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Changing Direction

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During difficult times, we remain frozen in one place and moving seems almost impossible. We focus on what we can’t do rather than do something different, and yet changing directions may bring up new opportunities and open new doors.

A needed change, a ‘turning point’ in a novel, a ‘momentum shift’ in tennis games, a career shift or life change in real life. No one can predict if they will be good or bad, but rather than being stuck in a hole that can get deeper over time, why not try something else that can make us move forward?

I made several career shifts in my life. After graduating with a pharmacy degree, I trained in a local pharmacy and was bored out of my mind, filling prescriptions all day long. My first shift came as I enrolled in a master degree program in analytical chemistry, graduated and worked, and enjoyed life in the lab until the task took its toll on my back.

One day, I woke up with an excruciating pain in my back and left leg. Unable to walk, I crawled into my car and rushed to the emergency room of the nearest hospital. The x-rays and CT-scan showed a slipped disc in my vertebral column. Painkillers did not help. After a three-month bed rest, I had to wear a special brace around my lower back. The company granted me a six-month sick leave. “No more standing on your feet in a lab. Change career,” my doctor ordered.

As soon as I could walk without pain, I applied for the PhD program in Analytical Chemistry and threw myself wholeheartedly in the student life again. Dressed in blue jeans and t-shirt, I multitasked, driving the children to after-school activities and waiting for them with a book in my hand. Four arduous years, numerous exams, and several published papers finally led to graduation.

While still on campus, I received a phone call from a recruiter who wanted to interview graduating PhD students for a managerial position in the analytical laboratory of an environmental company. I was hired by the CEO to start a lab, buy the needed instruments, and hire the right staff.

From day one, I decided to never let anyone derail me from my goal: to make this laboratory productive and successful. While supervising the lab operations, I wrote many proposals and won several contracts. I convinced the CEO to build six new labs and interviewed many chemists and technicians, and carefully explained the pressure of laboratory life. To their credit, my chemists rarely complained about the long hours spent to analyze samples of hazardous water and soil waste materials. They did an excellent job, and the good reputation of our lab soon spread around. We received contracts from different government agencies, and applied for several state certifications.

International contracts took me to Minsk, Belarus; Kiev and Uman in Ukraine; to Almati and Stepnogorsk in Kazakhstan; to Moscow, St. Petersburg and Sergei Possad in Russia. Each new project presented more challenges due to clash of cultures, different languages, and work habits.

Soon I realized that I was at the end of my rope. Working an average of ten hours a day for so many years, I reached as high as I could go in my career in analytical chemistry. It was time to take an early retirement and fulfill another dream: I wanted to write and publish romance novels.

I gathered the staff for a last meeting and informed them of my decision. During the farewell speech, I could not hold my tears and many of my chemists cried too. They had become my second family.

Turning the page, I concentrated on my new goal. To write novels and compete in the publishing industry, I bought grammar and writing books, and once again I started at the bottom of the ladder. I sent an email to Debbie Macomber, my favorite romance author, who advised me to join the Romance Writers of America (RWA). At the monthly meetings of the RWA local chapter, I met published authors and beginners. We formed critique groups and helped each other, until I gathered the courage to submit excerpts of my writing to various publishers. After receiving my share of rejection letters for five years, one finally offered me a contract.

Through my first novel To Love a Hero released in 2008, I practically relived my fantastic trips to Belarus. Many of the adventures I experienced in Minsk are related in my book. Several more books followed, set in the fascinating places I visited during my business or vacation travels. In 2011, I tried my hand at self-publishing and was stunned by the amazing number of ebooks I sold on Amazon, and the enthusiastic reviews of my fans. But my biggest reward came from bedridden readers who said my novels brought joy to their lives and took them on an armchair trip around the world.

After publishing numerous books and contributing to several anthologies, I earned the top honor for a published author: the enviable status of “USA Today Bestselling Author,” and “New York Times Bestselling Author.”

My legacy to my children and grandchildren is the following: Set your goals high and work hard to follow your dream. Don’t be afraid to change direction. You can make a difference.

