Wednesday, August 30, 2017

Wednesday's Words, by Morgan Ashbury

The pictures coming out of Texas beginning last weekend, and over the past few days have been heartbreaking. To see some small towns practically demolished, and the streets of Houston with waist to chest deep water—and rising—is beyond shocking. Entire neighborhoods will have to be leveled, I think. You can’t have homes submerged for so long a period in so much contaminated water, and hope they’ll dry out and be fine. You just can’t.

The disaster that was Hurricane, and now Tropical Storm Harvey truly is unlike any storm we’ve ever seen. Usually a hurricane comes, rages for a day or so, and then goes away. The cost in human lives can be counted almost immediately. When I awoke this morning, it was to news that the death toll had reached 18, doubling overnight. The authorities fear that number will climb, once the water drains away. Hurricane Katrina stole 1,836 lives. We can only pray that is a number never to be matched or exceeded.

In addition to the deaths, thousands of people have and are going through hell. Thousands have escaped with their lives, but have lost everything they possess, save the clothes on their backs. Some arrived at the shelters, shoeless. For the person experiencing it, losing everything is more than a shock, it’s a violation—very similar to the kind of violation one would feel after a physical attack. It’s happened to us twice, through fire, so I know a little of what these people are feeling.

The Houston police chief, Art Acevedo said during the telephone interview that I listened to Monday morning, that he feared the worst was yet to come, and his words have proven true. All of the water brought by the rainfall and flooding in south east Texas will head to the Gulf via Houston. There are over 6 million people in the metropolitan Houston area, a number far too high to have tried to evacuate, given the propensity for flash flooding on many of the roadways leading out of the area. A family of 6 was lost, having perished attempting to evacuate their flooded home.

The Army Corps of Engineers had to release water from two Houston dams into the Buffalo Bayou on Monday morning. This was done to prevent uncontrollable flooding of the Houston Metropolitan area, and to keep the dams from failing. It was a measure taken much sooner than originally planned, because the water in the reservoirs rose so quickly. Some people were not yet flooded until the gates of the reservoirs were opened. And even so, one of those dams, built in the 1930s, still breached it’s banks, spilling water into areas that had previously escaped flooding.

A category 4 Hurricane with no “steering currents” gathering last minute strength from the unusually warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico, coming ashore and lingering, wreaking havoc and with the potential for unprecedented rainfall—well, there was simply no real play book to follow for this crisis. They are writing the book for this one as they go along. Another blessing? There was no storm surge in the Houston area.

This is going to be a very long recovery for the people of south east Texas, and especially, it would seem, for the people of Houston. The storm has moved on but the water will continue to bring heartache until it eventually drains away. What the water hid will then be revealed and the true recovery can begin. Only six days of Harvey, but the rebuilding, the mending of lives, and of spirits, the reconstruction of neighborhoods—that is going to take years.

The one bright light throughout this disaster has been watching neighbors helping neighbors, and strangers helping strangers. People came from far and wide, brought their own boats, and just got to work. Much has been written about the great divide within the United States these days; and yet I am certain no one offering help inquired if the person in need of that help was a democrat or a republican. They didn’t care what color their skin was, or if they might be an immigrant or native born. In the midst of the chaos named Harvey, all those people were Texans, and they were Americans—they were brothers and sisters. And while this tragedy has been hard to watch, and clearly even harder to endure, the affirmation of the greatest of the values for which America stands, has been something we all needed to see—and more, something we all need to emulate.

There are ways we all can help the people devastated by Harvey. Canadians can donate money through the Canadian Red Cross. Here is a link to the designated page on their website: http://www.redcross.ca/about-us/red-cross-stories/2017/red-cross-responds-to-devastation-caused-by-hurricane-harvey

The American Red Cross is, of course, involved in providing assistance. In addition, here is a list I found of resources in need of various donations, for my American friends who want to help: https://www.yahoo.com/news/help-victims-tropical-storm-harvey-212340221.html

You don’t have to give a lot; you might think your five dollars won’t help, but it will. Your five dollars added to the five dollars of thousands of other people means thousands of dollars times five will flow and be used to help put people’s lives back together again.

In the meantime, let’s all send positive thoughts and prayers for the people affected by this disaster. The people of Texas are resilient. They will get through this, and come out stronger. I truly believe this to be so.

