THE BATTLE

Part 1 – The first word

By Michael Davis

(Davisstories.com)

“The Battle” is a series of articles of one author’s real life trip through a minefield of experiences as he’s learning to deal with personal difficulty. There is no ulterior purpose, other than to share thoughts in the hope others may find counsel in the shared journey.

For the last year I’ve been sick on and off. I’d suffer for a while, my voice would disappear, it would get better, I’d get sick again, take antibiotics, and so on and so on. Then, first week of January, the Real Big Guy (RBG) reached down and flipped me on the ear by giving me, what I think was pneumonia. When I went to the doctor again, this time they wanted a throat scope. This time, I learned the cause - the giant C word. That’s right, cancer. I had a lesion at the top of my voice box. I think that exposure made me vulnerable to any darn germ that came in the door.

So, the journey onto the battlefield of uncertainty, of fear, of instinctive human reflection began. I’ve decided to share my experiences during the next six months on my rough road to recovery, and I do believe I will recover. I have been given a wake up call by the RBG, and I am all ears. Why write about something so personal? I respond by saying, why not? The messages and calls I have received from my human network have provided such strength, such perspective, maybe others will benefit from my thoughts as I go through this battle. I will try to keep it upbeat and enjoyable, but insightful reading as well. I have no ulterior motivation other than that some one may benefit. Some might see dark shadows to my motivation, and that’s their right, but I offer this series in the belief, there is reason to most that happens in our world. We may not recognize it, but it is there, under the surface, whispering, if we will only bare witness to what’s really at play. To those that are having similar rough spots in your life, my intent is that by touching; you may gain some context that others share your thoughts during crisis.

My first sharing deals with the shift in my state of mind. I realized last night that I was experiencing three levels of emotional stress: Family, Goals, and Me:

1. Family – My wife of 40 years and I are buds, I mean bonded at the core spirit, eternal all encompassing love for each other, always have been, always will. I have terrific kids I could not be more proud of in terms of what they’ve done with their life, and the men they are in terms of their honesty and compassion for others. My caring DIL who I love has been so helpful, and of course, there is my angel, Emma, my only grand child. Lordy, Lordy is she the sparkle in all my thoughts. Plus my sister, brother, cousins, aunts, so very many lights pointed my way. Then there is my network of friends. I love my friends and I don’t say that lightly. They are part of the foundation I draw from. And if you think your welfare does not have an impact on your friends, than you just don’t understand how connected we are to those that touch our heart.

2. Goals – At about the age of 27, as most, I scripted a plan in my mind of what I wanted to reflect upon those last minutes when I transferred to the next realm. They included: contributing to the common good of the nation, helping my fellow humans, and writing fiction novels.

3. Me – As humans, to some degree, we all struggle with the turmoil, pain and discomfort we have to deal with on a personal level.

When the C word was thrown out, the Family dimension of my world peaked on my fear/worry meter. To leave my wife to fend for herself, to no longer be her dragon slayer, man, chokes me up just thinking about it. Early statements by the doctors were unclear, vague, minimal hope. They had no idea yet and because of the legal buzzards that hover out there, they were reluctant to say anything. Hours turned to days, turned to weeks and nights were eternal as I pondered the impact of my stupidity and blindness on my Family. Yes, I said stupidity. For years I smoked, ignored the warning, pretended it was not me but others that would be stabbed by the devils stick, but I was only joking myself. I quite 18 months ago, but it should have been sooner. And now the RBG is making me sit up straight for not listening more closely.

My Goal dimension also played on my mind, less heavily, but it was still there. I had spent forty years in support of the nation before I retired, had been fortunate to actually become a published author, and yet there were unfilled promises I had made to the RBG on how I would help those that needed it. Sure, I had helped on the periphery (via Lions and other things) but no way to the degree I was responsible for in this life. My fear was I would not have time to do those things I was charged to do.

The “Me” dimension was irrelevant. Hard to believe anyone could say those words and mean them. I know the treatments are hell, real hell, but it was of no consequences because I was dealing with the Family and Goal dimensions. Then there was a shift yesterday. The word from the Radiologist was very positive (in terms of sticking around) but gruesome in terms of the stuff I will deal with over the next six mouths. My dimensional fear barometer flipped. I sighed at the relief that chances are promising I will be here for my family, for those I’m charged to help but keep saying, “I’ll be there in a minute.” I truly believe I’ve been given a second chance. Now my “Me” dimension is screaming in my ear because these upcoming months will be miserable. Yet I will survive. I will get down, especially as the treatments progress, but I will survive. I’ll probably cuddle up like a baby in bed as the pain becomes severe and tear up, but I will survive. I do lament the suffering my family will be put through, especially my wife. Yesterday was the first real poke, stick, etc day in prep for treatments and I could tell it took a toll on her to watch the other part of her spirit dealing with stuff. I try not to be too explicit with her about what I’m feeling on a physical level with the “stick it here, shove it there” realm I’m presently in, but I don’t lie. We never have to each other and I don’t plan to start. Besides, she’s too smart and perceptive.

