

Fast forward several decades, and a phone call from my youngest brother, in his mid teens. He was the only one home, and he was hungry. Knowing the usual contents of that refrigerator, I suggested cooking up a hamburger. Great idea but…he didn’t know how. I don’t think I’d read Heinlein yet, or I would have quoted Lazarus Long:

A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.

Instead, I talked him through cooking his own meal, and continued to wonder about gender specific jobs. Particularly since, by then I had worked in various kennels and stables, and learned whoever was handy did the job. If they didn’t know how to they better learn. Fast.

And fast forward to today, when I live much of my dream though without the person with whom I shared that dream. A person who though mowing lawns was just the greatest game ever. When he found out we could acquire a riding lawn mower along with our five acres, he was in bliss, and would take any opportunity to start it up.Not so much my passion, and the lawn tractor sits, unloved, under a protection of tarps.

But the rain produces green stuff, and after a while the weed whacker just was not getting the job done. So, a birthday present to myself:

All bright and shiny and clean. Not for long.

It took some time to read the set up instructions (I know, a markedly female tendency, not one I often utilize)

Soon I was chugging puffing and hauling and pushing that new toy around. Note: if possible do not start a lawn project after noon, especially in the high and dry. Eventually my pretty new toy will look even more used. I can’t wait!

However, this is only for the area around the house, where walkways are obscured by growth of unknown origin. The big field has planted itself in something lovely, and I won’t interfere there. All too soon, it will be chilly and deep with snow.

I’ll leave you with a word of advice. If you want to do the best by your children, teach them to do everything. They’ll thank you in the end. Hugs

We are told not to have favorites. Not favorite children, nor favorite pets. Treat everyone as equally as possibly. In particular we writers do not have favorite characters, lest we allow our favoritism to impede our writing. Characters must deal with conflict. They must suffer, to show us their mettle.

So. No favorites.

Except…I finished the final final final edits for A Question of Faith, a Stormhaven Love Story. I hadn’t seen that story for a while. I’d been working on the next one in the series, and other stories after that. So when I met Roz again, she whammied me, saying things like this. Roz talking with Tyler Randolph:

***His gaze was uncomfortably intense as he set down the coffee cup. “You’ve never lost it all for a man?”
She tugged on her wrist. “Couldn’t see the reason to lose it all for a man. Could see wanting to share your life with someone, could see building something better than either side of the equation from combining two lives. Could never see forcing the issue. If it was meant to be, then it happened.”
He slowly relaxed his hold, but didn’t let go. “If it didn’t happen easily, it wasn’t meant?”
“Not really. If it’s worth happening, it’s definitely worth working toward and putting a lot of effort into. But if two pieces of a puzzle aren’t meant to fit together, getting out a hammer to force the issue isn’t the answer.”
“What about trimming the edges so the pieces fit?”
“Forcing the fit? Nope, could never see that either. Woman meets a man, he’s perfect except maybe he doesn’t go to the opera or would rather watch football than go for a walk with her. He’s not perfect, he’s not Mr. Right, he’s Mr. Right Now, Mr. Almost Good Enough, Mr. I Can Fix This if I Try. If he’s the right man, he’ll want to make her happy and if going to the opera makes her happy, presto bingo, they go to the opera. Not every weekend, sometimes she goes by herself. Sometimes she watches football with him and sometimes she goes for a walk on her own. Because they are, or should be, two complete people who are better for being together, not two disparate beings who can’t function without being joined at the hip.”
He frowned while his thumb rubbed along her skin and she told herself it had no effect on her.
“So not having found this ideal male who chooses to go to the opera with you, you’ve remained single?”
“Got it in one. Single, and not ragging on my husband or boyfriend or, heaven help me, ‘life partner,’ with my girlfriends every time his back is turned. You were married, you must have figured out some of this on your own.”***

And later, when they’ve resolved some of those ‘fit’ issues, and Roz is sharing her deeper thoughts:

***“When I watched a cowboy walk up a hill and wondered what his butt would feel like under my hands.” She closed the distance between them. Their mouths touched lightly, and she pulled back to look into his eyes, letting him know this was what she wanted. “When I watched him ride his stallion and suddenly understood what all my romance writing buddies were talking about. Wondering if your hips would move the same way in bed as they did on the horse. Watching the way your muscles flexed when you lifted a calf up out of trouble. Wondering if you would ever touch me the way you touched that scared filly.” She nestled her neck against his hand, looking directly into his face. “Ty, I realize, whatever your reasons, you don’t want to seduce me. So I am trying as best I can to seduce you.”***

Oh yeah, if I ever grow up, I want to be like Roz.

A Question of Faith comes out October 1, from  Black Opal Books

I was trying to do the ‘share’ thing but it didn’t want to work for me. Since I’m cleaning (seriously, don’t pass out) as well as writing (I’ve got to get Lana and Adam back together) I’m going to give you the link Seth’s Great Advice, and also copy it below below. While you check out the link, you might want to subscribe. Seth makes so much sense! These are wonderful reminders of how not to make everyone around you roll their eyes.

