Tag Archive for: #inspirationalwriting

Alright, Alright, Alright

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My youngest brother, Gordie, recommended we listen to Matthew McConaughey’s memoir, Greenlights on our travels. I was a bit hesitant, as I thought the actor was rather self-absorbed. I mean, what could I learn from a man who made a name for himself running on beaches and showing off his six-pack abs?

Plenty.

The timing was perfect to listen to the story, narrated by none other than Matthew himself. (We came to know each other on a first-name basis through the journey.)

Brad and I had quite a few road hours on our travels from Nashville and onto Branson. Throw in a little unplanned side trip to Red Bay, Alabama for a quick repair, and the roughly 6 1/2 hour audiobook helped pass the miles.

Our trip to Red Bay required an overnight stay where we were not intending to be. Matthew would summarize this situation by saying, “Greenlights.” In other words, green lights mean go. But sometimes in life, the green lights might change on us, causing us to redirect. And as life plays out, we end up with a Greenlight we weren’t expecting. Such was the case with our Harvest Hosts overnight stop at a little farm and orchard along the way. I’ve never camped in such a quiet, peaceful spot. Until the neighboring rooster woke us up early the next morning.

“The problems we face today eventually turn into blessings in the rearview mirror of life,” Matthew offered.

Greenlight.

Our view at Blessed Bounty orchard, an unexpected overnight.

I was surprised to learn that Matthew spent several years traversing in a van and Airstream trailer that he customized. He named the trailer Canoe, in honor of his visit to the Squamish Nation reservation in Vancouver. The tribe gave him a handmade oar, a symbol of the tribe.

Matthew said, “The oar guides the canoe, guides you through life—so I named the Airstream the Canoe. I mean, the highways are like riverways, they’re just concrete.” 

Our oar was guiding us to a place that was on both of our radars for some time; Branson, Missouri.

Branson

We stayed the week at Table Rock State Park, just fifteen minutes from the city of Branson. The lake is absolutely gorgeous, with a huge marina and a several-mile hiking trail around the perimeter. Over the weekend, a huge Bass Fishing Tournament, sponsored by Toyota happened on the lake. We’d wake up in the morning with the sounds of the National Anthem being sung to send the fishermen off for the day, and hear the announcements of the daily divisional winners in the evening. Top prize? $200,000!

The marina at Table Rock State Park, the Showboat Branson Belle and sunset at the park.

We wanted to take in a show, and at the recommendation of a friend, went to see Reza, an illusionist. Reza’s huge acts were amazing, but his smaller tricks were simply mind-boggling. I would have gotten a picture of him, but he kept disappearing.

Where did Reza go?

A huge bonus was catching up with a dear high school friend. Hannah Spotts and her husband Mike, who joined us for dinner at the campground. It was such a fun and lovely evening. Hannah recommended we visit one of her favorite places in the area…

Dogwood Canyon

Johnny Morris, owner of Bass Pro Shops and Cabela’s founded this extraordinary 10,000 acre conservation area with hiking and biking trails, trout fishing, and horseback riding. Tickets to the tram are extra, but the bonus is at the top. We enjoyed our close encounters with the herd of bison, including a rare White American Bison.

Brad and I also had a blast playing the Mountain Top 9-hole golf course, and taking in lunch at Arnie’s Barn afterwards. My drink of choice? An Arnold Palmer, of course.

Salina

Salina, Kansas was definitely a Greenlight. We stayed/played at the Salina Municipal Golf Course, which is one of the nicest muni golf courses we’ve ever played. Luna had a blast joining us during the round, and was quite chill afterwards while we had dinner on the patio at Ya Yas.  We took a nice stroll through the surprising downtown. Fun!

Rafter W Ranch

Our last stop before hitting Denver was yet another Harvest Hosts site…Rafter W. Ranch. We camped out in their field, away from their grass-fed cattle, and enjoyed hiking the property. We picked up some steaks before we left the next morning, on to our next adventures.

We finished listening to the audiobook, and could relate to this quote from Greenlights.