Now the funny side. As I was going through the crap yesterday, and all these sweet young ladies were touching and caring for me, I thought, “Hey, this ain’t bad.” I guess a man will always be a man. One really sweet (and cute) girl said as I came out of the PAT scanner, “Here, Mr. Davis, pull up on me.” I just smiled. This 100 pound sweetheart was going to lift this 300 pound bear. I was really afraid I would pull her little arm out so I just took her hand and pushed myself up, but are we not lucky for such angels? I think so.

The up side – My wife has quit smoking, my sister has promised, as has my son, and I think a few more are toying with it. Nothing brings it home, until it’s someone close.

I’ll return to the “battle series” once I start “real treatments” next week and need mental diversion again. Hang loss, and anyone that wants to interact offline, email me at general@Davisstories.com. I will try to respond to everyone, but it may take time, especially as I get farther into the pits. For some strange reason, I find sharing with ya’ll soothing to my spirit.

Michael Davis (Davisstories.com)

Author of the year, 4/09

Book Discussion Tonight – Invisible

Tonight at 9pm EST, we’ll be discussing my 2009 release Invisible in the Champagne Books chatroom. I’ve attended many book discussions on stories from other writers. This is the first book discussion I’ve attended where the story is my own.

I’m scared to death.

That’s not surprising. I’m always scared when I try something new. I push forward anyway but the entire time, I’m petrified. In this case, I’m scared folks will find out that I’m a fraud. Some of the clever things that happened in Invisible happened because… well… they just happened. I didn’t know until the end of the story why certain images were important. A reader explained to me months after the novel was published why Invisible’s heroine chose Maeve as her name. I had no clue.

I’m also scared that I’ll ruin the book for someone by saying too much. One of the things I adore about Gone With The Wind (the movie) is that the ending is open to interpretation. Being a die hard romantic, I’m convinced they get back together. My more cynical buddy is certain they split for good. The story appeals to both camps. Invisible is a bit like that. I’ve received over 100 emails on Maeve’s history. Some readers are sure she was abused more than financially. One reader (gotta be a sci fi fan) thought a secret government agency implanted her with memories. I have my own theories but I don’t know for sure and I certainly don’t want to spoil it for others.

But all this fear isn’t going to stop me from attending. It shouldn’t stop you from doing what you want or need to do either. Ignore the fear and press forward!


$

Every month, Kimber Chin gives away her favorite romance eBook read the month before. To enter, visit http://businessromance.com/