Love,
Morgan

Wednesday, August 16, 2017

Wednesday's Words, by Morgan Ashbury

I cannot remain silent. To witness such grotesque injustice, and say nothing, is to agree with it. This past weekend I watched thugs marching in the streets of Charlottesville, Virginia, spewing hate and Nazi slogans, giving Nazi salutes. That is completely intolerable, completely and unequivocally wrong. I know my history. The United States of America as well as my own country of Canada went to war, not even a century ago, against the evil of Nazism. One cannot claim to be a patriotic American or a patriotic Canadian and be a Nazi.

You just can’t. It is not physically, emotionally, or morally possible.

Looking at the bigger picture, I have to ask myself, why do human beings hate?
Why do we allow ourselves to feel the roiling, boiling cauldron of emotions that leave us full of anger, full of rage? Full of hate? Those feelings don’t make us feel good. They don’t create, they don’t uplift, they don’t enhance. Nothing good comes from those emotions. So why do we allow them purchase within our souls, and within our society?

Of all the things we, as a species, permit in our lives, the one I don’t understand is this pervasive, black, crippling hate, the likes of which we all saw on our television screens over this past weekend. I can’t understand it. Am I hopelessly naïve? Oh, more than likely.
So, what makes people hate?

I’ll tell you one thing, I don’t as a rule proselytize in my essays. And I won’t over much, this time, either. But I will say this: I have read the Bible. I state that because I have also heard some of these haters saying they believe in God, and I do not doubt that they do: after all, Satan believes in God, too.

I am a Christian, and hate has no place in my faith. That isn’t my opinion, it’s fact. There is no hate in that Good Book. Jesus did go into the temple with a whip which He made in response to seeing God’s House turned into a ‘den of thieves’. That was anger—righteous anger. That was not hate.

Hate is not the emotion used by God. Hate is the tool of Satan.

So again I ask, why hate? There is absolutely no positive to be gained through hate. See, I told you I was naïve. The only gain these haters are interested in is power. They hope to overthrow democracy, and take over, and “purify” their nation. Their words, not mine. It appears lots of people agree with them. Maybe those people think if there we only white people around, life would somehow be better. More jobs. More money. Just like the good old days!

But that’s not true, not any of it. Those people just want the power for power’s sake. And once they get it, they may decide, hmm. All those blonde people, just you know, being blonde. Those blondes steal our jobs, they’re the reason life is no longer good here. We need to get rid of the blondes! If we got rid of the blondes, life would somehow be better. More jobs. More money. Just like the good old days!

Yeah, that sounds silly, but there is as much logic behind that as there is logic behind their stated goals and motivations now. Those that would have power at any cost will lie to attain it.

Let me say that one sentence again. Those that would have power at any cost will lie to attain it. And they will use any means—stirring up fears, feeding insecurities, whatever it takes—so that their mindless minions will believe, and will do what’s asked of them.  And those who are pathological liars just lie because they can’t help themselves.

I believe in the right of all people to protest. I believe in the right of all people to speak their minds, and to have their say and to choose their own beliefs.

However, when people go to a so called “rally” armed with guns, knives, clubs and shields, they’re not there to protest. They’re there to commit violence. They are there to hurt other people. Unarmed people. Ministers, and pastors, and community volunteers. Legal assistants.

And if they drive their car into a crowd of innocent, unarmed people, hoping for a high body count? Why, then they’re terrorists.

We all have the right to protest. We do not have the right to riot, to hurt, to maim or to kill.

Love,
Morgan

Wednesday, August 09, 2017

Wednesday's Words, by Morgan Ashbury

This past weekend my husband and I tackled a long overdue job—one that we had to do upstairs. This was supposed to be our bedroom/office area. Unfortunately, the renovations, a joint project between my husband and our second son, were never completed after our son died. My husband simply didn’t have the heart for it. There needs only the finishing work to be done: drywall, and some type of finished flooring. Over the years this space has housed bedrooms for my grandkids, and a place for my daughter and her son when they moved in with us for a couple years.

We also use this area for storage, and what called us up there this past weekend was the task of sorting through the thousands of books we have stored up there—some on bookshelves, some in boxes, and some in a very long, sturdy wooden cedar chest.

Yes, my friends, I said thousands of books. The last time my daughter counted them, there were over 4,000. These are mostly paperbacks, though there were a few hard cover books in the lot. Some of the oldest books dating back to the 1940s and before sadly weren’t in good condition—nor were they when they came into our possession.