We’re All Heroes — Released Today

They’re all heroes who pay a big price for freedom—The Ukrainian mom who spies for her country; her three small kids who struggle to survive; the wounded major who gets them out of a war-zone; Lauren, the flight attendant who brings them to the U.S.A. ; her parents who receive them in their home; and her ex-fiancé, Dr. Jake, who operates on the injured. And let’s not forget the two German shepherd puppies that dive in a pool to save a two-year old. Will the many crises they face head-on strengthen or destroy Lauren and Jake’s relationship?

We’re All Heroes is book 12 of the Love Plans Series.

Messy Plans — New Release

Dr. Matt Lopez is perfectly happy with his medical career until the new nurse practitioner turns his life upside down with her lovely smile and crazy ideas. When Cathy takes Tommy, a young patient under her wing, gets involved in his home situation, and discovers the truth, trouble follows. Life will never be the same for Cathy, her boss, or Tommy as they try to repair the mistakes of their pasts. Can Matt and Cathy reconcile their personal feelings and work obligations?

Messy Plans is book 11 of the Love Plans Series.

The story behind White Christmas

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***Appeared in a Newsletter by Caleb Pirtle III on Dec 9, 2022. I found it so fascinating that I wanted to share it with you all. https://calebandlindapirtle.com    

The Story Behind White Christmas

He had no business writing the song. He had no business writing about Christmas. He was a Russian. He was a Jew. During the dark days of December, he was a melancholy man. But from the heart of Irving Berlin came the one song that struck a nostalgic chord in America during 1942, grabbed the soul of a nation, and has never let go.

The Berlin home always had a Christmas tree, stockings, a turkey, and plum pudding. It was time for celebration. It was a time for family. And no one loved his family more than Irving Berlin. In the dark days of December, he was a melancholy man.

Irving Berlin could not read a note of music, yet he composed more than a thousand songs, and four hundred of them became American standards, songs like Alexander’s Ragtime Band, Easter Parade, Cheek to Cheek, No Business Like Show Business, and God Bless America.

He was the master. As composer Jerome Kern would say, “Irving Berlin has no place in American music. Irving Berlin is American music.” He was working in Beverly Hills. He was alone and lonely. He missed his family. And he sat down one night and worked on a new song. But it didn’t quite capture the way he was feeling. So, Berlin threw the lyrics in a trunk and could have forgotten them. He didn’t.

A couple of years later, Berlin found them and worked throughout the night, writing, re-writing, revising, and rearranging the words. The melody was already locked in his head. The next morning, he walked into his office and told his secretary, “Grab a pen,” he said. “You need to take down this song. I just wrote the best song I’ve ever written.”

She typed the words for White Christmas. It was slow. It was nostalgic. It was melancholy. But then, during the dark days of December, Irving Berlin was a melancholy man.

Bing Crosby sang White Christmas for the first time on his NBC radio show. He sang it, and a heartbroken nation listened. He sang White Christmas for the first time on Christmas day. He sang White Christmas for the first time eighteen days after the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor and left America weeping for its missing and its dead.

Armed Forces Radio was swamped with requests for the song. For the fighting men, it was their first winter, their first Christmas in trenches of Germany, on the islands surrounding Japan. They were homesick, and White Christmas gave them a vision of home, if only for eight lines, fifty-four words, and sixty-seven notes. It was enough.

White Christmas was a song of hope with a melancholy melody, but, during the dark days of December, Irving Berlin was a melancholy man.

He had lost his son on Christmas Day in 1928. The boy was only three days old. And Berlin spent every Christmas for the rest of his life beside the grave of his son in New York. Berlin sat in the December chill dreaming of a White Christmas that would never be.
https://mybook.to/UnforgettableChristmasMiracles

***9 STORIES FOR ONLY 99 CENTS!

Writing the Cozy Mystery by @_NancyRadke

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I had written what I thought was a cozy mystery in my Sisters of Spirit series, entitled Stolen Secrets. So before writing Any Lucky Dog Can Follow a Trail of Blood, a cozy mystery for the Diehard Dames series, I reviewed what constituted a cozy mystery to see how close I came.

Cozy Mystery

Pssst… you can get STOLEN SECRETS free, Oct 8th through the 11th. Did you hear that? FREE! Now, back to the blog…

Cozy mysteries have a theme, showing a level of expertise.

