Copper feels grateful for his new bed. He has three now spread throughout the house. So, as Thanksgiving Day inches closer, what are you grateful for? And don’t we all agree that showing gratitude isn’t just for this one day of the year; it’s for all year round. Let’s face it, watching the news gets depressing. The pandemic is still with us, people have lost their lives to this virus, fires raged in the summer, taking with them human lives and homes. Hurricanes landed causing devastation beyond our imagination. I feel like every day the news reporter tells us about another fatal shooting. Lives have been upended in the most horrific ways, and I’ve only scratched the surface. Still, if we dig deep enough, we can always find something to be grateful for.
Besides my family and Copper, I am grateful for the rain we’ve had, definite cause for a happy dance! We’re still heading into our 3rd drought year, but everything is green right now. Even the weeds are green for which I am grateful! We pray for more rainfall this winter so we can hear Mother Earth sigh once again.
I love the quiet early mornings when Copper and I go for our walks. We get to watch the sunrise and listen to the silence. The air is cool and crisp and wonderful!
I miss the long, light evenings from the summer, but hubby and I break out the candles for the long, dark nights. The coziness wraps us up in its warmth. It goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway. It’s heartbreaking to see so many people living on the street or in their campers and vans. Having a roof over our head is not something to take lightly.
During this season, I love the smells of sweet and spicy, the baking of pumpkin bread, pumpkin pies, and pumpkin cookies. Hello, Pumpkin! And who doesn’t love the wardrobe changing of the leaves on the trees? Those rich, warm reds, golds, and yellows. I’m thankful for my bookcase that is bursting at the seams. So many books make me happy! I don’t know what I’d do if paperbacks and hardcovers became obsolete. I love the feel of the pages and the smooth covers.
Earlier this year, I did a post about Gratitude and the list I shared had a beginning, but it didn’t have an ending. Isn’t that something to be thankful for?! I’m writing this on the fly without any intense editing, so please forgive any errors. Lastly, thank you for your continued support and friendship in this world of blogging. And a Big Thank You to those of you who have bought my book, More than Coffee, and to those who have written fabulous reviews.
My family, Copper, and I wish you all a very warm and loving Thanksgiving! ~Lauren đ§Ąđđđ§Ą
I remember yesterday when I stepped outside, strolling down the undisturbed road with my dog on my left, his gait as graceful as a galloping horse in slow motion. Maybe the squirrels raised their sleepy heads because of the early hour. The sky appeared to be coal black, but when I turned the corner, watermelon pinks, corals, and lemon yellows took center stage. My camera did not deliver. Then I thought of my son who often says, âEnjoy the moment.â I slipped that device back in my pocket. Passing the orange poppies, I imagined their stems fluttered with excitement, eager for the sunâs ascent, and in the distance, silence sang its serene ballad. As the tempo of our pace sped up, a breeze joined us, and the leaves on the trees lining the lane swayed in rhythm as though dancing a waltz. Jowls flapped, he smiled with brown nose set in overdrive. The sunâs gentle touch added a glimmer to his copper coat. There was a moment when I paused, bending down to his level, fingers stroking shiny, silky fur, his eyes closed, contented from contact. When we moved again, his nails on the asphalt mimicked the clicking of castanets, and in that second, I realized these observations on this early morning are what life is all about⌠the seeingâŚtouchingâŚsmellingâŚlistening⌠the being.
It was close to 7:30 am when she walked into his room, sitting down in front of him. She looked into his eyes with a combination of love and resolution, as if to say, âDonât you know, too?â He looked at his adorable black lab and shook his head, thinking, this is a little odd. But the obligation of school called, so he patted her soft head, saying, âLove you, Girl, see you later!â And he finished tying his shoes before walking out the door, heading for the high school.
The rest of us also left for the dayâs routine: work and school. Just the ordinary; it was to be an ordinary kind of day. She was curled up and content on her soft bed in the backyard where she liked to keep an eye on any trespassing critters.
But shortly after we all left, she cried out. Our good neighbor next door heard her high-pitched cries, so he called us on our cell phones, then he stayed with her. One significant glitch was that all our cell phones were turned off, which had never happened before, and which proved to be the conundrum on this tearful day. So, over an hour passed before I even listened to the urgent message; during this time, our neighbor waited patiently with Lucky Girl breathing her last breaths. The guilt from this unintentional blunder stayed with us for a very long time; we felt sick inside imagining that she was lying there waiting for one of us to come home to tell her that everything was going to be okay.
