I'm Supposed to Talk About Newsletters...

Hey all. This week's topic focuses on chatting about our newsletters and promoting our work, but I'll be honest--I'm not much into promotion right now. It's been a tough week. Tough to remain creative when I'm so worried about the world. I have friends from Ukraine, and my book cover designers are based in Ukraine. The owner and her family, last I heard, are still there. It's been hard to watch the news but impossible to ignore it. 

All that said, instead of asking you to sign up for my newsletter or buy my book, I would like to encourage anyone who can to donate to Ukrainian efforts instead. If you can't afford to do that, maybe lift up a prayer to whatever god/gods you pray to. Innocent people are in harm's way and facing devastating loss, and they could use any support we can offer. Even seeing our posts online gives them hope and courage.

I'm linking here to a couple of posts that give options for places to donate:

Washington Post Listing

Time Magazine Article

Also know that my publisher, City Owl Press, will be making an announcement tomorrow (2/28) that they will donate all of the company's portion of royalties from any sales made on the City Owl Website in the month of March to Ukraine.

Remember to be careful where you donate funds, but the options listed above are safe.

Thank you,

Holding strong in the storm

 I hope the fact that I no longer live on a boat doesn't preclude nautical metaphors. Because here we are again. 

We all know the wind is going to blow in our lives. Most of us have learned to handle that wind and, in fact, use it to propel us. 

But those aren't the winds we're talking about this week. This week is about the storms, squalls, and cyclones. The chill and stinging rain and howling winds yanking and tugging and churning up the water of our routines and lives.

With Covid, we all know what that looks like now. Stress. Uncertainty. A little fear. In some cases, panic and desolation. 

When a storm sweeps in, the ideal place to be is moored to a solid mass. A dock. In a writer's case, that solid mass is a habit set deep in the bedrock of your days. A habit like Jeffe's. Tying up to that is safe. Reliable. Immovable. Sometimes you get a few hard bounces against the dock, but so long as your lines hold, your craft is safe.

The problem is that sometimes you're underway when storms spin up. No docks in sight. You're caught out in dangerous conditions. On a boat (and in matters of health and well-being), your single job is to keep your nose into the wind. Why? To keep from being capsized. If you can find shelter, you run for it. And then you set an anchor and give yourself a really, really long leash. That's what keeps your anchor hooked into the bottom of the seabed and your craft in a position to ride out the worst. 

Translated out of nautical metaphor: Tie up to the safety of established habit when you can, but when the horse feathers hit the fan and you can't fall back on habit, throw out an anchor. Let that anchor take the form of a craft class or anything that requires you to get your head in your writing for a few hours each week. 

Then give yourself grace. A lot of it. 

Remember. Your first job is protecting your health and well-being when storms roar in to knock you off course. When you're healthy, you have a million wishes. When you aren't healthy, you have only one wish. 

Don't let the storms steal your wishes.