“We cannot fully appreciate the light without the shadows. We have to be thrown off balance to find our footing. It’s better to jump than fall. And here I am.”

Thank you, Matthew for your insights, your stories, your inspiration. We aspire to Just Keep Livin‘.

And we’re doing Alright, Alright, Alright.

 

Sweet Coast

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Some call the stretch of coastal Florida from the towns of Carrabelle to Seaside the Forgotten Coast. It’s also known as the Gulf Coast.

I’d call it the Sweet Coast. With it’s sugary beaches and laid-back vibe, it was just what my soul needed.

My friend Margie gave us a lovely book as a Bon Voyage gift. The Most Scenic Drives in America should live on everybody’s coffee table. The images alone will make you want to pack a bag and head off on an adventure. Route 98, the drive along this coast of Florida is one of the featured routes. Tall pines flanked the roadway, with glimpses of the Gulf occasionally peering through.

I booked two nights at a campground directly off Route 98…the Ho-Hum RV Park. Yep, you read that correctly. This campground prides itself on its simplicity. When you rent a spot at the park, you get your water, sewer and electric hookups, a beach, a pier and a few nice porch swing chairs to view the Gulf. Each morning I took my coffee and watched the dolphins play in the water. How much better does it get?

This is what I woke up to each morning at the Ho-Hum RV Park. Far from Ho-Hum!

Well, seeing dolphins from a distance isn’t nearly as fun as seeing them up close. So, yes, it did get better as Brad and I jumped in the kayaks and frolicked with the playful creatures just off the coast of where we were camped.

We slowed our roll as we spent the few days reading, relaxing and exploring the area a bit. We drove to the little town of Carrabelle. The large marina featured charter boats in search of local fish…tarpon, grouper and red snapper (my favorite!).  We were hungry when we arrived in Apalachicola. The law mandates that no building can be taller than three stories, which made for a comfy feel to the town.

I love vibrant, active old downtowns, and Apalachicola definitely has it going on. Lots of retail, including several shops in converted old cotton warehouses. The seafood restaurants looked enticing, but as we had Luna with us, we opted for Tamara’s On the Go food truck. With a bright yellow exterior and adorable courtyard tucked around the truck, it was perfect to chill with Luna. The chef created a delicious gluten free gyro salad for me. Yum.

We drove the rest of the route, passing by St. Andrews State Park (we hiked here later in the week) and into our next destination, Panama City Beach. Our campground, Sun Outdoors Panama City Beach, was right next door to Zoo World. One morning I was greeted by their resident giraffe as she poked her head over the tall fence, as if to say hello. I woke at daybreak one day to the sounds of lions roaring their morning greeting.

Route 98 isn’t as pretty in Panama City Beach. The stretch is filled with kitschy family activities…putt-putt, go-karts and more discount beach stores than you can count. We did enjoy taking Luna to the small section of beach where dogs are allowed. Pier Park Dog Beach extends from the pier to a short distance away. Strong winds brought riptides, so we kept Luna close to the edge. We walked around the fun outdoor Pier Park Shopping Complex after to let our pup dry off. 🙂  We loved watching a young woman zig and zag while rollerblading on the streets, bopping away to the music piping outside of the stores.

Our daughter Kyle encouraged us to drive from Route 98 to Highway 30A and discover the towns along the way. Her husband Will’s family spent many summer vacations in Rosemary Beach when he was a boy. Will whisked Kyle to  the town for a weekend getaway, and she fell in love with this charming town. Serendipitously, Brad’s second cousin Jane, and her husband Gary, were renting a home in the neighboring town of Seaside during our time in the area. We went from kitschy to kismet!

Out of all the areas that we’ve ventured to over the years, I can honestly say I’ve never seen such a unique place. Each of the towns, Alys Beach, Rosemary Beach and Seaside were well-planned and restrictive on their building codes. Think of Hilton Head on steroids.

Our first stop was Seaside to visit Jane and Gary. Each of the homes have names on their white picket fences. Pebbled pathways wind through the community, from the adorable square filled with shops ranging from a book store to a market with delectable edibles.

