Changing Lives - One Book At a Time

When I look back, I am so impressed again with the life-giving power of literature. If I were a young person today, trying to gain a sense of myself in the world, I would do that again by reading, just as I did when I was young. ~ Maya Angelou

Today's post is an update about Nora's Book Club for Parolees, and the book they have chosen to read in July is one Louis and I read many years ago and highly recommend. I even keep copies of it on my shelf to lend to friends. That said, here's Nora's update...

The book selected for the month of July was The Four Agreements, by Don Miguel Ruiz. (Always Running, LA Vida Loca: Gang Days in Los Angeles selected for August and The Way of the Peaceful Warrior selected for September). We finished The Soloist discussion last week. We are planning a trip to the Walt Disney Concert Hall. We didnt get to catch The Soloist in the theatres, but will view it on DVD when its released. (and quite a few guys have taken up listening to classical music on the radio as a result of reading The Soloist, or hanging out in my office after asking to hear Yo Yo Ma).

Tonights two hour discussion left me sitting at the edge of my seat. Riveting and mind bending. 23 men on parole (or still under inmate status) of different race, ethnicity, generations, former gang members and addicts from different neighborhoods in LA ... all hungry to break down the book The Four Agreements as a group. They spent over an hour discussing/debating about "The Smokey Mirror" ... illusions, dreams, light, what we see or choose to see, the smoke that divides us and has held us down from being who we truly are, that there is no space between each other, we are each an image of God (or not) ... it went on and on.

Although I cannot send you pictures of the 23 men participating in this months Book Club, here is a photo of the Books after they arrived to my office last week - as a result of money you donated. For those who have "joined" this book club and are reading along with us - I will post the discussion questions on my Blog.

Monetary donations are still needed. I have not had much luck getting books donated by the authors or publishers responding. I am continuing to explore different ways to keep the Book Club alive (and growing). For more information, contact Nora at noconnor95 (at) gmail.com

Fridays With Louis

Today's excerpt from Letters to Laura shows the beginning of a friendship, a friendship that lasts to this day, despite many, many rocky moments. My son and I went to see Louis yesterday, and had a great time once again. On an earlier visit, I noticed they had available a children's game my son and I loved to play when he was younger, Guess Who? I asked the desk officer at the time if people of any age were allowed to check out the games they provide for the kids. She said sure.

So yesterday I had Louis ask for Guess Who, a game for two where each person draws a card with a character's face on it, and by process of elimination has to guess who the other player's card is. It's kind of like a game of Battleship, only each player has an array of faces in front of them. One player asks the other, does your person have brown eyes, or does your person wear a hat, or does your person have white hair, and then flips down the pictures of faces that don't apply.

Louis looks at the box and asks, "What is this? It says from age six and up." Laughing, I said, "That means you qualify, sit down and open the box."

I sat in the middle while each of them asked each other questions. For me, it was a blast, watching Louis try to grasp the rules of the game and figure out all the angles. He's got a very quick mind, and I love to watch him puzzle things through. He's also very competitive, and was determined to keep playing until he was declared the champion--of a board game for six year olds.

I'm not sure who the first game went to. Probably my son. The second tied it up. Louis wanted a rematch. The third game went to my son, so Louis asked for another. Another tie. Another rematch. Both players were focused, concentrating. It was hilarious, especially once I realized Louis didn't have his glasses with him and couldn't quite see all the features on the faces. He'd lean over and ask me, "Is that facial hair?" He lost one game because he flipped down a face that he thought was bald, and missed the tufts of white hair over the man's ears. That man was the card my son held.

As for my son, when he was little and we would play a game, any game, or just when he would try to figure out how something worked--his eyebrows would waggle involuntariliy, indicating he was concentrating. His eyebrows were waggling like mad yesterday, and I was delighted by the memory. At one point, I tried to give him a clue with my eyes, but he wasn't catching on, and kept asking, "What? What do you mean?" Over to my right, Louis pipes up with, "Hey, what's going on over there?"

Louis, who kept trying to deal my son pre-selected faces, so he would know which one my son picked and ensure that he won. He'd shuffle the face cards and say, "Here," and try to get my son to take the top one. "No!" my son says. "I want to pick my own." "Then take one from the middle," Louis would offer helpfully. No way. My son was on to him.

It was all in good fun. When he called last night to make sure we got home all right, I asked if he had fun. He said he did. I said, "I know it was silly, asking you to play a child's game with him, but we used to love to play that game and I wanted you to experience it." It was an experience Louis never had, having been in prison so long he never knew his son. "No, no," he said, "I enjoyed it." This, from a man with a reputation for so many negative things I can't begin to list them here. Besides, it's all in Letters to Laura.