He got down to her level, parking himself on the cool November concrete, her head resting on his leg. He was not a dog person, but he was a dog person on this day, petting her with compassion. It was ironic that she had had an aversion to him for some unknown reason. But that morning, any dislike she had for this man faded into the uncertainty of what was happening.
I pulled into the driveway, eyes wet and puffy from the phone message, and this was only the beginning. Walking through the side gate, I spotted our neighbor sitting on the walkway, his back up against the house, legs stretched out with Lucky Girl lying beside him. She was barely there, though â her eyes revealing acceptance and sadness. I think she knew more than we did at that moment.
He helped me lift her, gently laying her in the back of the car so she could lie on her side with plenty of room. As much as I wanted her in the front seat where I could see her, I knew she wouldnât be comfortable. It wasnât until I pulled out of the driveway that I realized the inevitable was drawing closer. She was eleven years old, but until today, she still seemed so full of life.
With tearful eyes, I drove, feeling grateful the freeway wasnât a necessary route. Half-way to the vet, I knew. My heart felt the crossing. I pulled over to the side, got out of the car, and walked to the back, lifting the car door. I saw that my Lucky Girl had crossed over the Rainbow Bridge. I sobbed again, knowing more tears would follow.
I kissed her on her nose then managed to get back into the driverâs seat, continuing for another ten minutes to the vet. When I arrived, frantically entering the building, I shared my devastating news with the girl at the counter who acted amazingly aloof for my untamed emotions. But two vet techs wearing light blue medical jackets carried Lucky Girl from the car into a private room. I asked for a few moments alone with my girl. There she was lying on the silver table, where Iâm sure many furry family members have done the same. I bent over, laying my head on her soft black fur, gently petting her, and whispering on behalf of her family, âWe love you, Lucky Girl.â More tears slid down my face as I was unable to comprehend that this was itâŚ
No more walks together, no more cuddles on the bed, no more tossing of the ball, watching her chase that silly round toy with the excitement of a toddler. No more playing tug-o-war with her favorite rope toy, entertained by her incredible strength and admirable effort. No more watching TV with her lying at our feet as though sheâs enjoying the show as much as we are.
When we were all home later that day â the news weighing heavy on our hearts and minds â we huddled in a strong embrace, emotions running wild. This unforgettable chapter was part of life, part of owning a pet, allowing their unconditional love to wrap around our hearts. But this chapter was also about learning how to say good-bye.
The strange thing was Lucky Girl had never indicated that something was off kilterâŚexcept, perhaps, when she walked into his room that morning. She looked at him with knowledge we couldnât possibly have been privy to. Even though her behavior was unusual, she was quiet, not crying or whining, so it didnât propel us into worrying.
Hindsight is twenty-twenty. If we only would have known. It just happened so fast.
Remembering Lucky Girl who received her angel wings on November 11, 2011. â¤ď¸
Sometimes, we hold plans with such great importance that when they become derailed, our mindsets are not as toughas we assume, no, not as tough as spider silk – they spiral into grottos of gloom where we keep company with a suitcase of insecurity.
Indulging in comfort that doesn’t judge or bicker occurs effortlessly. The smell of sorrow is overwhelming.
But despite the absence of light, the sunrise slowly unfolds, brushstrokes of vivid oranges illuminate the sky like a painter brightens a new canvas, and the experience feels feather-light as though a burden is lifted.
Our fascination is stirred once again by a hummingbirdâs ability to fly forward and backwards, sideways, and even upside down. We hear the sparrows singing their tales, and bees buzzing in jubilation.
Sensing the spiritual presence of hope, we exhale with relief, and we are optimistic for an extended stay.
I forgot how the sound of rain could be soothing like the calm of a childâs lullaby. I heard my lantana sing âHallelujah!â as the soil exhaled, the thirst for relief felt longer than eternity. Silk-thread drizzles dusted rooftops on the street along with the brown brittle hills with flowing grace. The fascination of puddles slipped my mind, the childlike sense of play from a hop and a splash. And who would think the sight of cocoa-brown mud could be so entertaining in all its messiness! Would you believe if I said the flowers smiled at me? And their leaves offered a gentle wave? Observing from my slightly opened window, I caught a grateful sigh from the soaked earth, and I enjoyed listening to the roots laugh in delight.
