Savannah's Letter to Santa

*Coming off holiday hiatus just long enough to share this adorable post with you. Happy Holidays.





OK, Savannah. How do we want to do this?
You're two years old now so I think you and I – while Grandma and Mommy are out of our … I mean away for awhile – should compose your letter to Santa.
How about … you just stand there right beside my chair all calm and quiet and don't touch anything. All right?
Dear Santa,
PawPaw, up?
Well … it's a little tight between my belly and the desk. You stand there and watch.
PawPaw, up? PaaaaaaaaaaaaawPaw UP. PawPawaaaaaaaaa UP your lap, PawPaw.
OK, just don't touch the keyboard. Now, comfortable up here?
Yeah, PawPaw.
Dear Santa,
How abooooout this one?
Gggggggggggg – Stop, Savannah. I said – gggggggggg – I said let PawPaw work the keyboard. OK?
OK, PawPaw.
Dear Santa,

Do you want to save the changes to Dear Santa.doc?

Savannah! No. I mean yes, save, I mean, what are you doing?
PawPaw? PawPaw? PawPaw, drtf heddy Vanna touch keyboard?
If you said only PawPaw touches the keyboard, then yes. If you said PawPaw should let Savannah touch the keyboard, then I'm not going to answer that.
Dear Santa,
I've been a really good girl, etc. etc. etc.
Now, Savannah, what do we … you …want for Christmas?
PawPaw, press the button. I want to move it, move it.
Don't press the button.
Barnacles!
No more Spongebob stuff, OK? Of course that's better than what you repeated after me the other day. Go ahead and say barnacles.
Oh, there's the phone. Savannah, you sit right here in PawPaw's chair and don't touch anything.
Yeah, PawPaw.
hhhhhhhytrjsksi3wpj,bvkjwim;lqfjoi0knA JKL;NSD
Kaboom. Pengins!
Safd3rfy08najkao;i]e[;jv8 9- f9pkjbDBJDGUwb.nl,LMNJN,. Kjjlc
Oh, Savannah! What's all thus stuff? Let me sit, will you?
Paaaaaaaaaaaaapa UP.
Here, here. Now sit still on my lap.
Thank you, PawPaw.
You're welcome.
Dear Santa,
I've been a really good girl, etc. etc. etc.
I want you to bring…
PawPaw, press the button.
jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj
Savannah, stop it.
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
I said stop it.
hhhhhhhhhhhhh I said stop it. qqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqq I said… Stop it?
Yes, stop it. You're going to get in really big trouble in a minute.
Kaboom. Kaboom.
Savannah, enough with the dynamite already.
Dear Santa,
I've been a really good girl, etc. etc. etc.
I want you to bring…
Let's see. It might help to get into the spirit. Jingle bells, jingle bells …
Shtake your butt, shtake your butt, shtake it all da way.
Hmmmmmm.
--sniff—sniiiiiiiiiiiff—sniff--
Savannah, did you potty?
No potty, PawPaw.
Why is there a warm feeling on my leg? Where are you going? That's it. Hide under the chair because you pottied.
Come on. Let's change your pants.
I want to move it, move it.
Well, you might've waited until your Mommy got home before you moved it, moved it.
(A few minutes, one mishap with a filled diaper, three wasted new diapers from trying to fasten the stupid things and we're back.)
OK, little girl, let's try this again.
PawPaw, up?
Oh, yeah………….here we go. You're heavier than you were last Christmas. Don't look at me like that. I know I'm heavier too.
Dear Santa,
I've been a really good girl, etc. etc. etc.
I want you to bring…
PawPaw, cup?
You're already up.
Dear Santa,
I've been a really good girl, etc. etc. etc.
I want you to bring…
PawPaw, cup?
Savannah …
PAWPAW, cuuuuuuuuuuup!
Well, where is your cup?
(Just a second, please. She's running for the refrigerator. She's opening the door. She's singing something about her cup. She's closing the door. She's … she's not running back down the hallway. Just a minute – it's time for PawPaw to play birddog.)
Savannah! What are you doing? Leave that alone. That's Grandma's stuff. Savannah, I said leave it alone.
OK, PawPaw.
You'd better move.
OK, PAWPAW!
(We're back now. Thank you for your patience. Do you have some you can spare for me?)
Savannah, where did you get that cheese?
Ty uiop cheese gherbh drink with cup, PawPaw.
(Yeah, PawPaw. Don't you get it? The cheese was with the cup, I can just hear Grandma telling me now.)
Anyway …
Dear Santa,
I've been a really good girl, etc. etc. etc.
I want you to bring…
Savannah, are you trying to go to sleep? Baby, you can't sleep on my lap like that. Savannah? Savannah?
(Just a minute while I lie her down on the bed and cover her up and you know.)
Dear Santa,
I've been a really good girl, etc. etc. etc.
I want you to bring…
Wait a minute. Let's try it this way.
Dear Santa,
Savannah is nappy-nap now. So this letter is from me, her grand … her PawPaw.
I realize that you're likely not really really really real. You're not, are you? Yet I distinguish that you are truly tangible. I know this because you live, you reside within my heart now by way of that little girl sleeping behind me – she grants you merit within me.
It is the Christmas spirit through her and millions of others that allows you to live across generations - spirit that is true and truth, spirit that is undeniable as long as it is fueled with consideration, gentleness embraced by minds and hearts unbolted to cherishing and sharing generosity and charity. It is a spirit that lives only when both equally abundantly shared and partaken.
Santa, we teach and will teach Savannah that you are tangible through Christmas spirit, yet it is the Christ Child – whose birth for our sake we celebrate - who is real and the genesis of that spirit. We will teach her that you are reflection of the spirit while He is flesh of it. You can show spirit of Christmas to us. Only He can give it to us.
And while the sprit grants you life, it is He who grants merit to our lives. It is He who is life and is the spirit.
Sincerely,
PawPaw Jim
Savannah? Hi, baby. You awake?
Wake? I wake.
Come up here on my lap and see what I've written.
PawPaw?
Yes, baby?
One, two, three, seven, twelve. Kaboom! Kaboom! Kaboom! Press the button.
Savannah! Not that bu




