I can’t believe it’s February already. Where does the time go?
Like everyone, I began last year with good intentions. I told myself I was going to post on my website regularly, finish another WIP and another novella, get them published, along with a laundry list of other things.
But 2025 had other plans. It was my year for technical problems. I had to learn to use a new phone and a new computer. I got locked out of WordPress for a while, lost the ability to move photos from my phone to my desktop, and struggled with one IT problem after another. My cover artist stopped doing covers. I lost my formatter. I could go on, but you get the drift.
The good news is that this year, my health is better, and I have a great support group to help me with things I can no longer do. AndI’ve been busy. You can’t imagine what it does for my ego whenever I can mark something off my to-do list.
I hope your year is going well. See you again soon. I promise!
If you’re an aspiring author and you’ve never attended a writers’ conference, why not?
In the past, I’ve had the opportunity to go to the annual conference held by the Northeast Texas Writers’ Organization. NETWO’s annual Spring Conference will be held this year on April 5, 2025, at Northeast Texas Community College.
Attending has allowed me to see and visit with old friends and network with writers from all over Texas. I’ve met some pretty neat people. Overall, it’s proven to be a fantastic experience that just seems to improve yearly.
I signed up for a one-on-one interview with an editor at my first conference. Did I have any idea what to expect? Absolutely not. You might compare my experience to jumping off a cliff with my eyes closed. Literally, I didn’t know the first thing about how to make a pitch and was so nervous I couldn’t breathe. But guess what? I survived.
It doesn’t matter whether you’re interested in the possibility of writing or have begun the process. Whether you’re looking for an agent/publisher or have already been published, I guarantee you will come away from the NETWO writing conference with something you can put to good use. You may get good advice on building your marketing plan or information on preparing your elevator pitch, query, or synopsis. You might be inspired by a speaker sharing his/her road to publication. You might talk to someone who has gone the small press or self-publish route and get their take on the subject.
I like to ‘collect’ characters. It’s always possible that I might see someone whose mannerisms or personality would be a perfect fit for my WIP or overhear some great dialog. Like any good writer, I’m always looking for ideas to file away for later use. I’ve been known to make observations while attending the conference. You just never know. My daughter Carrie is fond of telling people, “You’d better be careful what you say around my mother, or you’ll find yourself in one of her novels. And it might not be pretty.”
So, the next time you come across something about an upcoming writing conference and think it might be interesting, don’t just think about it. Register and attend. You’ll be glad you did.
This is something I posted several years ago. Since then I’ve reposted it every years on Daylon’s birthday.
While channel surfing this weekend, I happened to catch the end of Close Encounters. Never see that movie that I don’t think of my husband. Especially now that he’s gone. It was one of his all-time favorites. I never really thought about it until today, but now I understand why.
In the movie, Richard Dreyfuss plays Roy Neary, an average middle-class guy who loves his family and works hard to provide for them. Only there’s another side to his character. He still believes in magic. In the movie, when Roy experiences a close encounter, he doubts his sanity. But he can’t let it go because deep down inside, he wants it to be true. So he makes up his mind to prove it.
My husband was that same kind of man. He worked hard, took care of his family, and lived a quiet life. But, like Roy, there was more to him than met the eye. The casual observer never saw his keen sense of adventure. He had a fascination for the mysterious, the unexplained. The idea of travelers from another world was intriguing to him.
He would have loved the chance to do what Roy did at the end of the movie. So it isn’t hard to visualize him on the runway at the end of the movie, all smiles. Reluctant to leave his life on earth, yet filled with nervous anticipation at the thought of going on an adventure beyond the stars.
I like to think that’s exactly what he’s doing right now. And I’m certain he’s enjoying every minute.
Despite the fact that the weather predictions called for a mild winter this year, it’s been cold.And snowy. There hasn’t been any in my neck of the woods yet, but there are places even further south that have.
I used to love it when it snowed. These days, though, I’m content to sit under a blanket with a cup of tea or coffee. Or at the window in a warm house, watching the Cardinals make a mad dash for the bird feeders.
But I have lots of memories.
I remember the year we moved to East Texas. It snowed so much that schools were closed for a week. The kids had never seen snow before. They had a ball making snow angels, snowmen, and snow ice cream. They played outside until their noses, cheeks, and fingers were rosy red and then came in for cocoa, soup, and grilled cheese sandwiches. I made a lot of stew and chili.