He said my son is so much fun--and he is. Once again I can't describe the sheer joy of being with my two favorite people, laughing and joking and getting along. Louis loves to tell stories of his escapades as a kid, and my son just smiles and says, "And where are you now?" It's a running joke between them. Some people might think it's crazy, taking an impressionable teenager to see a man who has made so many mistakes in his life--but who knows better the difference between right and wrong than one who has experienced both sides of the law? Louis can provide a perspective on life that no one else I know can. My son and I pretty much talked about that--and how so many of his friends can't talk to their parents at all--all the way home.

And Louis was up to his usual tricks. They started talking about my son's college plans, and I left to go to the restroom. On the way home, my son tells me, "Louis said when you got back, to tell you we were talking about sex." If you've been following Fridays With Louis, you know how I feel about that subject. It's just his way of teasing me again.

Another interesting experience we had was the fire drill they called in the middle of the visit. The inmates were ushered out one door, the visitors another. As we stepped out into the yard, we got an idea of what the view looks like from inside the concrete walls topped with rows and rows of razor wire. Pretty dismal. I'd never even noticed the walls before, because they blend in so well with the concrete of the buildings. When Louis was in the hole right after he arrived at this facility, he said he could the visitors arriving from his cell, which was on the second floor. A view he says he doesn't want to have again. "So much pain," he said, after watching countless visitors leave, mostly women and children. He says they all walk fast going in, but come out much slower, looking so sad.

Anyway, I had asked him if the first floor didn't have windows, and he said, "Sure they do, you just can't see them because of the walls." Now I know what he meant. Those on the first floor, have no view at all, other than concrete and razor wire. I can't even imagine looking out my window and not being able to see trees. And there are no trees inside the walls of a prison. There's an old prison saying Louis has mentioned to me several times over the years, "Fight, f***, or climb a tree." I never really understood what it meant until yesterday. Once you're behind those walls, there's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Nowhere to escape, except inside your mind. And if you don't have a strong mind, like Louis does, there's nowhere to go at all.

Chapter Ten
Friends
June 2, 2001
Dear Laura,
Your letter of May 30th leaves me with mixed emotions. I’m sad because I sense it’s a farewell letter, and proud of you for taking control of your life.
By the time you get this, I should be in population. PRC called me back on Thursday and said I’d be released on the 4th. No idea why, but first they have to find the right cell for me. I have to be on the security block because of my escape attempt in 1983.
When you find time, I’d appreciate a note letting me know you’re all right. We may disagree on a lot of things but I care about you. I knew you were going through some stuff, but I had no idea what it was. Now you tell me you’ve separated from your husband and are getting a divorce. With a young son, it’s a tough situation all the way around. Have you hired a lawyer?
My mother and sisters were happier when they left my father. They didn’t have as much money, but they were a lot happier. I wish I would’ve had the courage to leave with them.
Not to make excuses, but you really don’t have time to write a book with me. Not with all the other things going on in your life. Taking weeks to get back to me was a major drawback, although now I understand why. You’ve had other things on your mind. I also wasn’t too thrilled with what you said about not expecting to make any money any time soon.
No, Laura, I don’t hit on women. Any women. I’m a realist. So please don’t paint me with that particular brush. I tell all these dudes in here who hit on the women who work here—if she likes you, you’ll know it. She’ll let you know.
Women pick us first and then let us know when they’re interested. I honestly believe that.
So relax, my friend—you don’t have to worry about me hitting on you. You did say someone has already hit on you, though. Someone you thought was a friend. Is he one of the other prisoners you've written to? If so, let me know who and where he is. If you don’t want him bothering you anymore I’ll take care of it—in a nice way.
The excuses about my second operation change day by day. Now, since I’m getting out in population, they say my previous prison should pay for the operation, not this one. And now they’re telling me my MRI doesn’t show any real damage.
So how does that explain the constant pain and why I still can’t use my arms in even the most basic ways?
I’m so disgusted. Nothing but stall tactics.
Hang in there. Keep your chin up, Kid. If you need me, I’m here.
Your FRIEND,
Louis