The calendar showed October 4th, 2012. She and I sat in the sterile office surrounded by semi-gloss light blue walls, our hearts thumping, hands like ice. We waited for the man who wore a white coat to join us, hoping he would provide gentle answers to appease our questions.
The matter was serious, but when I first saw his face, I thought of Santa, stark white hair and fluffy beard, red, rosy cheeks good for pinching. The only thing missing was the apple red hat, and though he would bear dreadful news, his smile was welcoming, as if the three of us were meeting for a stroll in the park on a lovely spring afternoon.
It was amazing how a tiny scope could be guided through the mouth and throat then down the esophagus. CT scans, lab work, MRIs, and a needle too long to discuss occupied her hours for over 1,000 days. Still, we craved clarity. Our world was hazy like thick fog a driver would endure crossing the Golden Gate Bridge during summer in the wee hours of the morning. And we waited â a necessary evil that all people grapple with too often to count the times on their hands.
Then on that autumn day came words we would have liked to have hurled back to Santa. We had hoped for gentle. Instead⌠âAll tests point to this auto immune disease, and there is no cause or cure,â he told us with a touch of remorse. The future would necessitate a transplant. It was not cancer, but this finding should not be shunned. She was twenty years old, like a sunflower of friendliness and optimism. He added, âJust live your life.â
I felt her physical pain rip through each atrium and ventricle â my most excruciating moments of being a parent. But her strength embraced and consoled me, her mother, of all things. Life pulled us through each season.
The calendar now presents the year 2021: She is a lovely, young woman â a wedding band adorns her left ring finger, and geography has changed along with a new insurance card. She meets with another man who wears a similar white coat. X-rays and jabs repeat. âAll of your tests are normal,â he affirms. All is normal. Words we had hoped to hear from this new expert. âI donât see a reason to keep you in the same box,â he confirms.
This is amazing news! But abdominal stabs and pruritus from the past were as tangible as a twisted knife to the gut. How can we negate that agony? What is the deeper meaning? Should we get the champagne flutes out, give them a quick wash? Has this nightmare finally ended? She chooses to live in the here and now. Life continues to draw us forward to witness each sunrise and sunset, although we are still waiting to exhale.
Carol still grieved the loss of her husband, Bill. Twelve months had slipped away, but forty-six loving years of marriage wouldnât allow her to let go of her beloved. Living without him was like living without air. Sadly, they couldnât have children of their own and Bill wasnât keen on adopting. So, they lived their life together spending time in the outdoors and traveling when they could. At seventy-three years old, Carol recognized that her friends circle had shrunk. She had several acquaintances to occasionally meet for lunch, but she no longer had that best friend to rely on for laughter or tears or to confess her deepest anxieties. The friends she thought would be in her life forever had drifted away like the wind carrying a lonely leaf over a meadow. But Charlie, her friendly pug, needed love and attention, so he filled that role in this chapter of her life. She talked to her furry friend all the time and he was an intent listener. She swore that he could understand every spoken word. He was quick to pick up on her emotions by giving her a lick on her cheek or a nudge from his tiny wet nose.
Because of Charlie, Carol couldnât wallow in the stronghold of sadness. By eight o’clock each morning, she had locked the door behind her, and she and Charlie were walking around the neighborhood. She had remained in pretty good shape and maintained to keep it that way. Carol and Charlie usually spotted Jenna who lived around the block and who was the first to introduce herself over a decade ago. During that initial conversation, Carol learned that Jenna was married to Tom, and they had one son, Jack. They had moved into their home shortly before the two women had met.
It was a Friday morning when Carol and Charlie were about to reach Jennaâs house on their walk. She was standing by her car but walked over to meet them. âHi Carol, it’s good to see you,â Jenna said as she bent down to pet Charlie on his soft little head.
âHi Jenna, how are you? Why the long face?â
âWell, Iâm afraid I have some bad newsâŚTom and I are getting a divorce. I haven’t seen you all week to tell you.â
âOh, I’ve had a nasty cold that kept me inside. Iâm so sorry, Jenna! I didnât see this coming!“
âI didnât either, even though weâve had some rocky moments. But after Tom and I talked, we thought it was for the best. I’m glad you’re feeling better, but I wish I had happier news to share.”
