Gertie was her name.

And a farm is no place for a girl, her father thought. At least, perhaps no place for a broken-hearted girl. Well, here is her story.

You can only go for so long.

...until one day you open up the laptop again and begin typing a story. You can write 52 short stories a year, they say. I believe that is a conservative figure, but perhaps I am surrounded by inspiration beyond my bounds. A friend once asked me where on earth I get my ideas. I ask back, "Where DON'T I?" Turn your head side to side. Take heed of the misbehavior and general mistreatment of one human to another. I could be a better friend. I will be a better friend.

Time.

And today I promise myself, I schedule time for everyone else. I reserve my writing time for late at night. My yoga for early in the morning. This schedule isn't always the most effective, and may change. Most likely, it will, and the new year will find shock and awe as others see me not dropping everything I do to be at their beck at call. Forty wins. The next book wins. Love wins. My health wins. I am doing this to be a better future moi.

My Second Book

...was Nowhere, Everywhere. I agonized over its title for oh, about six months. It was the comma that threw me. Would people get it? Would it matter? Should it be an ampersand instead? It turns out, it doesn't really matter, because evidently, my mother loves that book, a work entirely of fiction, more than the story of my great-great grandmother anyway. So Nowhere, Everywhere, it is. Self-published, by my obsessive-compulsive, control freaky little ways. Because I say who. I say when. I say how much. And now, Amazon is selling a copy of my book as a collectible item for double the price. I suppose I should nail down whether I've died, and if I have, my works will be going through the roof.

And then...

A book that takes sixteen years to write, is a book that needs heavy editing. Living through different lives, time zones, secondary surgical excitement, and cross-country zig-zagging insist I give this baby the thrice-over before I slap a cover on it and give it to the world. I have a dream for it to help people, and I don't want it to be sub-par. Soon, though. Coming soon. #outofmyhead

I learned today that penguins mate for life. Even if they are separated for years, when they find each other again, they celebrate in song. I want that. And flowers. What would you do if someone special, we're talking cross-the-icy-ocean-in-a-rowboat special, resurfaced after years, apologized for everything, took complete responsibility, offered heavy compliments, and seemed sincere? *shrug* Write a book about it, I suppose.

Ding.

I remember the old(er) days of Radio, when we would, despite the World's misconception of Mass Communication majors, use intricate Fraction-of-Seconds Math to hit the top of the hour and DING! Play that Legal Station ID. It was as imperative to identify the station as it was to play commercials. What a joy to have taken part in AM radio. What a joy to have taken part in communication, period. So, my point is, DING! The time was 11:00 p.m. It is quiet. All is well. I just made a fresh pot of coffee. My phone has stopped ringing and dinging for the day, and now begins the trusty productive hours of my authoritative nightlife. I write.

Legacy.

In high school, I competed in speech. I was really a nerdy girl. I'm not talking about coding and computers. I'm talking, home on a Friday night, reading Shakespeare's Works cover-to-cover kind of young lady. I don't think there's anything wrong with perusing the Oxford Dictionary of Quotations. I own volumes I and II. Also, Conrad Aiken sends a shiver up my spine. I competed in a poetry event, and used a piece entitled Tetelestai. It was weird for the time. It raised questions, and got people thinking. I enjoyed speech competition, because it made us into whom we would become. We got dressed up at 4 a.m. on Saturdays, to get on a bus and have intelligent conversations with our friends across the state. That's pretty good for a bunch of 16-year-olds without smart phones. In college, I struggled to find a poem as good as Tetelestai, so I used it again. I went to Nationals with it, and got a spring break trip out of the deal. That was the first plane ride of my life. How will you be remembered?

Don't you love Fall?

It makes me want to entertain and make my home cozier at the same time. I think I need this to keep my schedule and grocery list! I know I'd sleep better... In my beachy room...

Sleepless Mail

This time of year, I love to cozy up in my living room, with a pot of coffee and a positive prior plan for the evening. That plan probably pertains to chick flicks. We're talking serious Steel Magnolias, Fried Green forever. Tonight, I enjoyed sprinkling cinnamon in the basket as my coffee brewed, and kicked off the evening with Sleepless in Seattle. On VHS, mind you. Now listen, this was back in the days of yore, when the soundtrack was advertised on the videotape. I received both pieces of media glory for Christmas the year the movie premiered. The perfect follow-up to Sam and Annie is naturally, NY152 and Shopgirl, in You've Got Mail. I love, love, love this film. Especially now that computers no longer sing, "You've Got Mail," and social media has completely taken the mystery out of this dynamite love letter classic. Beyond the darling chemistry of Tom and Meg, what we notice here is the lovers are kept apart until the end of both movies. This is not our average, everyday rom-com. No, this is more. This reminds us of more patient times. Remember when John Steinbeck's son wrote his father, of the anguish of falling in love. "Don't hurry," wrote Steinbeck. "Nothing good gets away."