Hanging out on the outside second-level porch of Jane and Gary’s rental. Heaven.

The community church hosted a wedding the Saturday evening we were there. As the church sits amongst the quaint homes, there is a strict sound ordinance. No music after 9 PM. Perfect timing for us…we had just come back to the rental house after a dinner at the fun and delicious Café Thirty-A. The four of us decided to take Luna and their pup, Bear, out for an evening walk. When the wedding band struck up “An American Girl” as their last hurrah, I couldn’t resist. I hung out on the outskirts of the crowd, dancing away. Life is too short…dance when you can!

We had such a great time with Jane and Gary. They’ve been coming to the area for years from their home in New Orleans, so we were in excellent hands for travel guides. We took many walks, ventured to the farmer’s market Saturday morning, and hung out at the beach one afternoon. They even joined us for a cookout at the coach!

Brad and I ventured on a bike ride through Rosemary Beach. The town had a European feel to it, with it’s cobblestone streets and town square

Biking in Rosemary Beach and the town square.

Before our time in this area was just a memory, we drove to Econfina Creek, a spring fed, quiet waterway. We got a great workout paddling up stream, then turning around and floating on the return. We packed a lunch, and unlike the borrowed photo below, we didn’t see a soul. So, once again, YOLO, so what does one do in a secluded creek to cool down? I felt like a kid again as I dove into the water, naked as a jaybird, and jumped out just as fast. That water was dang cold.

Photo credit: Lori Ceier/Walton Outdoors

Our travels are winding down…but adventures still await in Dora and Red Bay, Alabama. Stay tuned, and thanks for coming along on our journey.

 

Family, Friends and Flames

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One of the greatest benefits to this on-the-road experience is being able to spend time with family members and friends. Over the last couple of weeks we’ve visited with my mother-in-law, Lynn, daughter Kyle and her husband, Will, son, Ian, and friends Steve and Debbie Gibbs.

I’ll get to the flames in a bit, but for now, here’s the highlight reel of our family and friend experiences.

Aiken

Brad, Luna and I arrived in this quaint town in South Carolina in time to spend Thanksgiving with Lynn. We enjoyed a non-traditional Thanksgiving dinner of fantastic rib roast, sweet potatoes, maple bourbon carrots and homemade cranberry sauce. Lit candles and the sounds of Harry Belafonte (Lynn’s favorite) crooned in the background while we enjoyed our feast. We managed to help Lynn with some “honey-do’s” around the house during our stay. Lynn and I also enjoyed shopping in uptown Aiken.

Aiken, SC

Photo credit: South Carolina, Travel

Aiken County was historically the winter colony for wealthy families from the Northeast. The comfortable climate and the sandy soil make Aiken a favorite for horse owners. Today such traditions as fox hunting and polo continue. For those of us who prefer to walk on our own two feet, there are lovely sites, including the gorgeous “Avenue of the Oaks.” South Boundary Avenue is nationally recognized as one of the South’s most beautiful streets.

Aiken, South Carolina

Photo credit: Peter Frank Edwards/REDUX

I didn’t manage to get any photos of the three of us during our stay, I promise to do so when we go back to visit Lynn over the Christmas holiday.

Atlanta

Time with Kyle and Will awaited in their adopted hometown. We’ve found that major metropolitan areas do not have a plethora of campground options for big rigs, but we enjoyed both of our experiences at Stone Mountain and McKinney on Allatoona Lake.

Our first exciting experience with Kyle and Will was to attend the Georgia State semi-final football contest between Walton High School and Carrollton High. Will and his father, Bill, have both coached the Walton team. Although Walton lost, it was so fun to be in the stands, hanging with Kyle and her new mother-in-law, Lori,  cheering the Raiders on.

Kyle and Will drove over to Stone Mountain  and joined us for Brad’s special smoked ribs. We love camp fires!

We didn’t hike to the top (I’ve done twice, once as a child, and once with the kids when they were young) because we had Luna and Riggins with us, and they weren’t allowed, no matter how cute they are.