âDon’t worry about me. I feel bad this is happening, but itâs good you and Tom reached an agreement. I hope you’re staying in the house…â
âActually, Iâm moving out, but Tom didn’t ask me to. It’s my choice. I already found an apartment where Jack will live with me part of the time, and the move is Sunday.”
âThis weekend? That’s so fast, Jenna. Iâm at a loss for words, except that Iâll really miss you.”
âIâll miss you, too, and our morning chats. You and Charlie need to take good care of each other.â Jenna wrapped Carol in a good-bye hug before the two women parted ways.
Carol felt the beginning of tears pushing through as she and Charlie continued their walk. She would miss her friend, but she was also saddened by the news of their impending divorce. So many young couples were separating, and these statistics made her heart ache. She missed Bill so much and wondered, why canât couples find what we treasured for what felt like a lifetime? Ironically, Jenna had been friendlier than many of the new residents in the neighborhood â one of the reasons Carol felt a pang of sympathy and concern for this lovely young woman.
The neighborhood had changed since Bill and Carol moved into town decades ago. She recalled former neighbors with nostalgia. Mr. Angelino across the street no longer played his accordion â no music flowed from his backyard patio. Mrs. Miller didnât toss saltwater taffy from her kitchen window for the youngsters; her kind gesture always brought high-pitched laughter that could be heard over the noise of cars rolling up and down the street. Then there was Mrs. Arnold who extended a generous invitation to the neighbors for a swim in her pool that amusingly resembled a kidney. Her joy in cooling off in the aquamarine water on those scorching summer days should be shared with others; thatâs how she saw it. I enjoyed so many refreshing dips thanks to kindhearted Mrs. Arnold. These three lovely friends had passed away long ago, and these times are now distant, precious memories. Therefore, Jennaâs affable demeanor brightened Carolâs days. And now Jennaâs moving, she thought with a heavy heart.
Younger couples lived in these older homes now, but they seemed nonexistent. They were probably busy with their jobs, and occasionally, the cries of a baby escaped through billowing curtains. Maybe computer screens had become their new companions. Computers are terrific tools, but they can also be sneaky time thieves! When Carol does happen to see any of these young people, they donât smile or wave much, not like her old neighbors did.
The following week when Carol and Charlie spotted Jennaâs house on their walk, it was apparent that Jenna had moved out. Her green SUV no longer hugged the curb in its normal spot. Two living room chairs, a worn sofa and ottoman, and a dresser sat on the dried-up brown grass. The roses and lantana in the front yard that once blossomed in soft pinks and rich reds had wilted, looking sad and forlorn. Tomâs black truck was still there, sitting in the driveway. But the tan stucco house looked exhausted, probably from emotions pulling its walls in several directions.
It was Thursday of that week when Carol paused for a momentâŚI want to believe this house could tell joyful tales from the past, but now I feel that if this house could talk, it might shed a tear or two from the second story windows, and those tears would fall into the neglected garden.
Carol missed Jenna, a bright light on those early-morning walks. Perhaps after experiencing the loss of my old friends, then losing Bill, Jennaâs move is one more loss added to the list. Itâs a heavy burden Carol will have to bear but then let go of when the time is right. She was aware the stages of grieving differ for everyone.
Despite my own sadness, I hope this family can gather courage for acceptance of a new trajectory that lies in their future. I suppose I need to do the same thing. A year has come and gone and Iâm no better off than the day I scattered Billâs ashes on his favorite mountain.
Charlie nudged Carol out of her deep thoughts with his tiny wet nose as they began to turn another corner.
During the book promotion for More than Coffee, another wonderful friend, Barbara at Book Club Mom, invited me to participate in an interview. I was thrilled to have this opportunity. Thanks again, Barbara, and if any of you aren’t familiar with her blog, please pay her a visit. She shares great books to read, insightful book reviews, interviews like mine so we can learn more about other Indie Authors, and she’s also on YouTube. There is always something to take away when visiting her sitehttps://bvitelli2002.wordpress.com/.
Author Name: Lauren Scott
Genre: Poetry, Memoir
Books:New Day, New Dreams (2013), Finding a Balance (2015), and new release this year: More than Coffee: Memories in Verse and Prose
Bio:I live in California with my husband of 32 years, and we have two adult children. Through my experiences over three decades: raising a family, grieving through loss, finding joy in the smallest things, and the many backpacking and camping adventures, my writing takes a magical path of its own. I also love to read, and my bookcase is bursting at the seams!
