In the midwestern United States, winter brings cold and snow and dirty slush, summers are too hot, and spring nearly nonexistent. This leaves Autumn, a glorious time which starts in late September and goes on until November.
Autumn is a glorious season, with days in which trees in flaming red and orange stand against cloudless blue skies and soppy evenings with tumbled leaves tugging at people’s feet. Autumn sun brings with it the sense that the moment will last forever, while the thunderstorms bring memories of past loves.
Autumn is deep. It doesn’t flirt like Spring, or stupefy like Summer. Nor does it oppress like Winter. It delivers crisp afternoons for delight and cool evenings for shelter. It stays with us.
There are probably more than three books that have had an impact on me, but the prompt tells me to pick only three, so I will. These books are very different from each other (and I’m cheating on one of them).
The first book, which I read in eighth grade, was The Dark is Rising, by Susan Cooper. This book, the second in a series of five, is a fantasy novel set in contemporary Britain in the 70s. It’s definitely juvenile fantasy, of which there was not much during that time period. The depth of the fantasy totally captured me, with its Arthurian and fae undertones set at Christmastime. I totally escaped through that book. I read the series again last Winter, and it read just as well to a 60-year-old adult.
The second book, which I read probably 20 years ago, was The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz. Although I worry this book is considered New Age pap marketed to those of us who grooved on Carlos Castaneda, those four agreements pack a psychological punch. The agreements are: “Be impeccable with your word”, “Do not take anything personally”, “Do not make assumptions”, and “Always do your best” (Wikipedia, 2025). These could fit comfortably into cognitive journaling (and do make for good contradictions to cognitive distortions). I live by these now, and they offer me a different way of living.
The third book fits the prompt, even though it’s one that I wrote, because it impacted my life. That was the first book I wrote, The Kringle Conspiracy. That book was impactful because I didn’t think I could write a book until I wrote it, and I didn’t think I could publish a book until I published it. I came up with the story when I was in high school, and published it in my fifties.
There are my three books. I would highly recommend all of them.
I’m 62, so I’ve lived life before the Internet. It was a time before information flowed readily and before we had the world at our fingertips (literally).
I remember researching before the Internet, which required reading through periodical indices and card catalogs. A lot of reading, and a lot of taking notes, and for someone like me who was not organized as I should be, a lot of frustration.
I could not write novels before the Internet. I wanted accurate detail in my books. For example, I had my idea for what became Whose Hearts are Mountains in graduate school, but I couldn’t pack up and live in the desert for a year to find out about desert life. It would have been hard for me to pick a spot in the desert and determine the flora and fauna, the temperature, and the layout. What I knew back then was that deserts were hot and deserted.
Now, facts flow almost as fast as I can type. I have written several novels, because I can do research while writing. I can access publication databases online from my home. I can answer random questions or look up childhood experiences to reminisce. I don’t know how I would do without the Internet, and I hope I never have to find out.
I achieved two items in my bucket list yesterday, both dealing with dinner. The first is that I got to eat a (reasonably priced and portioned) Black and Blue (Pittsburgh) steak, and the second is that I got to sit at a Chef’s table (in view of the kitchen).
My bucket list is ever-evolving. If I see something I want to do that’s not an everyday thing, I put it on the bucket list. Sometimes I put it on the list immediately before doing it. I think ‘helicopter ride’ was put on that list just as I climbed into the helicopter.
Sometimes things fall off the bucket list. Skydiving is definitely off the list, as I have become somewhat acrophobic in my old age. Walking the Illinois-Michigan Canal trail is prohibited because of my knees and my endurance these days.
I’ve got a new one I hope my husband will indulge me on one of these days. I want to go on that big Ferris wheel in Kansas City. Despite my acrophobia.
This will be a quick post, because I’m at Broadway Cafe in KC doing a mini writing retreat. Also because my keyboard is having trouble with the Space key, which I have to mash to get working. It’s going to be a rough day writing, I can tell.
This trip is going to include some rare steak eating — both in terms of “I seldom eat steak at a fancy steakhouse” and “I’m ordering this black and blue”. I apologize to all the vegetarians out there.
The book is going slowly; I’m writing an average of 1000 words a day, rather than my typical 2000. It’s a stubborn book; it doesn’t know if it wants to be written. I’m writing it mainly because my husband suggested I should when I told him I had no more books to write.
Writing is no longer the fever it was when I started writing. I have gone through all the obsessions, all the stories that clamored to be written. Writing now is not exactly a trudge, but it’s no longer the force it was when I started. I suspect this is natural, a consequence of time or age. Or of the change in medication I went through about a year ago, and then it’s a matter of finding my equilibrium again.