June 8
Dear Laura,
I was released from the hole on the 5th. It took them five days to find me a cell—the right cell—one with a window facing the compound and not the fence, and one where the security unit can keep a constant eye on me.
I’m doing all right. There are nothing but kids here, but some of them I’ve met in other jails. I limit my conversations to the ones I know. The guards are a little spooked, but in a week or two they’ll settle down. My reputation is a lot worse than I am in reality.
As I said, your last letter seemed like a farewell letter. I’m glad it wasn’t. I’ve come to see you in a new light these past six weeks. Actually, your in-my-face letter earned my respect.
So, yes, I am your friend. More now than before. Why? After that tongue-lashing you gave me about not trusting you, and after telling me what you’ve been dealing with all this time, all of a sudden I realize you’re tough. A lot tougher than I ever thought.
I’m not about to desert you now. Before I only wrote about prison issues. Now I’ll write to you as a friend.
I agree keeping your thoughts to yourself in times like this is best. You have some hard times ahead of you. But I thought you’d rent a place, not buy one. How will you pay for it? Not on your salary, or by writing books!
The Superintendent and doctor here told me I will get my second operation. No idea when, but probably not for another 90 days.
Last month I thought our letter writing won’t last, we’re at odds over too many issues, but now, after your past couple of letters, I sense we will be friends.
I’ll catch you later. My best to your son. I like kids. I’d like to see a picture of him if I can. I’d send it right back.
Your Friend,
Louis

Guest Author, Stephanie Reed

Today's Guest Author is Stephanie Reed. Slowly I've been changing my Wednesday format from all guest author interviews, to articles by editors, agents, and writers on writing. In my travels through the blogosphere, I came upon this article, and thought it would be perfect, so I emailed Stephanie and asked if I could post it. She graciously agreed, and here we are. Please welcome Stephanie, and learn about the challenges of writing historically accurate novels for children.

Hello, I'm Stephanie Reed, and I have the honor of writing historical novels for children, the most exacting readers. Children have a deep desire to know everything, but most loathe boring lists of facts. So how does a Christian novelist walk that fine line of providing an exciting, historically accurate story?

My second novel, The Light Across the River, is based on the true story of Johnny Rankin, middle of fourteen children of pastor and abolitionist John Rankin, and Eliza, the slave woman who escaped on the ice to save her baby in Uncle Tom’s Cabin, by Harriet Beecher Stowe. Readerviews.com says of Light, “I loved the rich use of detail and was fully drawn in by the vivid descriptions of the safe houses and the methods that the families used to help the escaping slaves to safety in other locations. The real joy, however, comes from the rich characterizations of the Rankin family and the inhabitants of the town, getting to experience the different personalities and eccentricities and also seeing the way the community comes together to help the Rankin family.”

My main characters are based on people who really lived. Classics like Little House on the Prairie and Tom Sawyer spoke to me as a child because I knew they were based on the stories of real people—the stories ring true. Visiting the actual place where a story happened is exciting, too. The setting reveals the characters, details I need to make them live again. It’s easy to write that a character raced barefoot through cornfield stubble in the dark, but if you look at a real cornfield, you will better describe how painful it was. Even a simple walk through wet grass after a fall evening football game can add depth to a slave escape scene—notice how the stars glitter, how the cool breeze flows across a cheek, how the icy dew seeps through shoes. When I realized that my characters had most of the same feelings I have every day, no matter how long ago they lived, I made giant strides in humanizing them.

There is so much more to a character than his appearance or his clothing. As an old man, Johnny Rankin wrote several versions of Eliza’s escape, adding little details here and there. It seemed to me that he had an intense need to share the story, so I put that in his book. Why? Because the Rankin family had to keep their work on the Underground Railroad a secret. That complicated Johnny’s problem—he wanted to tell about their good work, but he’s forbidden. When I have to keep a secret, it makes me nervous. I twist my hair, but I gave Johnny a bit of hair ribbon that he kept in his pocket, one he wound so tightly at one point that his finger turned purple. Where did he get such a girly thing? A pretty classmate dropped it one day.

It’s useless to make your main character live among lifeless paper dolls. But it’s also exhausting to flesh out a whole town, and that gives me a new appreciation for our Creator.

For some characters, I was fortunate to sniff out online sources published by descendants, most notably crotchety Old Archie Hopkins. I delighted to find actual quotes, like “I was a-settin’”, and to know that he’d suffered a broken hip and so rode a horse everywhere, even across the yard.

For other characters, like Underground Railroad conductor Dr. Greenleaf Norton, I had only a name and a place. When I saw the photo of a beautiful morning suit in the newspaper in connection with an exhibit of historical clothes, I knew it would fit Greenleaf to a ‘T.’ Moreover, it established his character as fastidious and fussy, yet with a heart.

Of course, I asked my husband to take me to the exhibit, where I found a beautiful dress for another character to wear. I also found ‘pattens,’ clumsy metal stilts that clipped to boots to keep wearers a couple of inches above the muddy streets of the time period. Golden! The pattens exactly fit Aunt Kitty McCague, the Kentucky-born matriarch who called everyone by his first and middle names—just like my dear Aunt Margie.