What got you started as a writer?When I was a teenager, I wrote poetry about the boys I had crushes on. This lighthearted inspiration was only the beginning because I continued to put thoughts to paper throughout my life, but I grew more passionate within the last decade. Now I write each day; itâs a natural part of my routine, either creating poems, drafting a short memoir, or dabbling in fiction.
What difficult experience has helped you as a writer? My love for writing turned into a passion when my daughter was diagnosed with a rare disease that would necessitate a future transplant. It isnât fair for children to suffer, and as her mother, this news took processing that prompted me to write. My hurting poured out through words into poems and stories, some personal, some shared.
Have you ever participated in theNational Novel Writing Month(NaNoWriMo)? If so, how many times and what was your experience?I havenât participated in NaNoWriMo, but it sounds like a wonderful organization. Maybe someday.
What advice would you give a new indie author hoping to publish a book? Do your research, initiate dialogue with authors who have self-published. Persevere, because if publishing your book means that much to you, youâll do the work to achieve your goal.
What has been the biggest challenge for you during Covid?What tugged at my heart was not being able to see my daughter and son-in-law who live in Tennessee. Regarding writing, inspiration flowed at lightning speed. The last year and a half have been a challenge, but I am grateful for the abundance of creativity.
What are you reading right now?Dead of Winter, Journey 5, by Teagan Riordain Geneviene. This book is part of a series of short novellas and Journey 9 is her latest release. It has been an exciting adventure diving into this fantasy tale.
Would you rather laugh or cry over a book? Laugh!
Have you ever climbed a tree to read a book?I canât say that I have. I enjoy sitting in the comfort of my living room or on the patio in the company of nature.
Have you ever dropped a book in the tub, in a pool or in the ocean?From my childhood, I have memories of a favorite paperback slipping out of my hands into our aquamarine kidney-shaped pool.
Could you live in a tiny house?No, but my husband and I live in a modest 1200 square foot home, a cozy dwelling, where we raised our two children. Even though we are new empty nesters, our 75-lb lab, Copper, still happily trots around the house.
What are the small things that make you happy?Baking. Flowers in bloom. Chocolate. Music. Carrot cake. A walk around the neighborhood. Backpacking. Freshwater lakes. Ping pong. Watching rom-coms or compelling thrillers. Reading. Family and writing are the Big things in life.
I want to offer a Big Thank you to those who have already purchased my book, to those who are thinking about it, and to all who stop by for a visit. I appreciate all forms of support! ~Lauren đđ§Ąđ
Fires raged in the Sierra mountains this summer, forcing my husband and I to cancel our long-awaited backpacking trip. So, what did we do instead? We thought “local!” We found Pantoll Campground located on Mt. Tamalpais that seemed like a good alternative for a peaceful getaway. Only a forty-minute drive from home, we felt like we had traveled hundreds of miles, entering into another world. Mt. Tam is a popular tourist attraction, but with packing up all the gear and necessities for camping, we always wanted to drive farther into the mountains. Itâs funny how one setback unexpectedly leads to a pleasant surprise. Here’s a glimpse into our weekend…
A visitor quietly joined us in our site.Our cozy accommodations.Site #1 presented an open concept of a raised dining and great room with a rustic fireplace.Our backyard, perfectly landscaped. Hiking nearby with views of San Francisco Bay.Boiling water in minutesfor our freeze-dried feast. Our only fire because of the red flag warning for the following day.Our first beautiful sunset.Coffee and a gorgeous sunrise. Ahhh…..A different perspective.Our once-a-year bacon splurge, using my mom’s cast iron skilletthat must be about 100 years old!We hiked to the outdoor mountain theater – a wonderful, summertime cultural experience.After hiking uphill a few miles, our legs were ready for a break.Back on the trail, views of the SF bay entertained us again.It’s all downhill from here. đ Must be 5 O’Clock. Cheers! Nature’s architecture.