In Stolen Secrets, the hero has a computer security company that the heroine, Angie, learns about. In my Lucky Dog series, the heroine, Jenna, is an expert on the Lewis and Clark Expedition, traveling around the county with Lucky, her dog, to check out artifacts, while the hero is a big city detective, transplanted to a rural county. He needs her knowledge of the people and the county to solve the mysteries.

Cozy mysteries are often set in a small community or rural setting.  

Stolen Secrets is set in a houseboat community on Lake Union in Seattle. The houseboat people include a wise old grandmother that the hero, Ryan, helps. Angie stays at the elderly woman’s home. In my Lucky Dog series, the setting is a small town in a rural county. The people in the town and county can all be suspects.

Cozy mysteries involve a middle-aged heroine.

Oops, missed this one on Stolen Secrets. Angie is twenty-two, a former Olympic gymnast left homeless by a series of happenings. Ryan gives her both a job and a place to stay, giving her back her self-respect. In Any Lucky Dog Can Follow a Trail of Blood, both Jenna and Craig are in their thirties. Craig really likes his best friend’s wife. And he doesn’t think he find anyone for himself. Jenna has male friends, but none she wants to get serious with.

Cozy mysteries are G-rated.

That’s the only type of book I write, so both fit this criteria.

Cozy mysteries are usually part of a series.  

Stolen Secrets is linked to several other books through the characters, including Courage Dares, Tennessee Touch, and A Tennessee Christmas. Of these, Tennessee Touch is the one with the most mystery in it, as the group try to figure out who is killing pro-football players. Any Lucky Dog Can Follow a Trail of Blood is the first of the Lucky Dog series, which is part of the brand new Authors’ Billboard Diehard Dames cozy mystery series.

Diehard Dames

The Diehard Dames first set, now available, is Murder Is to Die For. Here’s a sample of Any Lucky Dog Can Follow a Trail of Blood, which is in that set. Jenna has found a dead body at the top of Lone Willow’s Trail and called for the sheriff.

Excerpt:

“Are you all right?” Sheriff Craig asked, bending over to check on her. “It’s hard for anyone to sit with a dead body.”

Jenna was glad that he realized it. She was still sitting on the ground where her weak legs had dumped her. “Sort of.”

He touched his hand to her shoulder. “Do you need help getting up?”

“Not really.” But it would be nice. Maybe she did need help. She hadn’t tried to stand up yet.

He must have heard her thoughts, or else from experience knew that a woman sitting on the ground near a body was there because her legs wouldn’t support her. He put his hands under her arms and lifted her up, holding her long enough that she could gain her balance and stand on her own. He left one hand on her shoulder, maintaining contact.

“Thank you,” she said, and meant it. She took hold of his arm while she kept her face averted from where the forensic team was working. He must think her pretty weak, to react in such a way. She was somewhat ashamed of herself. Farm folks were supposed to be tougher than this.

She liked holding onto his arm. He had rolled up his sleeves almost to the elbows, leaving his forearms bare. They reminded her of her father’s, who had been a strong, healthy man before he’d been killed by a falling tree. Sheriff Craig was a solid figure of a man, and his arm offered the support she needed right now.

But she had to let go so he could do his job, and she did so reluctantly, silently chiding herself for needing his support. She wasn’t a child.

But he didn’t step away, just stood there next to her, his hand still on her shoulder, and his very presence gave her strength. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Nodded as she began to feel stronger.

“Okay, now?” he asked, still not moving.

“Yes. I don’t want to keep you from your work.”

“They work fine without me.” He motioned toward the forensic team and stayed where he was, his concern clearly readable on his face. “I’ll talk to you more, get your statement, once you’re really ready.”

Wasn’t that now? But no, she was still very upset. He had gaged her feelings better than she had. She closed her eyes, struggling to gain control of her emotions.

One of the forensic men straightened up and shook his head. “Shouldn’t there be some shotgun pellets in the fence post?” he asked the team leader. “I mean, given the angle?”

The leader, Lance Newman, nodded. “This isn’t adding up, Craig,” he called out. “There should be a lot more blood here.” He turned to the other three members of his team. “That means we need to be even more careful collecting the data. Step back, re-asses the situation and assume this wasn’t an accident.” He put a lot of emphasis on the word, “wasn’t.”