Our goal, over this past weekend, was to separate the wheat from the chaff, basically. What books did we really want to keep and which ones could we put in a pile to give away?

I know. You’re all still up there at the 4000. Seriously, I think’s closer to 5000 if you count the more recent books, the ones that are down stairs on our 6 bookshelves. You’re probably wondering where all those books came from.

To preface, I will tell you that we’ve always had books, and to top that off, we have had 2 house fires where we lost virtually everything, including our books. My beloved pointed out in the middle of this weekend’s sorting work, that this was indeed our third collection.

When the kids were younger, when we were struggling, and both of us working, each bi-weekly payday we’d give ourselves 20 dollars a piece as our “allowance”. That total of 40 bucks was our entire entertainment budget. And each payday, we would take ourselves to the bookstore at the plaza in the town where we shopped. There, we would each purchase as many books as possible with our allowance.

At the time, I’d begun to read romance, and became somewhat hooked on some of the monthly release lines, like Silhouette Desire and Harlequin Loveswept, and other lines, too. Those books were fairly inexpensive. My beloved actually liked historical romance, and he read those long before I did. He’d also buy other action adventure books.

When we each finished reading our books, we’d often swap and read each other’s. As I said, that was our entertainment. We also bought a fair number of books at garage sales. “You can have the entire box for five bucks!” What a deal that was for us, a deal only topped by the time we bought a four-piece living room suite for 15 dollars at a garage sale—but that is another story.

Sorting began Saturday morning. I know my husband was expecting a battle; I know he somehow thought that I would want to keep a ton of those books. But that was never in my plans. Yes, there were a few books that I’d really loved. And when I would come across those? Why, they went into the keeper box, no question about it. By the time we called it a day on Saturday, David had accepted I wasn’t going to cling overmuch to the past.

I found all of my old favorites except one; I’m going to post on my face book page about that one, because I don’t recall the title or the author, just the plot.

My reading tastes, and yes, my standards have changed. That’s not a slight against the two lines of books I’ve named, not at all. Anyone who’s watched an episode of an old favorite television series will know what I mean. Books and shows over twenty years old seem less sophisticated when you revisit them; as they should because they reflect the society in which they were produced, and times do change. There’s a kind of social innocence to those pre-global terrorism days that one could almost term halcyon.

I’m grateful to the hundreds of authors who wrote thousands of novels, tiny vehicles of escape and relief. Back in the days before I ever believed I would be a published author, I sank into those simple, happy stories and felt uplifted. Those hours of escape were as good as any vacation I later took.

In the end, we kept about four boxes worth of books, and have twenty-two boxes ready to go—hopefully to good, grateful homes.

Love,
Morgan



Thursday, August 03, 2017

Wednesday's Words, by Morgan Ashbury

One hundred and twelve days, and counting.

As the date of my husband’s retirement draws nearer, the reality of the change we’re about to undergo begins to press home. Sometimes, I’ve been guilty of looking at what’s about to happen to us as we enter this brand new phase of our lives—embracing David’s retirement—through the lens of how it will affect me. I’m working hard to let that go for awhile, and concentrate instead on what this will mean for my beloved.

Something David said the other day really brought this need into focus for me. He said, “For the first time since I was 16, I will not have a boss.”

That admission brought to mind the very real fact that I, myself, have been without a boss since 2002. Over the last fifteen years, I’d pretty much forgotten what a pall it can be to have a boss. I think we can file that realization—that I’d ‘forgotten’ under the heading, “denial is more than a river in Africa”.  I spent some time over the last few days recalling just what it was like. I figured this would be a good way to really understand my husband’s state of mind.

In truth, over the course of my working-outside-the-home career, I’ve had a couple of perfectly awful bosses—one who claimed he shouldn’t be subjected to the sight of me with my cane; and one who worked hard to try and make me quit so he could hire a former female co-worker whom he really liked from his previous employer. That last situation was a case of bad pheromones all the way around; he didn’t like me from first sight, which really hurt me at the time. He found his victory when I had my first heart attack; this company had a habit of getting rid of employees who might need to take advantage of their “self-insured” long term disability. My victory was in giving him, on that last day, a list of books on people and leadership skills, pointing out to him that he didn’t have any of either.

To this day, if I think too hard about how either of those people treated me, or of what it was like to put up with their verbal abuse and crap attitudes for as long as I did, I feel a little bit sick to my stomach.