WINTER WOES

I'd like to post a beautifully nasty winter picture (i've taken lots) but I can't post pictures I've taken with my camera and sent to Pictures. A bunch of numbers and letters comes up instead of the picture. I thought it might be Vista, so went to the laptop with XP and tried. Same result. I'm sure there's a way around it but i'm not tech savvy. It's usually March before I'm gritting my teeth and fomaing at the mouth at the same time. Not a pretty sight. But this year my winter rage started yesterday. After a series of sunny days and a bit of a thaw, came winter storm warnings.
In view of this, the Viking and I started out early to vote on millage to support ambulance service for our part of the county. Keep in mind that Monday night my 85-year-old Viking puts out the garbage can because the truck comes before we get up on Tuesday morning. So, after he opened the garage door, he went out to retrieve the emppty garbage can. I came through the connecting house door to the garage just in time to see him slip on the sheet of ice directly in front of the open garage door and fall backewards. He struggled to get up, so I started out to help him, felt the ice underfoot and retreated. Since it was too slippery for him to get up, I told him to crawl into the garage, which he did, pushing the fallen garbage can ahead of him. Using the back of the car for support he got to his feet. While he put the garbage can away, I retrieved his hat by using the rake. But as he started to put the hat back on I saw blood on his head. So it's back inside where I found maybe eight or nine small abrasions that ceased bleeding as soon as I cleaned the blood off. I applied antibiotic ointment and put on one of those huge bandaids. He asked what happened. Not being able to remember the accident is common with even minor head injuries, so I wasn't alarmed. I told him, and asked if he wanted me to drive. He claimed he felt okay, so we get in the car and start on our way.
He asks, "Where arwe we going? Oops. thts's more than forgetting how he got hurt.
Even then I wan't too alarmed. As a retired nurse I know people who bang their heads often can't remember what happened just before the accident either. I told him we had to vote and he remembered it was for the ambulance, so I thought he was all right. But when we got tothe polls, we had to fill out a small form with our name and address. I noticed his hand was shaking, so I filled out his, so all he had to do was sign his name. We get our ballots. Only one question on them, with a area to fill in for yes or no. I finish. He's staring at his ballot so I told him to color in the yes, and he did. I watched him walk ahead of me to the machine and he had no trouble knowing how to angle it so the ballot slipped in. Again I asked if hre wanted me to drive and he said no. In case you aren't around one, Vikings can be even more stubborn than most men.
We get to the post office okay and then he drove home just fine. As we're taking off our coats he says. "My right elbow feels cold. So I look and see the blood on his long-sleeved shirt. I made him sit down and take it off. Should have had a hand full of paper towels first, because the blood went everywhere, including the Berber carpet. Belatedly handing him the towels I told him to apply pressure while I got some medical supplies. He's also a pessimist. "Must be an artery" he mutteres. It wasn't spurting so I knew that wasn't true, but it was a ragged tear and did keep bleeding a lot. Holding the towels to the injury, he gets up and goes into his bathroom and hold his arm up to look at the injury in the mirror. Without the pressure against it, blood drips all over the sink. I threaten him back to the chair by telling him I do not want to try to bandage that elbow while he's passed out on the bathroom floor.
A pressure dressing against the elbow, with an ace bandage applied, controls the bleeding. But now he admits he's dizzy and has a headache. Off to the couch with him with an oversized pillow for his head. By now I figure he has a concussion, so I'm going to have to peer into his eyes with a Led light to make sure his pupils are equal. While I did that a lot wen working as a nurse, mostly the patients were unconscious. The Viking is a guy who has trouble keeping his eyes open long enought to put eyedrops in. He tries, but I have a realy hard time making out that the pupils are equal in size. Since he seems okay, I wash the blood out ot the shirt, then realize the jacket may be bloody as well. Yup. Both lining and sleeve. So I toss the shirt in the wash and clean up the jacket sleeve with detergent and cold water, then use a hair dryer to dry it. I scrub the rug with detergent and cold water as well and get all the blood out. Love Berber. Go back and check his pupils. Equal.
Finally I eat lunch--late. A bit after, he gets up to eat as well, refuses to let me heat him up some soup, insisting on doing it himself. Since he's able to do that with no problems, I'm sure he's better. By now the storm has started. I slog out to the road to get the mail--usually his job, but he admits it's beyond him today. One of the letters he gets is a form he has to fill out for the VA. When he sits down at his desk to do that, I figure he really is okay and quit worrying.
Luckily I was right. This mrning he's fine, with no memory loss except for the fall itself. The elbow has quit bleeding and he's complaining about sore places from the fall. When he can complain, I know he's fine.
But winter is still upon us. Sigh. Jane

Why is it that our budget cuts affect those most needy?

Hard to believe its my turn...where does the time go. I had planned this lovely blog - but with everything going on - talking about my newest project isn't on my mind. So please, bear with me on my tiny little rant.

Real life certainly has taken a hold of my time. Due to cutbacks within the budget, there are a large amount of schools slated for reconfiguration or closer...which would be fine but the fact is there are some kids that can't handle 35-40 kids in a room with them.

To top it off, there's talk of cutting funding for special needs programs - namely the autism supports - which could have disasterous results. Don't get me wrong, I understand the need to keep a balanced budget, I struggle with it at home, but why strike out at the ones who need the help, the funding and support that is such a vital part of their life?

My son is ADHD - which means he's extremely hyper, not such a bad thing but he's got no impusle control. While he has the backing of pediatrians and other medical professionals - he's not considered in need of subsidy - because its a behavioral disorder. Ha! What do they know? There's no money for this or that...but they can spend a fortune on fixing sports centers roofs and such.

Makes me shake my head - because as a parent I want the best for my child...but it seems like its a low priority for others.

Now I'm off to retreat into my darkened corner and work on the websites I'm building as well as my writing - if I can get it in at all today hehe

Howzit Goin', Eh?

I hope everyone is enjoying the Olympics over on our left coast. I spent a brief few hours in Vancouver while on the way to the Okanagan Valley a few years ago and I think British Colombia has everything a person could possibly want. Mountains, valleys, rivers and the ocean. Mmmmm.