Most important is how your characters live their lives. Everything they do should be an extension of their Christian faith. That’s how we live, right? Well, I try to, but I don’t always succeed, and neither should your characters.

The reviewer quoted above goes on to say, “The religious aspect of the story came across in the faith of the Rankin family (the father was a preacher), and I enjoyed the way the family was consistent in applying their religious faith to their life, and it is non-intrusive to those who don’t usually read this type of fiction.”

The faith is evident in the way the family lives, offering aid to all who come to their house for help. It’s also there in a fiery sermon that Pastor Rankin delivers near the end, when he lashes out at slave-hunters who hunt down escaping women and children for a swig of whiskey and a reward. He even says that he would rather be caught robbing a hen roost than tracking down helpless fugitives. The pastor’s wife Jean later calls this part of the sermon ‘uncouth’, and don’t we all go home and second-guess the minister from time to time? He allows that perhaps she is right, but he smiles as he says it. He isn’t perfect, either.

Children still love to read about real boys and real girls just like themselves. They love to read about kids who don’t automatically do the right thing, who make mistakes, who are laughed at, who are comforted, who are loved. One special element came through all those long-ago-based-on-true-stories I read as a girl. Laura Ingalls Wilder and Tom Sawyer knew about God, just like me. They wondered about Him and what He had to say in the Bible as they struggled to sit still in church.

It’s easy to see that Laura honored the Lord, but Tom Sawyer? Well, he did sacrifice to take a whipping in Becky Thatcher’s place. Some of what he learned in church must have stayed with him, and that’s what I hope happens for children who read my books about real children—just like them.

During her childhood, Stephanie Reed's family would often pass through Ripley on their way to her grandparents' home. The signs she read there about the Rankin house were what prompted her to write Across the Wide River and The Light Across the River. Stephanie is a Latchkey teacher and a volunteer spotter for the National Weather Service. She lives with her husband and two children in Dublin, Ohio.

FOR MORE INFORMATION:

Visit Stephanie Reed’s Blog

Book Bait Blog

View a video trailer of The Light Across the River

Purchase Across the Wide River

Purchase The Light Across the River

This article was originally published as part of National Children's Book Week at the Christian Writing Examiner.

It's All About Gratitude

I got this from an email someone sent me this week, but unfortunately all the pretty pictures didn't copy over here to the blogger.

No matter, the message is still as true. Happy Sunday!

Attitude

There once was a woman who woke up one morning, looked in the mirror, and noticed she had only three hairs on her head.

'Well,' she said, 'I think I'll braid my hair today.'

So she did and she had a wonderful day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day she woke up, looked in the mirror and saw that she had only two hairs on her head.

'H-M-M,' she said, 'I think I'll part my hair down the middle today.'

So she did and she had a grand day.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next day she woke up, looked in the mirror and noticed she had only one hair on her head.

'Well,' she said, 'Today I'm going to wear my hair in a pony tail. '

So she did, and she had a fun, fun day.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next day she woke up, looked in the mirror and noticed that there wasn't a single hair on her head.

'YAY!' she exclaimed. 'I don't have to fix my hair today!'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Attitude is everything.

Be kinder than necessary, for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle.

Live simply,
Love generously,
Care deeply,
Speak kindly,
and pray continually.

Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass...

It's about learning to dance in the rain.

Fridays With Louis

Hello, all, what a week this has been! It's already five p.m. and I'm just getting to posting my blog for today. I'm all mixed up with the holiday weekend, thought today was Saturday and jumped into my car to get to the post office before noon--then a mile down the road realized it was Friday, and I had until 5:00 p.m. to get there. Or so I thought. I got there around three and it had closed for the weekend. So no more letters for me until Monday :(.

In the meantime, here's another installment of Letters to Laura. As you will read, Louis is starting to think I am somewhat deceptive, since the tone of my letters apparently keeps changing. Little did we know it would take nearly 7 more years to figure out I had PMDD, and that The Alien was operating in full force, even then. Actually, I've been dealing with her (aka my evil twin) for nearly thirty-five years, but for the first thirty of them, I had no clue what was going on, that my hormones were swinging wide along with my monthly cycles. But Louis is a perceptive man, and right away he noticed my mood changes. Didn't mean he understood them...that would take several more years and many hours of head banging...but he noticed them and was the first person in my life to step up to the plate and point them out.