Brad and I took an early morning bike ride around the perimeter of the park…my legs had forgotten what hills were like!  This is an image from a piece written in Conde Nast Traveler about the magnificent, largest piece of exposed granite in the world. Click on the image to read the full article. One could easily spend a week here, hiking, biking, kayaking, and taking in the view from the top.

Atlanta, Georgia, GA, Things to Do, Stone Mountain Park

Allatoona Lake

We then untied from our hitching post (i.e. disconnected our utility hookups) and headed north of Atlanta to McKinney Campground, an Army Corps of Engineers site. It was just what my soul needed, both in the amount of hop-skipping we had done in our travels, and what was in store….

Our site was perched on top of a hill, overlooking Allatoona Lake. We’ve heard geese, sandhill cranes and a free-ranging rooster. Every once in a while the sounds of a train or a bass fishing boat disturb the quiet, both otherwise incredibly calm and peaceful. Brad and I kayaked one morning on the lake, and hiked six miles at the nearby Red Mountain Top State Park.

Vegas, baby!

Okay…so I’ve been hinting that flames are involved in this post…

Ian and I were supposed to see Adele in Vegas back in February. But then Adele postponed the residency, offering that the production just wasn’t ready. Oh my, was she worth the wait.

Here we are, nearly pinching ourselves before the show.

Adele had me at Hello, her first number. Simply elegant in her black ball gown, with nothing but a white grand piano behind her on stage, Adele promised that the production would get bigger.

Much bigger.

So much bigger…with full orchestra behind, including the strings in individual huge squares elevated in the back.

And then this…when Adele set fire to the rain.

I’m getting goosebumps all over again just writing about the experience. Unforgettable.

Ian and I find the whole Vegas scene a bit overwhelming, so we set out to discover Sin City on our own terms. We took in Fremont Street, visited the Mob Museum, and perused vintage shops and an artist colony in the Arts District.

But most of all, we enjoyed hanging together for this rare occasion of just the two of us traveling together.

Priceless.

Photo bomber at our base hotel, the Sahara.

We left the Big City on (ugh!) 6:00 a.m. Pacific Time flights, Ian back to his home in Denver, me back to Atlanta.

Our last days were filled with dinner at Pure Taqueria in Woodstock with Steve and Debbie Gibbs, hiking, and taking in the beautiful automobile collection at the Savoy Museum in nearby Cartersville.

I’d take either one of these beauties, but especially the cute guy in the background.

And, of course, if you’ve followed my journey, you know that purple turns up when least expected.

Brad and I snuck in one last dinner with Kyle and Will before heading off to our new adventures.

So, there you have it…family, friends and flames! Wowza!

 

 

Paddling

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It has been said that a duck looks calm above the water, but is paddling like heck underwater to stay afloat.

I’ve learned that this is simply not true.

Ducks only paddle to change direction, or to move forward.

Ducks have a gland at the base of their tails that secretes an oil that they spread on their feathers to keep from sinking. The waterfowl will frequently tuck their head and bill to help sleek the oil over their plumage to remain above the surface.

But sometimes, the oil gland gets plugged. Stress or trauma can be one reason. It is suggested that to help ease the stress, that the duck might need a reprieve, some down time from others to recover.

Northwest River, Chesapeake, VA

I thought a lot about ducks while kayaking on the Northwest River in Chesapeake, Virginia. As I came around a bend, wood ducks would flap up out of the water, startled by my approach. The river was covered in duckweed, a protein that wood ducks will eat, and serves an important role in the healthy ecosystem of the river.

I thought about how, like ducks, we need to take care of ourselves every day to stay afloat. And, that if we’ve experienced pain, grief or anxiety, sometimes we need quiet time to recover.

(And sometimes, like when we see a snake along the shore, we take a moment to take it in, snap a shot, then paddle the hell out of there.)

My husband Brad and I had planned our next adventure, six months in our motorhome, ever since we bought it last February. Brad has less tolerance for winter, and I’m always game to travel, so we began plotting our trip.

Sadly, I lost my oldest brother, Kevin, just a month before we were to leave. I know he would not have wanted us to alter our intentions, in fact, just the opposite.