I’m excited for my husband to get to that day of no boss.

David has been at the quarry for nearly forty years. His first boss there, the man who owned the then family business, who took over for his own father—this man just recently passed away. There was no funeral per se, just a “celebration of life” sort of visitation, and of course we attended. This man, though sometimes driving my beloved to curse a blue streak, was nonetheless very good to us. He was always there if an emergency arose, and trust me, we had more than a few of them along the way. He was the first to offer a helping hand when we lost our house to a fire, and much later, when I had to have emergency triple-bypass surgery.

The first two bosses David had after that man sold his family company to a large conglomerate were good, decent men. They were fair, and sought to make the employees under them feel as if they mattered. In turn, they quickly discovered the men now under their supervision would work hard in return for that respect.

That last point leads me to digress: why are corporate managers too stupid to understand this one salient fact of human nature? Give an employee the sense he/she matters, let them know their contribution is important and appreciated, treat them with respect, and the return on that investment of time and attitude will make the corporate bottom line swell! Doesn’t cost a damn penny, but returns thousands. I wish they’d all get a clue.

The next two bosses David had, however, clearly had no people or leadership skills. They completely killed David’s love for his job. That was his largest source of personal pride, and of the way he defined himself in the world. All that, and in the end two exceptionally mediocre “corporate soldiers” took that away from him.

The boss he has now is a good man, but for David, once some lines have been crossed, that’s it. His current boss worked his way up through the ranks, and so he is less arrogant than the previous two, more understanding that a company whose product is gravel for the construction and cement industries is really built upon the work done by the men on the floor—and that the quality of their work is directly related to the respect and dignity with which they are treated. In short, he has good people and leadership skills. The men under him feel as if he truly has their best interests at heart. I think he does, because he has argued, successfully, against a plan the company had last year to lay employees off early. It is a seasonal industry and some layoffs are inevitable. Of course, David’s seniority keeps him working the longest, but he had lots of layoffs with the company over the years, especially in the beginning. In that regard, and many others he’s paid his dues.

Right now, he’s at that stage where he really wants to be done. He may have more than forty years in the tank, and only four months left to go, but human nature is what it is. These last few months are beginning to feel like forever to him.

He’s eager for his new beginning.

Love,
Morgan


Wednesday, July 19, 2017

Wednesday's Words, by Morgan Ashbury

What a wonderful weekend we had! And for us, another unique way to celebrate a wedding anniversary on Friday. It was number 45 this year—and they all said it would never last!

As I’d mentioned we would in my last essay, David and I attended an author/reader event, KallypsoCon 2017, this year held in the near-by city of Burlington, Ontario this past weekend. This is a relatively new event in the world of book conventions, created and organized by Kallypso Masters. Kally is a wonderful writer and an exceptional human being.

It’s also a relatively small book convention—purposefully so. This year there were eleven “featured authors” and 100 readers.

This convention will never “grow”, because the purpose is to give the readers who attend a chance to meet and interact with each one of the authors. It’s truly an intimate gathering compared to those that boast more than a thousand attendees, and are organized for the purpose of making money for the corporations that hold them.

Dinner on Friday night, which was the first official event, featured an author at all but one table. The one table without an author had the guest speakers for Saturday evening. Then, after dessert and before the fun and games in the next room, we participated in “speed dating”. Controlled by a “timer”, authors (and the guest speakers) rotated so that by the end of the session, every reader had met and spoken to each of the authors and the guests.

All the readers had to do was sit and wait for their favorite author to come by. That was a fun idea, and a great way to break the ice for everyone!

The games were another way allow the readers to get to know the authors better. The first game called “five fun facts”. Each author had earlier sent in to the organizer 5 facts about themselves. We took turns pulling a “fact” from the box and reading it aloud, and the audience had to guess which author the fact was about.

I can tell you that some of my fellow authors have lived damned interesting lives! They’ve climbed mountains and won dance competitions, lived in Japan for a year and a half, were on a rodeo team, and one has even ridden a camel in the Sahara and spent the night in a Bedouin camp!

The next game left everyone in stitches. We were each given excerpts of someone else’s novels to read aloud (with names omitted), and the audience of readers had to guess who the author of the excerpt was. There was great emoting, and accompanying miming, and general hilarious Tom Foolery all around! And laughter…lots and lots and lots of laughter.

It’s hard to be anything but honest when you’re surrounded by and smothered in laughter.