Enough about me, though. Friday is supposed to be his day :)

Chapter Nine
No Book, No Operation
May 11, 2001
Dear Buster,
I’m glad you wrote. I’ve been wondering what you’d say about me thinking you’re hiding something. I bet you felt better after you vented on me. I’m sorry for not trusting you. Trust is not easily found in here, if at all.
All I can say is that in your early letters you seemed deceptive, and maybe I was looking for ways to prove you weren’t what you seemed to be. Again, I’m sorry. I’ll try to have more faith in you in the future.
So my negativity shines through, huh? I’m sorry I don’t lead a more positive life. I never was a very spiritual person. You want me to be, but there is more evidence of Santa Claus than there is of God.
But let’s stop talking of God. You’re out in left field and I’m out in right.
Wow. Your faith is greater than I ever expected it to be or could hope to find in myself. Not to hurt your feelings, but faith in God can also masquerade as denial of everything else in life.
Like reality.
I’m really not that positive for several reasons. I’ve been on Hep C meds for 7 months. That causes depression. I’ve also been walking around with torn ligaments in my shoulders for over a year now, and I’ve been lied to countless times about my operations. I’m in the hole with no write-up--meaning they can’t give me a reason for keeping me here--and I’m surrounded by crackpots who talk nut shit all day.
But I see PRC on the 24th, so I’ll hold on to that.
In the meantime, it looks like I’m backing out on you on the book deal. I’m not into working for nothing, and you said it best—“Don’t quit your day job.”
Besides, I don’t feel much like writing anyway these days. But I’ll still read the stuff you sent me about writing over the weekend.
Happy Mother’s Day,
Louis

May 25
Dear Laura,
Just a few lines today. I’m disgusted. PRC gave me another 90 days in the hole yesterday. I can handle that, but the hospital administrator told me, “The next step in this process is for you to get out of the RHU.”
I can’t believe my housing status affects my medical treatment.
The Prison Society was here last week, but I wasn’t called for a visit. Can you ask them to call up here for me? I’ve sent for copies of my medical requests. When I get the copies I’ll send them to some people I know and ask them to call up here and ask what’s going on.
This is ridiculous. Can you believe she said my surgery is not urgent? I can’t even lift my arms! My left shoulder still doesn’t work right, and the doctor who did it told me he’d be doing the right one 30 days later. That was January 31st.
Now it’s May, and I’m looking at another six months of waiting.
Write when you can.
Louis

Guest Author, Mona Risk

Today's special guest is Cerridwen and Wild Rose Press author Mona Risk, who has a new release coming out in two days! I met Mona at the Florida Romance Writers Cruise with Your Muse Conference in January. I am a big fan of sunsets (can you tell from my website?), and Mona has generously invited me to come back to Florida and watch a sunset over the water with her any time. I know from experience they are some of the most beautiful sunsets in the world. Mona is also a regular over at The Bookspa during my Tuesday Balance With Liana chats, where we learn ways to maintain our health and sanity in this busy busy world from each other. That said, please take a few moments out of your day to relax with a cup of tea and get to know Mona.

Who are you?

From as far as I can remember, I have been a dreamer and a writer, staring at the blackboard during a math class while re-plotting Cinderella and Aladdin tales, or hiding from the coach during gym to pursue my latest self-told story. At night, I was the one telling Mom the bedtime story while she tucked me. By the time I was a teenager, I wanted to be a doctor and messed it up because of the damn rabbit I had to dissect in premed biology lab. Even anesthetized, he was so cute I couldn’t stab him with a scalpel and cried during the whole lab session. It was easier to shift to Pharmacy and Chemistry than hurt the poor thing. But I never forgot my medical dream and indulged in creating gorgeous doctors and handsome specialists for my medical romances.

What type of stories do you like to read and why?

I love contemporary romances, romantic suspense (Roxanne St. Claire, Gemma Halliday, Christie Craig), sweet romances (Karen Kendal, Beth Andrews, Cynthia Thomason) and medical romances (Dianne Drake, Janice Lynn, Sarah Morgan). Since I write in those genres, I usually read with a pencil in hand and critique as I read.

If I read to relax, I favor historical, mostly Regency, but also any historical by Stephanie Laurens, Tracy Grant, or the oldies by Kathleen Woodiwiss, Johanna Lindsey, Heather Graham…

When do you read? Where?

Before I had children I used to read two books a day or night. My uncle timed me once. Apparently, I was an amazingly fast reader. It helped me a lot with my studies. Now I mostly read when traveling on vacation. I usually drag a carry-on full of books and make sure I save my ebooks on my laptop.

What type of stories do you like to write and why?