I walked two blocks to school in the snow to pick up the kids because I couldn’t get the car out of the driveway.
My husband would go to the grocery store and bring home grocery bags full of snacks. Pig Skins or a big bag of peanuts to roast in the oven. Marshmallows to make cocoa. Sometimes, I made a big pan of caramel popcorn.
One year, we spent all afternoon sliding down the hill at my sister’s house on old pieces of paneling. It was great fun until the kids ran into my sister and knocked her off her feet. Then we all went inside, removed our coats and shoes, and propped our feet on the hearth to warm up (and recuperate) Lots of memories. Right now, I think I need a nice hot cup of coffee.
Here’s to new beginnings and endless possibilities
Better late than never! I’ve said that a lot lately, but I vow to do better. Of course, it didn’t help that this year Christmas and New Year came in the middle of the week.
It’s cold in Texas and expected to get colder by the end of the week. I’m sitting at my computer with a blanket on my lap and my hands wrapped around a cup of hot tea, monitoring the thermostat.
I logged onto Facebook yesterday and found something I had shared on November 16, 2013. Stories about my grandchildren are always special.
Today, I’m making up for lost time. I intended to spend my entire Friday evening with my nose to the grindstone, writing and editing. Instead, my daughter invited us to sit around the fire pit with them, drink coffee, and visit. I danced under the stars with my seven-year-old grandson, Caleb. “Follow my lead!” he said when he grabbed my hand. What could be better? I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.
How time flies. Today, that grandson is all grown up. He turned eighteen in June and will graduate from high school in a few months. But I’ll never forget those special times we spent hanging out together.
Bologna browned on either side between two pieces of sourdough bread spread with lots of mayonnaise, potato chips, and a glass of milk.
I remember having it for lunch when I was growing up. Or maybe supper when my Daddy was out of town, and Mama didn’t feel like cooking.
Other favorites were peanut butter and banana sandwiches mixed with a spoonful of mayo, a grilled cheese sandwich with a bowl of tomato soup, and chicken noodle soup with crackers on sick days.
After playing outside all morning, we came running the minute Mama called us for lunch. We might sit at the kitchen table with her while she drank iced coffee or eat at the picnic table or playhouse.
Afterward, we’d have cookies or ice cream from the truck that drove through the neighborhood in the afternoon. I’ll never forget hopping from one bare foot to another on the hot pavement while waiting in line to buy my treat and eat it before a drop melted.
As the years went by, my list of comfort foods expanded. Hamburgers. A bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich, a bowl of pinto beans and cornbread. A Coke float on a hot afternoon. Nothing fancy. Nothing special. Nothing better.
While channel surfing a while back, I happened to catch the end of Close Encounters. Never see that movie that I don’t think of my husband. Especially now that he’s gone. It was one of his all-time favorites. I never really thought about it until today, but now I understand why.
In the movie, Richard Dreyfuss plays Roy Neary, an average middle-class guy who loves his family and works hard to provide for them. Only there’s another side to his character. He still believes in magic. When Roy experiences a close encounter, he doubts his sanity. But he can’t let it go because deep down inside, he wants it to be true. So he makes up his mind to prove it.
My husband was the same kind of man. He worked hard, took care of his family, and lived a quiet life. But, like Roy, there was more to him than met the eye. The casual observer never saw his keen sense of adventure. He had a fascination for the mysterious, the unexplained. The idea of travelers from another world was intriguing to him.
He would have loved the chance to do what Roy did. So it isn’t hard to visualize him standing on the runway at the end of the movie like Roy, all smiles. Reluctant to leave his life on earth, yet filled with nervous anticipation at the thought of going on an adventure beyond the stars.
I like to think that’s exactly what he’s doing right now. I’m certain he’s enjoying every minute.
In the past year, I’ve realized something. I have some extraordinary people in my life. People who’ve done a hundred things for me that I can’t do anymore. Things that make my life easier. Like noticing when something in the house needs attention and fixing it without being asked. Or taking out the trash. Checking to make sure the doors are locked. Washing the dishes. Calling or texting every few days to make sure I’m okay (mentally and physically). Bringing me food. Stopping by for coffee. Sending me cards.
They’re always willing to help in any way they can. And they do it because they care, not just because they think they should. They’ll never know what a difference it’s made. But I will. Because it’s the little things that count.
Susan A. Royal 