What a genius way to kick off an event. What better way to make authors approachable than to have them ‘perform’ in such a friendly, relaxed atmosphere?

Saturday was filled with a Q&A session, a book signing, and another wonderful buffet dinner. In the evening, we had a presentation about BDSM by a couple living that lifestyle. What impressed me most about the evening’s program was the very real bond of love between the two. As an author, and one who has written stories featuring this interesting relationship dynamic, it’s invaluable to get real true info from people who really, truly know. Forget some of the books you may have read; this was the real deal.

Yes, we saw floggers and ropes—but the lion’s share of the information was on the relationship dynamic, itself. There is a power exchange in all relationships, whether you realize it or not. In lifestyle relationships, that exchange, and the boundaries, and the feelings, are constantly discussed because that is part of the deal. Communication is key, and in that one facet, the rest of us could learn a thing or two from them.

My favorite part of the weekend by far, of course, was meeting readers, exchanging hugs and conversation, and being inspired by the presence of those who share with me the desire to touch lives as we entertain.

Love,
Morgan

Wednesday, July 12, 2017

Wednesday's Words, by Morgan Ashbury

I’m busy getting ready for my one and only “author event” for 2017, which begins tomorrow. This will be the very first event of this sort that I have ever attended in my own country! One could even say that I’m not going to the event so much as the event is coming to me. Well, that is, one could (and did) if one wasn’t me. I would never make such an arrogant statement myself, unless I was employing extreme sarcasm.

Which I must confess, from time to time, I do.

KallypsoCon happens each year in a different location. Next year, for example, it will be held in Utah. But this year, it’s “KallypsoCon 2017: Canada Bound”. I’m looking forward to becoming reacquainted with some of the authors and readers who will be there, and also meeting new friends. There’s a definite energy to be had, spending time with those who are involved in the same vocation as I am. I don’t know if doctors or lawyers or teachers feel that way, when they attend events for their professions. I don’t know if this energizing is particular to a gathering of those involved in the creative arts. I suppose it depends on whether you look at your occupation as a job, or a calling.

I also love hearing from readers, because what I do for living is a particularly solitary endeavor. I don’t have an assistant at the moment, and while I do have some wonderful reader/friends who help me out with my reader’s group and with beta-reading my books, I tend not to “fish” for ideas or suggestions. My stories are my stories, products of my imagination, and so the tough stuff—coming up with the ideas, the plot twists, etc—that’s my responsibility. I’ve always believed that if I want people to plunk down their hard-earned money to buy one of my books, then I best be doing all the work and taking all the care involved in its creation.

I have participated in brainstorming sessions once or twice in the past, and I’ve found them very stimulating. Such encounters between writers is never one-sided, and as an author, I’ve given suggestions as well as received them. That’s a sort of authorly quid-pro-quo, and really, part of the professional process as far as I’m concerned.

What I don’t want to do, ever, is indulge in what I call “writing by committee”. I understand the motivation of those who do, and if that works for them, then more power to them. Some writers set themselves some really tough deadlines, where they have to produce new work on an accelerated schedule. The only way to do that is to have someone—or several people—taking over after the first draft has been etched, editing and polishing and getting it ready to send off. I’m not talking about editing here, which most of us experience; I’m talking about other people who take the author’s first draft, and produce the second. Now, I’m not knocking that process at all. Each of us has our own process, and to write in any way that ignores our intrinsic instincts and inner process is to betray the craft for which we breathe.

I’m pretty good at writing, at coming up with characters and crafting a tale about them. My writing speed has slowed some over the last couple of years, but I do the best I can. What I don’t excel at, what I’m not really very good at, is promotion. By nature, I’m a shy woman. If you’ve met me, you may dispute that. The truth is I’ve learned to be outgoing, but it takes a lot out of me. I would go to large conventions in the past, where I would meet hundreds of people, and stand in a room and “pimp” all the authors who were contracted with my publisher. I was delighted to do that, to give back to a company that took a chance on me. However, when I would return home, I’d be a wreck, energy-wise, for at least a week. To recover, I needed quiet, and I needed to just be me.

So, since I do suck so badly at promotion I’ve had to begin to think of that necessary activity in a different way. I’ve begun to think of it as socializing. I’m not touting my work, so much as I am taking a break from it to meet people who happen to like reading the same kind of books as I happen to write. I could never be cut-throat in my approach, either. I see other authors—in this case, the wonderful authors who will be appearing at this same event—as colleagues, not as competition.