I traveled to fifty countries on business trips or vacation and have been exposed to many different cultures. As a result my contemporary novels and romantic suspense are set in foreign countries. TO LOVE A HERO takes place in Belarus and FRENCH PERIL is set in a chateau in the historical Loire Valley. In my next story, my heroine is going to Greece. By the way, all my heroines are American but all my heroes are gallant, hot and sexy foreigners.

My medical romances follow the genre of ER and Grey’s Anatomy. With nine doctors of various specialties in my family all you hear at holiday gathering is medical jargon. I have also shared the struggles and problems that medical residents face when my sister and then my daughter did their respective training in psychiatry and neonatology. My daughter inspired BABIES IN THE BARGAIN, the story of a resident in neonatology torn between her career and her love, and my sister led me to write, Rx FOR TRUST, a romance between two psychiatrists who excel at hiding their own issues..

When do you write?

Seven years ago I quit my fulltime job as a chemist and director of a chemistry lab to indulge my long time dream of writing romances. Gluing myself to my chair, I typed day and night. As a result, the stories flowed out without interruption. Five books came alive during three years of serious writing. Cerridwen Press contracted TO LOVE A HERO and six months later FRENCH PERIL. The Wild Rose Press will release BABIES IN THE BARGAIN on July 3, 2009 and Rx FOR TRUST on December 04, 2009. Rx FOR TRUST is the first book of a medical romance series called DOCTOR’S ORDERS.

Unfortunately, heavy responsibilities slammed me. Caring for my sick mother or babysitting my adorable grandchildren became top priorities. So now I write whenever I can, stealing an hour here or there, or staying awake till dawn when the muse kicks me out of bed.

Why do you write?

I write when I’m happy because I want to share my stories. I write when I’m depressed because my stories make me forget reality and soothe me. I write when I’m lonely because my hero and heroine keep me company and fill my life. I write when I’m excited because my muse flies and won’t be denied.

I write all the time. And when I don’t write I read what other authors write. Writing is good, uplifting but sometimes depressing. Rewarding and yet frustrating. But a writer can’t stop writing no matter what.

Where did you get the inspiration for BABIES IN THE BARGAIN?

The story is based on my daughter’s professional experience. Needless to say, the book is dedicated to her as she read and corrected the medical cases.

My heroine is a pediatrician and a neonatologist finishing her residency and training in a children’s hospital in Washington. Same as my daughter did. And my heroine Holly “coincidentally” shares some of the medical cases and emotional career turmoil that my daughter faced during her tough training. But the coincidental similarities stop here.
The story behind Babies in the Bargain started on a Christmas Day, a few years ago, when my daughter was still a first year neonatology fellow. She was on-call on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day—as she’d been for the previous three years.

To celebrate the holiday season as a family, my husband and son helped me carry an elaborate home-cooked meal and the wrapped presents to the hospital cafeteria. We shared a happy lunch with the guest of honor wearing green scrubs.

Later, she invited us to visit the NICU. We slipped yellow gowns over our clothes and scrubbed before entering the room where five preemies fought for their lives. I approached one of the isolettes and noticed that the preemie wore a dress with Christmas prints. My daughter explained that a nurse sewed the tiny outfits for the babies in residence over the holiday. I realized that the dedication of the NICU personnel, including my daughter, went beyond the performance of a well-done job. They gave a hundred and one percent to the babies they helped save and did it happily. On that Christmas Day, I decided to write a story featuring the wonderful doctors and nurses who treated our loved ones.

BABIES IN THE BARGAIN is a sweet and spicy medical romance that garnered several wins in contests: Launching A Star, The Beacon, Great Expectations; Golden Gateway; Gotcha; Enchanted Words; The Suzannah; Winter Rose; Linda Howard Award of Excellence. The story is based on my daughter’s professional experience. Needless to say, the book is dedicated to her as she read and corrected the medical cases.

Short Synopsis:
With only one year left to complete her medical training in Neonatology, Dr. Holly Collier vows not to let anyone mess up her sacrosanct schedule. Especially not the drop-dead gorgeous Dr. Marc Suarez who broke her heart seven years ago.

When a tragic accident transforms the carefree playboy into a dedicated but novice father to his nephew, Holly gives in to her maternal instincts and turns her structured life upside down for the orphaned preemie. But can she learn to trust Marc again and believe in true love?

Here is a trailer about BABIES IN THE BARGAIN.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LQaxyIdXuAc

BABIES IN THE BARGAIN will be available in ebook and paperback at The Wild Rose Press, and Amazon.com, and can be ordered from your favorite bookstore…
You can learn more about my books at: http://www.monarisk.com/
http://www.monarisk.blogspot.com/
www.myspace.com/monarisk

Thank you Liana for hosting me today. I love your blog and your fascinating articles on Balance in Your Life.