Did you enjoy the scenery? I hope so! We’re glad to have found a local option now, maybe not for backpacking, but at least for camping and hiking. Here in sunny and drought-ridden California, everyone waits for some precipitation to reduce fire danger. We hope to slip on those backpacks next year…
Thanks for popping in and stay safe, Lauren â¤ď¸â¤ď¸â¤ď¸
Iam honored to be featured on Debby’s blog today to spotlight More than Coffee. Here’s a little about Debby, “I am a nonfiction memoir writer who writes about life, matters of the heart and womenâs issues. My intent is to inspire others by sharing my stories about events I encountered, and the lessons that come along with them.” If you haven’t met Debby, I encourage you to pay her a visit. She writes with authenticity, honesty, and humor. https://dgkayewriter.com/
Welcome to my Q & A for September. Today Iâm thrilled to be featuring my friend and author, Lauren Scott and her beautiful new book â More than Coffee: Memories in Verse and Prose. Lauren writes beautiful poetry and short story memoirs. Iâve been following her blog for a few years now and as Lauren has recently released her newest book, sheâs on blog tour now, so I thought Iâd jump in on her booklaunch tour with doing a little Q & A here with her. Enjoy!
About Lauren:
Lauren has authored two collections of poetry: New Day, New Dreams (2013) and Finding a Balance (2015). In the last couple of years, she began exploring memories from her past, penning them into short memoirs. She lives in Northern California with her husband, Matthew, and their lovable canine, Copper; they have two adult children. Family has been an aspect of life she has always held dear. From her experiences over three decades: raising a family, grieving through loss, finding joy in the smallest things, and the many backpacking and camping adventures, her writing takes a magical path of its own.
The marvelous wild world that surrounds her: the smell of the woods, the sound of a babbling brook, and the chorus of birds never disappoint in providing inspiration. Recent backpacking trips with Matthew along the California coast and Sierra Nevada have stirred up thoughts to write about love, lost friendship, family, and the possibility that anything can happen. Hikes along the Paper Mill Creek remind her that life is fragile. From trout hatchlings to swallowtail butterflies, Lauren is marveled at how the world is interconnected and that every living thing matters. She is a poet, short memoir writer, and nature lover who hopes her readers will find a little nugget of delight, comfort, or understanding in her poetry and stories â some detail that resonates with them beyond her words.
Blurb:
From the early woes of childhood and teen years, this collection of stories and poems paints a picture of young dreams and fears. But as adulthood sets in, these dreams and fears change. More than Coffee touches on love and loss, nature and endurance, marriage and parenting. In these memories, humor diffuses fear and taking risks proves to be a powerful method in boosting self-confidence. Through it all, whether in the wilderness near a sparkling lake or in the comfort of home, thereâs nothing like a good cup of coffee. A poignant and reflective collection of verse and prose that is best enjoyed sipping your favorite coffee roast.
Letâs get into a little Q & A and get to know more about Lauren!
Where do your book ideas grow from?
Inspiration is derived from a simple walk around the neighborhood with my dog: flowers blooming in springtime, bees buzzing in the distance, clouds forming art in the sky, or a subtle touch of a breeze. Family is most important to me, so I write about the love of my life, my husband of 32 years, who I met in a comical manner. My parents who have since passed away have been the fodder for poetry and short memoirs â losing one parent is difficult enough, but both is beyond surreal. Itâs like the family foundation slipped into a sink hole. I find inspiration from my son and daughter who have turned out to be compassionate, amazing adults, and how it took some getting used to when my husband and I became empty nesters.
I write about loss and grief â the importance of letting those tears flow â but also the necessity of occasionally giving freedom to your silly self. Camping and backpacking have played an integral part of our life, so living in the wilderness near a sparkling freshwater lake encourages a plethora of thoughts eager to be written. Hiking five miles further up the mountain to a lake filled with lily pads is like entering a fairyland inspiring a new level of ideas for my muse.
When work on my memoir began, my mind transported to the past: recalling formative childhood years, finding forever love, becoming a mother, and taking on challenges that I never would have attempted before. I strive to convey the value of slowing down and reveling in surrounding beauty, feeling gratitude, meeting a challenge head-on, and living in the here and now. Weâre only gifted one ride around the sun, so why not make it the best possible ride?!
DG: Even your response here is beautiful prose Lauren. Yes, writing about truth in life is all about the moments we take in and how we interpret them. đ
What are your writing goals for this year?
I had set a writing goal to publish my memoir, More than Coffee: Memories in Verse and Prose which was released in early September. What a feeling of accomplishment, especially because my first two books were collections of poetry. More than Coffee speaks of memories from the past written in freeform poetry and in short memoirs. The process took longer than I anticipated, and I thought the editing would never end. Eventually, the point of confidence that every comma and verb was written correctly was finally achieved. I am thrilled to check that box off, but in the process, I was able to relive many wonderful moments from my childhood into my adulting. When loved ones have passed on, it is the gathering of fond memories that sustain us and bring them to life.