Hit send.

What do you consider to be your life's work? Well, since I consider myself to be only 27 (ha, that one's for Mamabreak), I might consider my life's endeavor to be largely wrapped up in the ministry of my current project. For nearly sixteen years, I have been writing all of my memories, thoughts, victories, hopes and disasters regarding the brain tumor experience and its aftermath. It takes a while to form that into sentences, but I think I have it now. I sent it off to its first round of editing. And then came the night. I rolled out my yoga mat again. I am making lists of dietary ideas again. I think it's safe to say, I'm back in the joyfulness of editing again. This one, THIS one is near and dear to my heart. In a manner of speaking. #outofmyhead #brain #braintumor #comingsoon #josieblaine #mamabreak

Death Investigator

"I like to think you killed a man. It's the romantic in me." Rick Blaine: "I came here for the waters." "Waters? We're in the middle of the desert!" Rick Blaine: "I was misinformed." Tonight's movie is Casablanca. I returned home today to find the specialized cleaning van parked outside my condo building, and large hoses leading snaked into the door. My first thoughts were of finding a crime scene upon entry. Either I need to get out more, or I just need to finish writing that murder-mystery and be done with it. Thankfully, These guys were just here for the annual carpet cleaning. I should have been sweet and offered them lemonade. Hopefully this year, someone won't be so kind as to grind crickets into the freshly-cleaned carpets. It really doesn't help with resale value if the stairs look like some soul has met their fate. And back to Bogey. I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship...

FRIEND-ly

My new neighbors make my condo building like a season of FRIENDS. There's a lot of working out, crafting, movie-watching, day-discussing, and protein-smoothie-iced coffee-drinking going on here. It's much akin to college.

Pickup

It's picking up, y'all. I'm a total pickup gal. Don't misunderstand me. I like a long, lean, black Caddy as much as anyone else. But my heart is deep in Texas and the western ranchlands of Dakota Territory, making me a pushover for a shined-up stepside. That being said, I have hit the ground running this week, and I think I have typed two thousand words daily ever since my alarm went off for church Sunday morning. This can only be coming from The Almighty. I have to get it off to my editor. This story will be done and ready to launch this year, if the Lord is willin' and the creek don't rise! And if it does, we've got Christian friends with taller pickups! Let's GO! #survivorstory #braintumor #outofmyhead

Coming Soon!

"Sometimes the general public seems to be a little put off by someone who is never in a bad mood. Maybe it’s the anti-seizure maintenance med, which is also used as a mild antidepressant. Perhaps, and this is just a shot in the dark, maybe I’m just on a real reality trip, and I’m real thankful to be walking, talking, and independently feeding myself. I can work, live, drive, frequent my favorite coffee shoppe, talk on the phone, take myself to the bathroom, and go to the refrigerator without having to wait for someone to push my wheelchair away from The Feeding Group. Maybe all this constant Pathological Pleasantry is a tangible gift from the Lord, and I am not wasting a drop of it." #outofmyhead #josieblaine #somethingaboutsophia #warmsprings 


The brave women who built us.

http://www.amazon.com/Something-About-Sophia-Remembers-Book-ebook/dp/B00KPO0ATC/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1433809977&sr=1-1&keywords=something+about+sophia #historicalfiction #northdakota #somethingaboutsophia #grandmother

Linkaroo

Hey spring breakers! Buy now! The next one is on its way!

https://authorcentral.amazon.com/gp/profile

#northdakota #historicalfiction #amazon #somethingaboutsophia #nowhereeverywhere #theenergyofhappinessbook #theenergyofreceivingbook

Avenues

One of my college professors had a phrase that I can remember as clear as a spring day, sparkling like dust in the sunny air of a hundred-year-old building full of not-so anxious students, because the windows were open, the petunias were persevering, and we got to be in communication with Dr. Murphy for two beautiful hours every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon.

"Choice is tragic," he would say. "It eliminates other choices."

We would often quote the explanation to each other. It was reason enough not to choose one job over another. It was vindication for keeping at bay the boy you just weren't sure about.

These days, I am reminded in the purchase of real estate that I have perhaps limited the freewheeling nature I might like to portray.

You just never know what may be around the mountain.

After all, choice is tragic. I want lots of choices.

The Receiving is in The Gift.

In the last few months, I have been blessed to join the ranks of authors creating two amazing books.

In The Energy of Happiness, I wrote about The Bison and how shared experience brings us a feeling of happiness and home.

In The Energy of Receiving, I wrote about Random Acts of Kindness, and how the giver is able to receive more joy from giving.

What a gift. Both are available on amazon.com, and both are healing efforts of many wonderful, caring people.