Endless September (10 quick rules)

I came across this on Facebook:

Wow, how gorgeous. I’ve heard the song before, and wondered from time to time what it really meant. Folk songs all too often have a much deeper meaning than we realize. An Internet search brought me to Wikipedia, a good starting place, with a wealth of possibilities:

***There are many theories about the meaning of the song, most of which are connected to the Jacobite Uprising of 1745. One interpretation based on the lyrics is that the song is sung by the lover of a captured Jacobite rebel set to be executed in London following a show trial. The heads of the executed rebels were then set upon pikes and exhibited in all of the towns between London and Edinburgh in a procession along the “high road” (the most important road), while the relatives of the rebels walked back along the “low road” (the ordinary road travelled by peasants and commoners).^[3]

Another interpretation of the “Low Road” is that it refers to the traditional underground route taken by the “fairies” or “little people” who were reputed to transport the soul of a dead Scot who died in a foreign land—in this case, England—back to his homeland to rest in peace.^[3][4]

Another similar interpretation also attributes it to a Jacobite Highlander captured after the 1745 rising. The Hanoverian British victors were known to play cruel games on the captured Jacobites, and would supposedly find a pair of either brothers or friends and tell them one could live and the other would be executed, and it was up to the pair to decide. Thus the interpretation here is that the song is sung by the brother or friend who chose or was chosen to die. He is therefore telling his friend that they will both go back to Scotland, but he will go on the “low road”, his body being paraded along the main road controlled by the Duke of Cumberland’s forces, whereas his friend will have to head for the hilltops, taking longer to get back. Another supporting feature of this is that he states he will never meet his love again in the temporal world, on Loch Lomond. Some believe that this version is written entirely to a lover who lived near the loch.^[3][5]

A related interpretation holds that a professional soldier and a volunteer were captured by the English in one of the small wars between the countries in the couple of hundred years prior to 1746. Volunteers could accept parole, a release contingent on the volunteer’s refusal to rejoin the fighting, but regulars could not and so could face execution. The volunteer would take the high road that linked London and Edinburgh while the soul of the executed regular would return along the “low road” and would get back to Scotland first.^[3]***

Looks like, as we find all too often, this is a story of people in conflict, one side resisting the efforts of the other side’s control. All too often old men sending young men off to die for their own causes. Or a dominating force believing Might Makes Right.

Not that all wars are unjustified. There have been a few, very few, with some valid reason. Not many. Perhaps worse than the direct loss of life is the loss of self for those who survive, on both sides of the conflict, for those fighting, those fought against, and those known too often as unintended consequences. Not just today or yesterday but throughout history.

Those who don’t learn history are doomed to repeat it.

Time to pull some weeds. In the garden, I mean. Have a peaceful Sunday and enjoy the music in spite of the meaning.

AKA why I run late more often than I like. Running late is rude and counterproductive since it makes everyone involved uncomfortable and can upset the tenor of the day. This problem dogged me throughout my working career. Although I manage to make my flights and most other deadlines, it’s often only due to dogged determination. When I am on time (or early!) I realize how much less stressful my day continues.

My life is not as deadline oriented as I once was. Which is fortunate when I see this  outside my back door. The morning light casting shadows across the yard brings beauty and peace to my soul.

Not a day later, the morning brought another dash of beauty, a reward for the hope we all have when planting something unique. especially in a difficult gardening area.

It’s called a Hardy Hibiscus, and has a more formal name to define the shape of those lovely flowers. Hardy is the perfect name for this beauty since it has survived intermittent care, high winds, deep snow, freezing temperatures and other difficult to deal with issues to produce the first flower. With many more to come.

Check this out:

Yes, lots more blooms to come. I think I’ll use this as a metaphor for my writing, and my life. LOTS more beauty to share. LOTS more books to come.

Ah, a radical song from my not so radical past

Mostly, I wanted to share THE BEST sign I’ve seen in a long time:

Seen at a local hardware store. Gotta love it!

I came across an essay on how being grateful…being happy for something every day…can have a profound influence on our lives. And I thought…huh. Okay. And, why not try? I know I have felt better on the days I wake up counting blessings instead of failures. And I remember a song…what a shock!

Okay, it looks kinda creepy! But the lyrics? Epic. Or maybe I’m just exposing my musical roots? Anyway, I went searching for the science of gratitude, or more to the point the science of happy. And found this: Science Behind Gratitude Because, yes, we DO have the right to be happy and we DO need to feel grateful for something every day.

Is life perfect? Heck, no. Could it be worse? Well, yeah. But my ground is damp every morning right now, my friends think about me, my family is healthy and happy.

Life is good. Just ask my mugwump