After gathering with my awesome brothers and their wives, Jeff and Cindy, Greg and Lisa, Gordie and Debbie, along with Kevin’s wife, Bobbie, to celebrate Kevin’s life, Brad and I took off.

But, like those ducks, I realized I needed to take care of myself to keep my head above the surface. I needed peace and quiet to restore my soul. Our first stop, the Rubini family homestead in Tryon, North Carolina, offered just that. Plus bonus time with our daughter Kyle and our grandpup, Riggins, and our dear friends, Susan and Pam.

Sunset in North Carolina

Our daughter Kyle snuggling with Riggins and Luna

Pam (l.) and Susan at the creek below Chimney Rock.

Every day I preened my feathers, doing what I could to take care of myself. Hikes, picnics at waterfalls, glasses of wine at sunset, fun rounds of golf, writing, reflecting. Slowly I felt myself rising to the surface once again.

And then, like those ducks, I dug my paddles into the water and moved forward.

From North Carolina we ventured to the Cheseapeake area. Along with kayaking, we explored Williamsburg and spent amazing time with my niece Wendy, her husband Tony, and their 7-year-old daughter, Isabelle.

Entering Williamsburg with one of the historians. Brad is on the right…

Inventory of original items in the Peyton Randolph home.

On Veterans Day, we visited the Military Aviation Museum with Wendy, Tony and Isabelle. When we entered a restored, musty control tower brought over from England, Isabelle said, “This building smells like history.”

On our last day in the area, we spent the afternoon kayaking on Lake Christopher with Wendy and family, then ventured to the Norfolk Botanical Garden for an incredible holiday night display.

One of the last light structures we saw was tree shaped, with a star on top. It hovered over the walking path. Isabelle and I stood for a moment under the strings of blue lights. “Look up,” I said.

“Whoa,” Isabelle shouted. Whoa was right.

In that brief encounter, all that I’ve experienced these last few months melted away. I felt like all of my angels gone from my life too soon were letting me know that all is well. They are with me, helping me on this life journey.

They are lighting my way, and I’m paddling, moving forward.

 

Home

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Home.

This simple word carries such complexity.

Especially now, as our homes have become our workplaces, our refuge, and our sometimes-too-close quarantine quarters all rolled into one.

Home means so much more than that, as I discovered while being on the road for a month, living out of a suitcase, far away.

I felt much like Dorothy, as I couldn’t wait to enjoy a respite from the patterns that the pandemic has forced upon us. Life was beginning to feel like a wash, rinse, spin, repeat cycle. Outside of a new, exciting project in the world of children’s book publishing, I had little desire to write, to journal, to create.

I was ready for an adventure.

Our travels took us from our home in Ohio to warmer temperatures of the south, from the Carolinas to Georgia and through to Louisiana. We loved spending time with our grown children, catching up with family and friends, and ultimately, bearing witness to my niece’s beautiful wedding.

We drove over 3,000 miles, listening to true-crime podcasts, talk radio, and sang to classic rock and Motown. I succumbed to eating gluten-free fast food, something I haven’t done in over 4 years. I’m now in rehab from french fries.

We raised our glasses to various life events, from celebrating a new baby within extended family ranks, to the bride and groom, to being reunited with children, siblings, and friends. We raised our glasses a lot. I’m now in rehab from wine too.

We hiked and walked nearly every day, enjoying the change of seasons and mother nature at her best. And worst. Zeta came in with a vengeance during our time in North Carolina. Heavy winds and rain brought down trees and power lines, putting our travels on pause.

We lugged our stuff into five different homes and one hotel, grateful to our hosts for such comfortable sleeping spaces. We adjusted to different night sounds, from coyotes calling and gathering, to city street sounds.

We fished, we golfed, walked our Labrador retriever, Luna, we swam, and we danced. We helped our daughter with home projects, inside and out. Then when we needed a break, we read, relaxed, did yoga.