Thanks, Mona. Here's wishing you many happy sales!

A Day In The Life of Someone With PMDD

I spoke too soon. It’s the end of the month, and The Alien has arrived to make a liar out of me. I knew it the moment I opened my eyes yesterday, and felt that heavy blanket weight pressing down on me. A pressure, feeling like it was coming at me from all sides, closing me in. Not trying to suffocate me, but letting me know it was there, and this was going to be one of “those” days.

Because I recognize it now for what it is, a chemical imbalance in my hormones, I was determined to ignore it and get on with my day. I had too much to do, to cave in to my unruly hormones.

I spent the morning on the computer, answering emails and writing interviews to promote the release of Ashton’s Secret, which came out on Friday. When my son awoke, I stopped to make a healthy breakfast. I’m on this new eating plan now, one designed to correct an imbalance in my neurotransmitters, which is the cause of these periodic visits from the voice (no, I don’t hear voices, I’m speaking figuratively here) of doom and gloom. I’ve only been on it partially for a couple of weeks, as I’m trying to eat up what’s already in my refrigerator so it doesn’t go to waste. But it has made a difference.

Or so I thought. After breakfast, we headed out to the store to stock up on more healthy foods from the list provided by the book, the Core Balance Diet, 4 Weeks to Boost Your Metabolism and Lose Weight for Good. My irritability rose while we were in the store. When I go shopping, it’s usually on a weekday and I zip in, get what I want, and zip out. Saturday shopping is different. I can’t tell you how many times there was someone standing in the aisle reading labels, right in front of what I needed to grab and toss into my cart.

So I politely waited, and waited, and fumed inside. Leaving the store, I told my son, “This is why I like to shop on weekdays, because the store isn’t so crowded with people reading labels.” But you read labels too, my son pointed out, living dangerously. He doesn’t yet know it’s one of “those” days. “Yeah, well not when there’s six people in the aisle trying to get past me,” I snap. “I only do that when I’m alone in the aisle.” Grump, grump, grump, all the way home.

We come home and put the groceries away, and then, knowing exercise helps to mellow out these bad moods, we change and head out to the Y for an hour of cardio work. Unfortunately, my calories burned and miles traveled were far less than they usually are. It’s that old moving through molasses thing. Still, I was determined to beat The Alien at her own game. Since I was already hot and sweaty, I decided it would be a good idea to finish cleaning the gutters on the house. Out with the ladder and rubber gloves. Up and down the ladder a couple dozen times. Finally, I couldn’t do it any more. I had to leave the last of it for later. I was too winded.

My son had a festival he wanted to go to, where some friends were playing in a band, so while he showered, I made him lunch. Then I drove him to the festival and dropped him off. Came home, did some dishes, threw a load of laundry in, checked my email again, took a shower and started my dinner. Phone rings. He’s done, needs me to come and get him.

Turn off the stove and run to get him. Come back and spend an hour and a half making, eating and cleaning up after dinner, which he doesn’t join me in, because he had a late lunch. I am dying to just grab something quick, and not bother with cooking, but feeling as miserable as I do, I know I need to stay on the eating plan or these hormonal swings will never end.

So I persevere. Creamy cilantro chicken and fresh green beans, sautéed with garlic and walnuts. Fresh strawberries for dessert. A lot of chopping involved. My legs feel like lead weights and my back aches as I stand there doing all that chopping, but dinner is delicious—and I made enough that my son and I can have it for dinner tomorrow.

After dinner, all I want to do is lie down and rest, but it’s only six o’clock. I can’t stop sighing heavily (another sign that The Alien is in residence) or yawning. I got a good night’s sleep the night before, and I go to the Y for cardio five days a week, so there was no reason for me to be feeling so exhausted, other than my hormones.

I know if I stop moving now, I won’t be getting up. So I move the laundry from the washer to the dryer and start to vacuum. I get about halfway done, and my body literally gives out on me. Just goes all tingly and wants to collapse.

So I make a cup of tea, grab a book and head off to read and pamper myself. Finally. It’s what my hormones have been begging me to do all day. But I’m a stubborn little thing. If I can’t work with my mind—and I can’t on “those” days, because on “those” days, everything I write is s***-- or at least that’s what my mind tells me—so on “those” days I tend to focus on physical activities instead.

As I’m lying there, all I want is ice cream. Another sign the Alien is here. She craves carbs like nobody I know. I know there’s some in the freezer. It calls my name. I resist, determined to stay on my eating plan. I tell you, it’s like fighting a battle with someone else, someone determined to take over your mind and body, all day long. I am not crazy. This has been documented.