I miss the writing obsession. It gave me a sense of purpose, a feeling that I labored for something bigger than myself. Maybe it was delusional; maybe it’s a good thing to lose the fever. I miss it, however.
I competed in the Voice of Democracy contest held by the Veterans of Foreign Wars Auxiliary, which was held in the high schools. I had to write an essay about the topic “What Does Freedom Mean to Me”. I was born in a rather conservative town to rather liberal parents, and I turned out more liberal than they did.
When I got the assignment to write the essay, I included a popular topic of the day, Selective Service Registration. Or more to the point, protesting Selective Service Registration. At about this time, all males turning 18 were required to sign up for Selective Service, from which they would be drafted for military service if the country ever had a draft. Some males were not signing up, and of course the country was enraged. I, as a child during the Vietnam War era, thought I would stand up for their right to protest. In an essay to the VFW. I finally settled on “Freedom is the right to stand up for what one believes in, even if it’s not popular, and accept the consequences.”
When I read the essay to my mother in the kitchen, she said, “Good luck with the ladies at the VFW.”
And then I won the local contest. “They must not have read it,” my mother deadpanned.
I had to compete at the district level, which consisted of reading the essay on radio. I got to read my protest piece over the airwaves by invitation of the women of the VFW. My mother was still laughing. We figured at that level, I would lose to the unctuous young man who compared the country to a family and didn’t even mention freedom, and we were right. But that was okay with me; I made my point on the air and that was enough.
I have promised myself I will write 365 days in my blog without a break. So far I’m at 277 days. Right now, I’m at the point where I wonder why I’m doing this. Some days, I have no ideas and the prompts aren’t to my liking. Today is one of those days.
I’m all about Big Audacious Goals. But writing daily for a year is not a Big Audacious Goal. A BAG is more like writing a novel or getting it published, and even that was only true for the first time I’d done it. It’s a goal; I’m sticking with it.
I need a Big Audacious Goal soon. I’ve been through writing a book, getting it published, doing a book fair (locally), publishing the book that was my problem child for a while … I can’t think of anything that represents a new challenge in the way that determines a BAG. The current book is a challenge, but not in the barrier-crossing BAG way.
So I’ll have to stick with my small goal for now, and hopefully get to 365 days of blogging. And then take a break, of course.
If I haven’t mentioned, I am working on a book called Hiding in Plain Sight, which is an origin story of Hearts are Mountains, the Archetype commune in Whose Hearts are Mountains. The origin story is not a small thing, because Archetypes are supposed to be solitary beings, so how do they get into a commune together?
The solitary tendency (an inborn taboo) is breaking down among the Earthbound Archetypes, who are exiled from InterSpace by their unsanctioned birth. But Archetypes in gathering are dangerous, in part because they could draw attention to themselves. As practically immortal beings who are stronger than humans, Archetypes’ discovery could end in a war against them. The Council also fears the commune’s numbers because they could go up against the Council of the Oldest. The book is building to a showdown between the commune and the Council of the Oldest.
But first, the main character, anthropologist and Archetype Dr. MariJo Ettner, has been discovered by a human, her research assistant, Alice Johnson. She is in the position of answering Alice’s questions while impressing upon her that she should not tell a soul about Archetypes’ existence. This works great until Alice wants a child by Mari’s adopted son, William. A half-human offspring, born fully adult, may break the secret.
The book is about hiding a culture, a culture that would shake Earth’s foundations were it discovered. And the culture itself, made up of so many ingrained taboos it hardly exists. It’s writing slowly, as I’m largely pantsing it. Wish me luck.
I’m 62 years old, an associate professor, and five years from retirement. This is the time where people with careers coast until retirement rather than thinking about promotion-type ventures.
What is my career plan? For the most part, doing the best job I can until I retire. This means teaching, a bit of research, revamping classes, and possibly writing up a new class. There’s going to be a little bit of helping with curriculum revision, and always summer interns. Nothing new or surprising on that front.
I don’t want to go up for full professor because of the stressors of paperwork and worthy research — I have tenure; that was what I needed. I need life balance.
As far as the writing goes (I guess that’s a hobby rather than a career, but I’m going to talk about it anyhow) I am going to keep writing. When I retire, I will have more time to write and will have to write to keep my sanity in retirement. I don’t do nothing well. Maybe I will find the secret to promoting my work. Maybe I will write a best-seller. I don’t foresee anything else unless I turn a hobby into a more considerable operation, such as going professional with my moulage. I haven’t gotten to that quality; it would be fun if I had.
That’s my career in a nutshell. At my age, it’s not exciting.
Words Like Me 