You'll find Jim's book "Hill of Beans" available at whiskeycreekpress.com and barnesandnoble.com.

Happy Holidays

I'm taking a little hiatus for the holidays, but I wanted to stop in and wish each of you, no matter your religious or non-religious affiliation, a joyous reason to celebrate. I hope the New Year brings you everything good...and a contract for me. *lol* I'll resume posting after the first of the year, with a roster of guests I know you'll enjoy.

As for me, I'll be celebrating the birth of the Savior, and I hope those of you who celebrate Christmas along with me remember "the reason for the season." Sometimes, Jesus gets lost among the presents and Santa Claus although the holiday is named for him. Put Christ back in Christmas if only through a pause to remember and be thankful.

Thank you all for sticking with me through another year. I've found that true gifts are sometimes "faceless" friends who make a vast improvement in our lives. God has blessed me many times.

Again, from my heart to yours...Best wishes and lots of love!

A Real Hero and Example Of Loving Spirit

John Gebhardt's wife, Mindy, said that this little girl's entire family was executed. The insurgents intended to execute the little girl also, and shot her in the head...but they failed to kill her. She was cared for in John's hospital and is healing up, but continues to cry and moan. The nurses said John is the only one who seems to calm her down, so John has spent the last four nights holding her while they both slept in that chair. The girl is coming along with her healing.

He is a real Star of the war, and represents what America is trying to do.

This, my friends, is worth sharing. The American public needs to see pictures like this and needs to realize that what the fighting men and women are doing over there makes a difference.. Even if it is just one little girl at a time.

Then and Now

More Hoops and Hoopla

Note: I wrote this for a previous post at Romance Junkies almost two years ago, but I think it's worth repeating... that, and my brain isn't working at the moment. I did alter the text just a tad. :)

ORIGINAL COVER

I was a ‘reader’ for years before I decided to try my hand at writing my own historical romance, Prairie Peace. I can truly say I was shocked to find I had no idea what went into getting your name on the front of a book. Though my first manuscript was accepted for publication after one query, the transformation it went through was grueling. I discovered I’d written a great story, but it wasn’t yet a novel.

I told about the pies, but didn’t transmit the awesome aroma to the reader. The love scenes were described, but not to the point the person turning the pages sensed the butterfly kisses trailing up her neck. I described the emotions, smells, and flowers, but I didn’t let my reader experience them. Until I learned that showing over telling made the difference, my story lacked warmth and feeling. People want the breeze in their faces, crave the goosebumps from his touch (even more now that m/m has become more popular); they need their stomachs to rumble with want for the bubbling stew. I wanted all that when I read, so why did I forget when I wrote? I can only say it’s because as an author, you look at the words from a different perspective. Even when I proofread my story, I didn’t notice what was missing other than the occasional comma or missing end quote.

When you write historical novels you also have to research the facts. Readers notice glaring mistakes such as a pioneer wife calling the ‘kids’. She might get goats, but she’d never get the ‘children.’ I created a beautiful scene of my heroine cooking breakfast on a stove while peering out the splintered shutters at the barn. Nice touch, but as my editor pointed out…”she lives in a shack on the middle of a prairie in the 1800s. What are the chances of such a modern appliance?” So, my heroine went back to kneeling at the hearth to stir the soup, and the stove magically disappeared. Duh uh. Why didn’t I think about that?

Besides inventions, authors have to consider language, clothing, and scenery that fits the period. My Cecile couldn’t very well look off into the distance and see an airplane. Talk about yanking the reader out of the story! How about if she crossed the squeaking old porch, closed the weathered door and set the deadbolt? *lol* I didn’t go that far, but my editor worked hard to help me avoid the obvious. She taught me the importance of credibility as an historical author. She also taught me about head-hopping. Only Nora Roberts can do that and get away with it.