Anyway, while meandering through blogland and Twitter, I picked up a few tidbits under discussion:

During a chat on Twitter, authors and agents discussed cross-genre. What does this mean? A YA book written for adults? A book with two story lines like mine, one in adult and the other with a YA voice? Or is it mixing genres completely, like paranormal romance, urban fantasy, thriller/suspense/mystery etc. Is an author at a disadvantage when they haven't found their specialty or their focus, or is being versatile a good thing?

Yes, La Nora has managed to do it, but I'm talking about writers near the beginning of their careers.

Janet Reid brought up an interesting point, discussing the merits of being approachable. Years ago, a fan couldn't directly contact a favourite author except through the publisher. There are still many recluses who protect their privacy, but a record number are right out there on Facebook, Twitter, Myspace, Goodreads etc. Up-and-coming and bestselling authors share cyberspace, allowing readers to sneak a peek into their lives.

This accessibility can prompt avid readers to cling to an author as if he or she is a lifeline. That can be a really big responsibility. To help alleviate the pressure, an author can provide valuable links on their blog or website related to their writing subject. If an author becomes so well-known that he or she is inundated with questions, my guess is that it would be great to compile all the questions and make an FAQ page.

Having some kind of contact information will also help an aspiring author, especially if an agent wants to make contact. Providing a valid email address on your blog is a good start. It doesn't have to be a traceable address if you are concerned about privacy.

Speaking of privacy, many authors have concerns about stalkers. What if you get so popular and well known that you draw all the crazies out of the woodwork? I can't imagine that in my case, but I'm sure many memoir writers who handled sensitive subjects might encounter the occasional nut bar. 

With the onset of the internet, what special precautions should we implement in order to keep our private lives private? Is a gmail account enough? Unfortunately, hacking is becoming more prevalent. I'm lucky my son is now studying Computer Security, so I can count on him to help keep my public private.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch... my search for agents is much easier than just two years ago when I was seeking representation. New faces, and some familiar ones I totally forgot about! It's like a sinkful of spoons. As I feel around in the soapy water, I always seem to find one more.

I'm not sending my queries all at once. After I send out a couple, I tweak the query a bit and then send another. When I update my query and send it out, sometimes I feel like I'm going to get an A from the teacher.

And on a final note, I'm thinking and praying for my dear cousin Brian, who has been placed on a waiting list for a double lung transplant. Also, my friend and fellow Champagne books author Mike Davis is battling cancer. Sign those donor cards, people!

Learning craft from movies

I saw the movie “The Wolfman” this weekend. Not just because it starred Anthony Hopkins, who I consider one of THEE greatest actors of all time. I love a good legend story. The Wolfman was the classic remake of the old Lon Chaney movies.

The imagery of The Wolfman was amazing. Fog, old stone mansions, gravestones all set the mood, the voice of impending doom. Much the same as an author’s voice sets the tone of the novel.

The words and sentence structure a writer chooses isn’t usually done by accident. More likely it’s used to create mood. Short, choppy sentences create tension, action, the feeling that something major is about to happen. Long flowing prose creates feelings of reflection, empathy, perhaps even hatred.

Aside from getting another glimpse of Anthony Hopkins, I would go back to see The Wolfman simple for the lessons in imagery and voice it provides. Writers are always looking for way to perfect their craft, and hey, if I can learn something while eating popcorn, well….life is good.

Thanks for reading.

~ Nancy

http://www.nancyhenderson.com

BOOK TRAILER ~ SNAKE DANCE

We hope you enjoy a glimpse into our sci-fi fantasy, SNAKE DANCE.


KILLER DOLLS and SNAKE DANCE can be purchased at Champagne Books http://www.champagnebooks.com/

We'd love to hear from anyone interested in what we do. Anyone who writes us at angeliahartandzi@yahoo.com and leaves an s-mail address, we will send you a gift and add you to any future mailings.

Angelica Hart and Zi
KILLER DOLLS ~ September 2009
SNAKE DANCE ~ February 2010
CHASING GRAVITAS ~ July 2010
angelicahartandzi@yahoo.com
angelicahartandzi.com

I'm a Star!

Well sorta. It felt that way on Feb 5 when I was indeed the star attraction for a library fundraiser. I even had youngin's asking for my autograph. Too fun!

Okay, so here's the scoop. The very small town of Bremond contacted me to be their guest author for a huge fundraiser they were hosting in which they planned to celebrate the descendants of orphan train riders. Bremond just happened to be a stop for the orphan train and I just happened to have a book in which the heroine is an orphan who rode the train to a new life. (You can read the first chapter of Once Jilted on my

website.)