 

Tea and Crumpets with a British Accent by @AngelaStevens13

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Union JackI’m British. Judging by the title of this piece, I probably didn’t need to add that, but I felt compelled to justify myself. It has been sixteen years since I left England (with my British accent), and moved first to Singapore and then to America. Sixteen years is a long time. In that time, my kids went from little children to fully fledged adults, I went from being a teacher to being a full-time author, and my accent went from being British, to being… well, that is debatable.

For sure, my British accent has mellowed. As a kid, I grew up sounding like Cilla Black, and Paul McCartney. I didn’t actually come from Liverpool, but across the River Mersey from there… what they called a ‘wooly back’. My soft Scouse accent was not considered Liverpudlian enough, by those born in Liverpool, but was made fun of for being full-on ‘Scouser’ thirty miles down the road, in Manchester.  One of my earliest memories at college there, was asking for directions at the train station, and the guy on the platform saying, “Bloody hell, you can tell you got off the Liverpool train!” (Except he said it with a Mancunian accent.)

It took me by surprise, as the only time I ever thought I sounded like I was from Liverpool was when I heard myself recorded. Somehow, I’d convinced myself that was a quirk of the tape recorder, butchering my voice. I liked to think, I had a more neutral, ‘posher’ accent than that. You see, in England, northern accents–of which there are many–are not regarded in high esteem.

I should probably put a disclaimer in here somewhere, *by those with southern accents.

Britain Is Regional

Britain is actually full of accents. They are very regional, so regional that twenty or thirty miles down the road there is a completely different one. No kidding. And it’s not just the accents either, it’s words we use for common everyday things that change. For instance, in Norfolk, they call ladybirds (ladybugs to Americans) bishy barnabees. How cute is that? Cute and totally indecipherable if you aren’t from Norfolk, right?

Seriously, if you are born in the UK, you have to be multilingual.

If you go into a store and ask for a barm/ barm cake roll, stottie, cob, bin-lid, teacake, oggie, lardy cake, breadcake, rowie, bap, muffin, or batch you will essentially be given the same thing, a bread roll. However, the way you ask for it says something about you. It gives away exactly where you were born and what social class you put yourself into.

Now technically, if you lined all these ‘bread rolls’ up, you would see subtle differences. If you gave me a barm or batch instead of a cob, I’d be unhappy. I like my bread very ‘crusty’, preferably with a nice big air bubble in it. I’m happy when it shatters when you bite into it and then fights you when you try to rip it off.

That’s a cob roll.

Not a batch or a barm.

That’s not to say, that I don’t like a batch now and then. Certain stuff, bacon for instance, requires white bread, doughy, with extra flour sprinkled on top. I do not want crusty bread with my bacon butty!

Bacon Butty

The thing is, all over England, when you walk into a sandwich shop and place an order, you inadvertently proudly claim your heritage by the term you use. But no one blinks, no one looks at you blankly, they all translate automatically, and hand you a sandwich on a bread roll.

When I moved to America, it was the first time that I became aware that I not only had an accent, but that apparently, I spoke a completely different language altogether. In fact, it was so different that often I couldn’t even be remotely understood.

My British Accent

In Pot Belly’s, I asked for ‘Chewna on wheat’–which, I’d proudly learned was how to order a sandwich in America. You have to name the type of bread they use, not the style of roll they put it on.

The assistant serving me, stared back.

Them: “Cheese?”

Me: “No, Chewna.”

Them: “Ham?”

I was losing my patience by now, but with typical British politeness, I smiled and repeated my request again, showing no annoyance to the person who was obviously going out of their way to misunderstand me. But to no avail.  Exhausting all the usual sandwich fillings, except for the one I actually wanted, they looked at me apologetically…

Them: “Could you point to it?”

After I eventually got my Tooooona sandwich, I should have quit while I was ahead. But no. I was thirsty.

Me: “Could I have, a wot-toah.”

Them: “Iced tea?’

Me: “Actually, I changed my mind, just the sandwich.”

Similar scenes have played out across America. For the most part, I have managed to get by, pretending I speak the language by putting on an American accent for certain words. However, there are some words, I find it impossible to say with an American accent, or are so drilled into my psyche that I can’t make myself butcher it; ga-rij, parm-a-san, baas-sil, mum, for instance. But these days, thankfully, I have a little 5-year-old translator in my grandson who helps me out in times of difficulty. We are very proud of him, he is bilingual in American and British English.