Oh, (hear a big sigh here) if only those were the only lessons one had to learn. (Imagine my brow furrowed) I’m now a multi-published author, and I’ve been through countless editing sessions. I’m still learning, and the hardest thing to absorb is why the rules keep changing. (Picture a frown tugging at my lips.) Just (oh, and by the way, some editors hate that word), when I thought I had a handle on Edits 101, I moved to a new publisher and discovered a whole different set of rules. Publisher number one likes ellipses and em-dashes; number two forbids them. Publisher three dislikes semi-colons, while number four uses them, but requires you go through your manuscript and delete as many instances of would, should, could, have been, was, and of course all unnecessary uses of ‘that’. The shock came in knowing I had to eliminate my beloved ‘ing’ and ‘ly’ words which I consistently use throughout my stories. I’m also limited to eight exclamation points, so I guess I’ll have to count the number of times someone shows surprise in their voice. Do most reader’s actually notice this punctuation mark?

Don’t think for a moment that (this is one of those unnecessary usages of ‘that’) I don’t admire the wonderful people who read and comment on all the manuscripts being submitted these days, or appreciate their hard word. My point: why can’t there be some consistency? After going through my last manuscript and deleting or changing to fit house rules, I started proofing a manuscript for another house. The story I’m reading is filled with all the things I just deleted. And I wonder why I’m losing my hair? Literally.

I wish I had started writing for publication much sooner. At least, I’d have the brain cells to absorb all the different requirements and nuances, but at sixty-two, (ugh, I'm sixty-four now) I’m discovering I’m that ‘old dog’. It’s not only the editorial issues. I’m still trying to discover the correct way to query an agent. If you don’t believe how confusing it is, check out the submission pages on any three or four agent sites and tell me they don’t stay up nights thinking up that one requirement that differs from the norm. I’m waiting for ’stand up, circle three times, sit down, and recite the national anthem before hitting send.” And no fair cheating.

I’m telling you, writing a story is a lot easier than writing a book. I must be a glutton for punishment, because I keep striving to reach the stars. I’m finding the path to get there is paved with big confusing stones.

Since I wrote this post, I'm improved Prairie Peace and re-released it via Eternal Press. Here's the new cover:

Writing Rules Begone!

ARGHHHH! Rules, schmules. I'm so sick of trying to figure out what's right and what's wrong in writing fiction. You know, you can carry this rule thing too far and totally change your voice and writing style. What's even worse is when you belong to a critique group and constantly get conflicting opinions. Who do you trust?

Actually, I trust everyone. Each person has an individual talent and style, and perhaps write in a way totally different than mine. Isn't that what we want? Variety is the spice of life, so I've been told, but when it comes to mainstream or finding an agent, it almost seems like we're expected to fit our stories into the same confining box as all the rest of the authors.

I've been a "serious writer" since 2001, and almost weekly, I feel like someone throws a new rule into the mix. Now, I'm supposed to limit the times I use "it". Rather than making the reader guess what "it" is, use a hard noun. Okay...I see the logic, but there are just some instances where "it" works.

And of course, the "was" is passive rule. Try to eliminate using it as much as possible, and definitely not with a gerund. Well, I like gerunds and I refuse to eliminate them. I will minimize using "was" if I can think of something else, but I'm not going to burn brains cells over something so trivial. (I lied...can you smell the smoke?) I was so paranoid over passive voice after one editing session, that I changed anything that sounded the least bit passive, and the writing became so stilted and stiff, the story sounded ridiculous. We have to leave room for author style. And do readers really count how many it and was instances are in each chapter? I doubt it.

Not to knock those who write medical romance, but a few years back, I reviewed HQ Medical Romance for one site, and the books eventually became so predicable, I felt as though I was playing "insert a new name here and locale here." You can't blame the authors. They have forced to follow guidelines of what ALL readers supposedly want.

Hey, I may write, but I read too, and I'm tired of the same "cake-mix" plots. Add a new character and stir the pot. You can add a few more nuts or some food coloring, but you still come out with a cake.

While Santa is making a list and checking it twice for naughty or nice kids, I'm trying to fit more more rule into the continuing roster of do and don't do in my head. I need a shoehorn.

How about sharing some rules here that have you confused.

Times Have Changed

I've always been very fond of Christmas... it's my favorite holiday. But it's not easy to be festive when you live with scrooge and his friends. Where once I trekked through the tree farm to find the biggest and fullest tree there, now I'm relegated to a small, artificial one that is probably enjoying it's last year since the lights are built in.

I cling to ornaments that are dear to me because they were given by friends, or I found them in a specialty shop and thought they were different, but I still mourn for the ones lost when my ex and I divorced. I was in the hospital when the house sold, and he moved out and left all my special things behind...my ornaments, my expensive nativity given to me, my high school year books. All those things you can't replace.

I recall the plaster hand my oldest son painted in kindergarten...the pictures of them encased in special frames that marked each year, the little dough ones I made and me and the boys painted together...they're gone now, along with all those memories my ornaments held for me. I take delight in seeing the tree my DIL puts together for her children. It's filled with the same sort of memories I lost, but the delight I see in my grandson's eyes dulls the pain and reminds me what is really important.