The library sold tickets to the event. Patrons were treated to food prepared outside by the Cowboys for the Cowboy Church. We enjoyed cowboy stew, cornbread, biscuits and cobbler. The cobbler and biscuits were fixed in a dutch oven. And oh wow, very tasty. After eating, the patrons were treated to a silent play put on by several young actors and yours truly narrated. (Yes, I was nervous but I managed.)

I had invited fellow Champagne author, Linda LaRoque to join me and they allowed both of us to talk about our books after the play. We had a captive audience. We adjourned to our tables where we were then allowed to sell books. Both Linda and I did very well.

I'm the one in the blue period dress. The other fabulous ladies are library patrons interested in our work. The dress was my Christmas project and the hat was something I bought at Aggiecon that morning.

Needless to say, I'm hoping I can approach other small libraries for a similar event. I was lucky in that Bremond approached me, but things like this don't always fall in our laps. As authors, we often have to prod things like this into happening.

Regardless, I'll mark this one as a huge success.

Winning awards and what it really means!

Today I received word that my latest novel, 'A Treasure For Sara'
has been nominated for best Historical Romance novel of 2009.
Needless to say, the news was mind blowing. But what does such
an award really mean?

It means different things to different people, but I'll tell you what it
means to me and why.

First, such a nomination indicates someone read your book. You can
never know if your book has been read. Nor can you know what
people think of it. An award like this is an affirmation of your writing.
Not only did someone read your book, but they thought it was worthy
of being classed the best Historical Romance of the year.

Of course, the bigger the organization nominating your book the better
the award. You also have to consider the people who have been
nominated with you. I know some of the other authors, and I'm
beside myself. Those other writers are good, really good! Excellent
in fact. So not only fabulous authors, but a big organization. This
group has a lot of readers and other writers involved, so the nomination
means even more. It not like being nominated by a little book club of
five readers, although I love little book clubs of small groups of readers.
I used to belong to one of those myself.

So for me, this is a prestigious nomination; it means a great
deal to me, and one I'm very proud to announce it. It also is the
incentive to write another book as good or better than 'A Treasure For Sara'.

Avast, matey!

Piracy.

I just found myself on the receiving end of the e-book bane with my newest novel - damn thing hasn't been out more than two months and some jerk over in Turkey is got it up on his file server. This is the second time I've been boarded.

Oh, I did the usual - tracked down what I hoped was the most likely unsuspecting domain name owner and sent them a take-down. Still, this does pose the question of how many sales I'm watching slip away as booty.

I hate pirates, but do have to ask myself of what worth is this "audience" I am catering to? Would they buy my books if they had to? Not likely. Are they going to be part of any fan base? Hardly. These folks don't give a crap about the authors they steal from anymore than Mr Turkish Delight does.

I am not a fan of DRM in any form or acronym, but there has to be a happy medium that doesn't encourage stealing. The whole idea of e-readers allowing you to let someone else "borrow" a book sends chills down my spine. My thought is "Sure, let them borrow it - but it makes it unreadable on your e-reader just as lending a book makes that book unavailable to its lender." That would be acceptable. Nothing should be free or that is what the author will end up with - nothing.

Okay, I've had my say. Now to get someone to pull this cutlass out of me.

Kerry
www.kmtolan.com

You Don’t Know What You Got ’Til It’s Gone…

…they paved paradise and put up a parking lot, hey, hey! (thank you Joni Mitchell for the song lyrics we all recognize)

Certainly we’ve all had experience with this. How many of us have broken up with a lover and cried for days over the loss of what we once enjoyed?

I found this adage to be true when I stopped writing. For a three month period, I was just too darned busy with my freelance writing, my job as church secretary, and taking care of my household to do any creative writing. Big Mike and I had started a new collaboration last summer but for three long months the manuscript sat in a folder on my laptop gathering dust.

When I finally got a break last week, I dusted off Whispers of Innocence and got back into it, starting from page one and going forward until I’d added all the parts that were my responsibility. By the time I finished, I wasn’t ready to let my character, Micki, go yet. I wanted it to last longer. I wanted to write more. I’d just gotten reacquainted with Micki and I didn’t want to say goodbye.

This experience just showed me how much I needed to quit writing about internet marketing and rental equipment software and New Zealand tax laws (there’s a real exciting subject – if you’re a New Zealand tax attorney, perhaps) and go back to writing the fiction swirling around in my head, get my character’s story on paper so one day a reader can enjoy it.

Life is too short. We never know when our current manuscript will be our last. So write it now cuz you never know what you go ’til it’s gone.

Candace Morehouse
www.candacemorehouse.com