All this, I can perfectly understand. Even though I no longer sound like Paul McCartney, and despite everyone in England being convinced that I speak like a Yank, I realize that to all Americans, I still have what they mainly describe as a ‘cute British accent’.

Although I have enough grounding in American to translate most words that are completely different– boot to trunk, bonnet to hood, pavement to sidewalk–every now and then, I have a mental block. Like recently, during a kitchen installation, when I said hob and then had to look up a picture of my cooktop because I just could not think of the translated word (thank God for Google.)

However, it appears that my accent is not confined to the spoken word, but the written one too, and unfortunately, having a British accent in writing is not so ‘cute’.

On the whole, after sixteen years, I have managed to lose most Briticisms from my work, along with the spellings of ‘ou’, and double ‘ss’. To catch the stuff that I don’t see–because, well, it is my native language, so it does look right to me–I use an American editor and an American proof reader, and it always seems like they catch a new British phrase. I got my manuscript back from my editor a couple of days ago. She likes to provide me with an American alternative to switch out the offending British one. This time the phrase was “Damn cheek!”

Her note to me had me in stitches. “Angela, I had to look this up because I was confused—British term. I think in USA it is similar to “damn bum” or “damn fool” in case you want to change it.” (She’s always so polite.)

British Accent

‘Damn Cheek’, does not translate as any of those things! But I do admire her for trying. So, just for fun, anyone who is a ‘native American speaker’ want to hazard a guess at a good translation? Go on, have a go, I like a good giggle.  *Answer at bottom of page.

Tea and Crumpets

By now, you have probably been wondering what my blog title has to do with any of my blog post. Well, as an expat, there are things I really miss from back home. Tea, is number 1, of course. Sorry, America, but when you threw the tea in Boston harbor, you should have asked for the recipe first. Sixteen years, is a long time to go without one decent cup of tea, and as I drink around six a day, sometimes more, one of the first things I had to do was find a source of British tea bags, at a reasonable price. Thank you, Amazon! I now buy PG Tips in boxes of 2000, on repeat order, because I’d have a mental breakdown if I actually ran out!

For some unfathomable reason, I have been craving crumpets, recently. That is not to be mistaken for wanting crumpet. That means two VERY different things in England!!!

Crumpet

Now, in their essence, crumpets are yet another type of bread, but they would NEVER be used in a sandwich. Crumpets are primarily a breakfast food, or served in an archetypal English cream tea. Circular, and made from a dough that is sticky and loose, it has rows of vertical holes. It is cooked in a frying pan–a bit like pancakes (American versions, not British ones) or drop scones. They are great served hot, with butter that fills up those holes. I prefer mine rounded off with marmalade.

This week, I learned to make them from scratch. It’s something I would never have considered doing in the UK because they are available so cheaply in every grocery store. But due to my craving, and the, um, distinct lack of crumpet (actually, this means something else entirely, too), I made them myself. And, pardon my English, they were bloody delicious.

I’m making more tomorrow, so anyone who wants to, pop around for tea and crumpets, we will be serving them around 4pm.

For those of you who enjoy dual-language books, I have an extensive list on Amazon. Many are hiding out in lots of Authors’ Billboard boxed sets.

Learn more about me and what I write at my website.

The manuscript I spoke of earlier, the one with the now corrected ‘Damn Cheek’ will be available in the up and coming boxed set, Cute but Crazy: Unique and Unpredictable. I’m excited to release this book, my first rom-com, exclusively to this boxed set, first!

British Accent

Glossary of “British Accent” terms:

  • Wooly back- person born in Birkenhead, or south of the River Mersey but still in Merseyside
  • Scouse/ scouser, Liverpudlian- dialect spoken in Liverpool or coming from Liverpool
  • Mancunian – accent/ dialect of people from Manchester
  • ga-rij, parm-a-san, baas-sil, chew-na: garage, Parmesan cheese, basil (herb), Tuna
  • wot-toah – water
  • Hob – cooktop
  • wanting crumpet – desiring sex
  • lack of crumpet – a distinct absence of good looking girls present
  • bloody delicious – really tasty
  • Damn cheek! – What a nerve!/ The nerve of it!