The core symptoms of PMDD are:

Markedly depressed mood, feelings of hopelessness, or self-deprecating thoughts
Marked anxiety, tension feelings of being “keyed up” or “on edge”
Marked affective lability, e.g., feeling suddenly sad or tearful, or increased sensitivity to rejection Persistent and marked anger or irritability or increased interpersonal conflicts

Other symptoms of PMDD

Decreased interest in usual activities, e.g., work, school, friends, hobbies
Difficulty concentrating
Marked fatigue
Marked change in appetite, overeating or cravings for specific foods
Hypersomnia or insomnia
Feeling overwhelmed or out of control
Physical symptoms, including headaches, breast tenderness and/or swelling, joint and/or muscle pain, a sensation of “bloating,” and weight gain

I finally relax with the book and tea, groaning in sheer relief as I settle in on the bed in my office/guest room to read while my son IMs on my computer. It may not be quality time, but it counts as spending time together, as we talk back and forth while he types and I read. Half an hour later, the phone rings. My son answers it. “It’s Louis!” he says.

I do not have the energy to get up and get out of bed. “Talk to him yourself,” I say, as I slowly haul myself out of bed to get to the phone. I’m not sure I can make it, and I already know my mood is sour.

We talk for ten minutes. I must have yawned six times in that period. At one point he makes a joke. I don’t respond. Just don’t have the energy. “What?” he says, “Have you lost your sense of humor?”

“As a matter of fact, I have,” I answer. “Oh, no,” he says. “You said The Alien came and went.” I sigh again. “I thought she had.” But being in menopause, all bets are off. She comes and goes at will. I have no energy, no sense of humor, and no desire to talk to my best friend. “Well, I hope you leave her at home when you come to visit,” he says. Another sigh. “I wish I could.”

“Listen, he says. “I have to go. I want to watch this show about Michael Jackson.” Rage wells up in me, out of nowhere. “You want to get off the phone with me to watch Michael Jackson?” Translation: I’m feeling tired and miserable and cranky and because I’m no fun right now you don’t want to talk to me. This makes me feel hurt and angry, and yes, dammit, today it is "all about me." How unappreciated I am, how unloved I am, how downtrodden I am—NONE of which is true, mind you, but these are the kind of mental games these hormonal imbalances will play on you.

But Louis knows what’s happening. He’s been down this road with me many times. “I’ll see you in a couple of days,” he says gently. “Remember, leave her at home.”

I wish to hell I could. I get off the phone totally wanting to weep, and really craving ice cream now. But I don’t cry, I refuse to give in to her, because she is NOT me, and I don’t have any reason to cry. I have a home that I love, a responsible teenage son who helps around the house, meaningful work that challenges me, no credit card debt, more food in the fridge than I can possibly eat alone, a car that runs, a book that just came out, a faith-sharing group that helps keep me on track with my faith journey, friends and family who call and visit regularly, a healthy body (except for this nonsense), three adorable cats, and (not much, but a little) money in the bank.

I eat an apple and a cheese stick instead. Unfortunately, by then, my energy is sapped, and all I want to do is sleep. Another symptom of PMDD. Through sheer willpower I manage to read until 9:45, but by then my day is over.

I’m up half the night with carb cravings and hot flashes. More hormonal imbalances. There’s more going on here than just the PMDD. I wake up this morning with a heavy pressure behind my eyes and know, just know, that today will be another one of “those” days.

Before we figured out what was going on, that I had PMDD, Louis would call back the next day to see if I was feeling better. Now he knows better. This will have to pass on its own. And with any luck at all, will be gone by tomorrow, so that I can get back to writing my book about it, and what it’s like to be on this roller coaster of hormonal imbalance. I’ll be including the stories of other women in the book, so if you have one to share, I’d love to hear from you. Email me at Liana (at) lianalaverentz.com.

Update, later in the day: The message at Mass today was to go out and heal the people and bring them the Word through your actions and deeds. Maybe that's what this post was about this morning. Wanting to help others who may not know what's going on when their body seems to go awry, and letting you know what you feel is real. To those who have never experienced PMDD, trust me, you'd never understand. And that's okay. Maybe you know someone who suffers. Or live with someone who does. This website will help any and all of you to understand. Not just about PMDD, but about all things hormonal. And here's what The Core Balance Diet book is about.

And last but not least, my regular Sunday's Inspirational Quote:

It is necessary to help others, not only in our prayers, but in our daily lives. If we find we cannot help others, the least we can do is to desist from harming them. ~Dalai Lama