DG: Iâm glad you accomplished what you set out to do Lauren. I know how life can get in the way of our good intentions. Writing memoir is certainly reliving the moments. đ
Would you like to share with us what upcoming projects and/or ideas for books youâre working on?
As I inched closer to the finish line with More than Coffee, the wheels in my mind started turning again, and I wondered what will come next? I have written more than a dozen new poems I would love to see in print, but those may have to wait. I recently pulled a childrenâs book idea from my archived computer files. This book or a possible series commenced over two decades ago. And then life happened, raising children took precedence, and that idea became complacent in the archives. I feel now is the right time to breathe some life into this project. However, I donât know the first thing about writing a childrenâs book. For now, though, Iâm enjoying the ride on Cloud 9 from the release of my new book and the positive feedback Iâve received, along with the generous support from wonderful blogging friends. Once this ride slows down, the childrenâs book research will begin, and Iâll see where it takes me.
DG: That sounds fantastic Lauren. I could definitely see you as a childrenâs writer. That will be a wonderful project to dive into no doubt!
Do you have any advice you can share for new writers?
My advice is to simply write! Donât think too hard! Years ago, I allowed intimidation to prevent me from pursuing my writing passion â intimidation from not holding that BA or MFA in Creative Writing. However, several years ago, I attended English classes required for an associate degree at our local community college (baby steps to a bachelorâs degree), and Iâm proud to say that I aced those classes. I loved the writing and the experience. But what halted me on that path to a two-year degree was the requirement to take other classes that might not interest me, then to spend time doing that homework. Instead, my son nudged me into starting a blog. I slowly began to share my writing, feeling a little timid in the beginning. At the same time, I followed many talented authors. Before I knew it, WordPress transformed into an online classroom. I learned about various formats of poetry. I read compelling fiction with authentic dialogue. I laughed and let the tears fall when reading memoirs. I delighted in immersing myself into charming childrenâs books.
Thus, I made another choice, pouring my heart and soul into writing for my blog, a wonderful platform to engage with other like-minded bloggers. Regardless of age, learning is infinite, as well as growing in oneâs craft. Maybe Iâll step foot on a college campus again? Whether that happens or not, Iâll continue to read, letting myself be drawn into fantastic tales of fantasy, mystery, and romance. Iâll feel the myriad of emotions when reading beautiful poetry, gaining more knowledge along the journey. And when inspiration moves me, I will write. So, follow your writing passion regardless of credentials or age.
DG: Iâd say that is the best advice for new writers afraid to take the plunge. Oh yes, it can be so intimidating when we first begin. But the blog gives us our own platform to experiment with our writing and a great audience to inspire us to keep writing. Itâs all about community for us writers. đ
Lauren Shares an Excerpt from her story â Ascent
When we reached the top and I looked down that sleek granite dome, I was amazed at what I had achieved. Never underestimate our abilities. On the other side of the dome, Shealor Lake was in full view. We gave our legs a short rest, drank some water, then headed downhill with the enticing pull of the lakeâs beauty. As we neared the bottom, my emotions ran wild. I was relieved that we finally made it, but a sudden wave of grief washed over me. We removed our packs and sat on a log for a time-out. I was so overwhelmed that the tears found freedom. I didnât fight them. I cried for the loss of Dad. I cried for having completed this hike that I didnât think I was capable of. I wouldâve backed out graciously had I known the details.
After a few minutes, I composed myself and looked to the lake. The water, a jeweled phenomenon. It sparkled, inviting us for a swim. While we set up our back-country camp, the orange-hot sun blazed down on us as if we had drastically turned up the thermostat, so the cool lake water soothed our sun-kissed skin. The fact that we were all alone in this canyon full of forest and smooth granite was beyond welcoming. The tranquility offered me the chance to reminisce about Dad and my parents together. The solitude afforded a perfect destination to grieve, think, remember, and cry. Mourning the loss of one parent was difficult enough but losing both felt surreal â a new stage of life had begun.
I hope you all enjoyed getting to know a bit about Lauren, her writing and her new book. Visit Lauren at her blog and at her Amazon author page to discover some of her other books.
Baydreamer 