After about three weeks, I really felt like Dorothy. After all the fun, the French fries, the toasts, the different beds, the coyotes, and the late-night horns honking, I wanted nothing more than to click my heels and to be back home.

I was ready for my quiet oasis, my writing space. I was ready for our kitchen, our bed. I was ready for home.

Yet, I tried to be mindful of the experiences that were behind me on the travels, and those still in store. All along the way, I tried to appreciate that home is less a place than a feeling.

It’s the first hug you’ve had from your grown son and daughter after being away from each other for months. It’s the stories shared from your childhood with your siblings, laughing until you almost pee. It’s the giggling, in person, with your nieces. It’s the walk on the beach with your sister-in-law, the making of communal meals with friends, and yes, the tears shed over those who are no longer physically with us.

Yes, Dorothy, there is no place like home, but home is truly wherever our hearts are.

 

 

 

 

 

Chosen

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It was an honor and pleasure to be interviewed by Debbie Gonzalez for her podcast. Debbie inspired me through her inciting questions about love, loss, and celebrating life. More so, she suggests that I was chosen for my path, an incredible thought. Here’s to all who have guided and supported me on my journey. You were chosen as well.

Check out her debcast here: http://www.debbiegonzales.com/the-debcast-epsiodes/2019/12/29/ep34-never-deny-an-opportunity-at-first-glance-with-julie-rubini

Seeking True Center

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In the Gift from the Sea, Anne Morrow Lindbergh reflects on her life and her roles as a wife, bereaved mother, mother to five other children, and writer.

I’ve read this treasure numerous times, gleaning something applicable to my life at the moment each visit.

Mrs. Morrow Lindbergh shared her meditations from a little cabin by the sea in Captiva, as she temporarily stepped away from the responsibilities of her life.

Simply put, she retreated. She reflected. She wrote.

I’m doing the same, and I need to for my own health and well-being.

I told my daughter Kyle on a visit in March that I was feeling anxious about the numerous appearances, events, and presentations that filled my calendar early-April through May. I admitted that many of these activities are out of my natural comfort zone.

She responded, “You’d never know that.”

Revelation: at my core, I’m still that shy, not-so-confident girl from a small town.

Life has forced me out of my shell, just like the little hermit crab who resided in the channelled whelk shell Mrs. Morrow Lindbergh discovered.

As my girlfriend Gayle offered, “we’d never know that because you do all that you do so well. But I get it…and since it’s not within your innate nature, it takes all the more energy from you.”

There’s more to the story too. Let’s just say that sometimes being an author of nonfiction for young readers can be challenging.

I find myself questioning who I am, and who I should be as a writer.

As Mrs. Morrow Lindbergh offers, this is a time in life when I should be “shedding shells,” shells of pride, self-ambition, one’s mask, one’s armor. It is a time, particularly as a woman, to find our “true center.”

I ask for your support as I reflect, retreat in my inner shell, and continue to discover purpose as a writer.

My heart is filled with hope that as I pull back and within, as I escape to my own waterside haven, that the universe reveals where my “true center” is.

A day in the life of a writer

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When asked what I do, I used to rip off a litany of roles I’ve served.

Wife, mom, founder of Claire’s Day, former council woman.

Now I simply respond; I write.

I write.

The next question is the obvious. What do you write?

And I say, children’s books.

Usually people are pretty stoked about that and assume I’ve written picture books of renown.

That is not the case, but most people are still impressed when I tell them about my books, all of which have been traditionally published.

Usually the conversation ends there, but every now and then someone asks me the same question I find so fascinating about other writers.

How do you write?

The simple answer is I write nearly every day, at my desk, in my home office.

But, to be very honest, a writer’s life, or at least this one, is so much more than that.

I’ll start by offering that I am blessed to have the emotional and financial support of my husband. I’m not yet at the stage that I could be self-supporting on my income. Many writers aren’t. I’m amazed by those who work full-time at another job, and just as much as a writer.

In my case, my goal is to get my derriere in chair by 10 a.m. every morning.

I take care of my non-writing responsibilities in the morning. I watch the sunrise while having a cup of coffee and hanging with my husband and 3-year-old Labrador Retriever, Luna.

Then I drink a magic potion consisting of kale, spinach, avocado, almond milk, and frozen fruit. It’s green, but it’s yummy, I promise.

Luna, known as Lunatic when she was a puppy, usually whines at the front door if I don’t have my tennis shoes on by 7:30. We high tail it around a golf course for 45 minutes, give or take a few if we visit with the golf professional or groundskeepers, then home.

Correspondence, social media, laundry, groceries, housecleaning all fall in the category of chores before 10 a.m. My local librarian and grocer are used to seeing me with a ball cap on.

Then, with the help of my magic potion and Pandora, I’m at my desk by the bewitching hour.

Then I stay there until 4:30, writing, creating, musing, meeting deadlines, both contracted and self-imposed.

But, and here’s the trick for me, I’m not glued to my chair.

Between my walks in the morning and breaks from my chair, I’m easily wracking up 10,000 steps daily.

If I get stuck, I get up.

I dance. (Although I can only listen to so much Michael Jackson, otherwise my response to the question as to what I do would be that. I dance.)

I daydream.

I sing.

I imagine.

I research.

I read.

I get back in chair.

I write.

I finish.

I query.

I submit.

I hope.

I wait.

I celebrate.

I repeat.

So, as simple as this all seems, it is.

And, I am so happy to be able to answer the question as to what I do, simply.

I write.

 

 

 

 

Little Sparkles

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I just finished reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s Big Magic. The subtitle to this work by the author of Eat, Pray, Love is Creative Living Beyond Fear.

I really wanted to enjoy the book for several reasons. One, it was recommended by my friend and editor, Michelle Houts, and two, anything that suggests Big Things will happen just by setting aside our reservations has my name all over it.

But, other than an occasional twinge of inspiration, the book fell short. Allow me to explain.

Big Magic, according to Ms. Gilbert, happens when we let go of thoughts of incompetency or lack of confidence and just dig into our creative souls. By doing so, we let the universe in and karma take over.

I get that. I’ve experienced the incredible burst of writing energy where conscious thought goes out the window and the spirit moves me. And, I have to say, it’s pretty darn awesome.

However, there seems to have been too much focus on those fleeting Big happenstances and barely mention of those many smaller moments that make a Big difference in our creative lives.

Let’s call them Little Sparkles.

This year has been filled with them for me. Now, don’t get me wrong, I certainly had my share of Big Joyful moments and Big Sad moments in 2017.

The ones that stick with me the most though are those tiny nuggets that really encourage me to move forward on my creative journey.

Like when I met a mom and her daughter at the Cincinnati book festival. The young girl had written a report about Virginia Hamilton this past year. I’ll never forget her shy smile as I personally signed a copy of my biography of this amazing author to her.

Or when I spoke on Virginia, and friends showed up just in support of me.

I swear magic dust lines the paths on the property of the Highlights Foundation. It was there that my picture book biography of a little known, historical sports figure took root and grew. I can still recall sitting across from my mentor, Rich Wallace, the former senior editor of Highlights magazine, as he offered his words of encouragement for my project.

Kirkus reviews are anonymous, so I will never have the chance to thank personally whomever gave my book the coveted starred review. His or her incredible praise of my work lit up my world for weeks.

I saw Little Sparkles in the eyes of one of my little kindergartners I read to weekly when, after asking what I did other than read to him, told him I write children’s books. I feel like his newest heroine.

Little Sparkles happen with every kind word about my writing, every nudge from my husband to revisit stories that sit half-finished on my hard drive, every bit of pride expressed by my two children. And, always, I feel the energy from my late daughter, my little reader gone too soon.

The greatest lessons these Little Sparkles have taught me is that I have the power to reflect all this kindness back to others exploring their creative lives. Just think if we all waved our wands filled with sparkles on to each other, how much brighter the universe would be.  That’s where the magic lies.

Here’s hoping your holidays and New Year are filled with tons of Little Sparkles.

I can’t wait to see what you do with all of them. And I can’t wait to see what happens with mine!