I honestly believe there’s room enough for us all to succeed and to prosper. A few of these authors—Kallypso Masters (http://kallypsomasters.com ) Lexi Blake ( http://www.lexiblake.net), and Cherise Sinclair (http://cherisesinclair.com ) I’ve read and truly enjoyed. They have different styles, but share a talent and a bent for turning out wonderful, character-driven, page-turning books. The rest of the authors appearing, I’m sure I will read in the weeks and months to come. I’m always looking for new-to-me-authors to read.

This is a short event, from Thursday to Sunday, and within 40 minutes of home. I’m looking forward to being energized, and making new friends.

Love,
Morgan

Wednesday, July 05, 2017

Wednesday's Words, by Morgan Ashbury

Today would have been my mother’s 98th birthday, and my son, Anthony’s, 40th.

Anthony was born after my mother passed away. Actually, he was born the very next year. We commemorated the one-year anniversary of Mom’s death in April, and then he arrived, three months later, on her birthday. We have “Christmas in July” in this family, because my brother’s birthday is on the 1st, my mother’s, and then Anthony’s on the 5th, my daughter’s on the 13th, our wedding anniversary on the 14th and my birthday is on the 21st. July is a very busy month in the Ashbury household.

July is also the month we lost Anthony, on the 30th, in 2006. That makes this an emotional month, as well as a busy one. It’s no wonder that the beginning of July always gives a bigger meaning to the start of summer for me.

There can be no doubt that summer has indeed arrived. The temperatures are rising and the days are long. This is the last summer before my beloved retires. Originally—that is, after his last vacation time over Christmas—he’d said he didn’t want to take any vacation, since it would be his last year, and he would in fact be on vacation from November onward into infinity. That resolve didn’t last very long at all. He went back to work after the Christmas break the first week of January, and by the second week of January he was looking for a good excuse to take a week off.  I have one “author event” this year, very close to home. I’ll be at KallypsoCon 2017 in Burlington, Ontario from July 13 – 16. That’s “just down the road” from us. David has booked that time off work, and he’ll be serving as my “assistant” during this author/reader convention. What does my assistant do, you may ask?

Well in this case, he becomes my “go to” man for whatever I may need, and also wherever I may need to go by being the power behind my wheelchair, if I need it. I can walk. I use a cane, but I am able to walk—but not for long distances or extended periods of time. Usually, when I attend conventions, I rent a scooter. However, I couldn’t see taking on the expense of one this time when we’re driving just down the road, in our own car, and I have the wheelchair in the trunk of my car, anyway.

There was a time when I would have abhorred using the device, as I know my mother did. That phase of my life—that martyrdom phase—has passed, thankfully. I walk as much as I can, and ask for help when I can’t. Asking for help has been one of the hardest things for me to learn how to do. Give help? No problem, I’m happy to. You need something? I am there, baby. Ah, but ask for help? Not so easy for me.

It wasn’t until I looked on that trait as a kind of unattractive pride that I began to change. I’m still not quite there, and my first instinct is to extend a hand rather than take one, but I am, after all, a work in progress.

I’m looking forward to this event, because I haven’t attended a convention for a few years now. I love meeting readers. They’re my focus, and while sometimes I may be a bit late answering the e-mails I receive from them, I do answer every single one. There might come a day when I can’t do that. But for now, I want my readers to feel free to email me, or send me a pm on Face Book. I will respond!

I’ve never attended this event before; it’s a fairly new one as conventions go, but wildly successful, usually selling out very quickly. The organizer, Kallypso Masters, (http://kallypsomasters.com ) is an author I’ve met and admired, a woman who is as warm and genuine as they come. She writes military romance and BDSM and possesses both talent and skill in generous proportions. Her stories are all page turners and definitely worth reading.

This convention is different in that there are limited numbers of authors, and readers. 11 authors, 130 readers, which allows for plenty of good, honest, interaction. I’ve been told that this is a stellar promotional opportunity. I know it is, but I suck at promo—at least what some people interpret as promo.

In my professional life, as far as I’m concerned, there are two things—writing, and readers. I love writing. I love interacting with readers. Whether the sales happen or not I tend to leave up to a higher power.

As I’ve said before, I don’t write for fame or fortune. I write to connect, to touch and hopefully, to uplift.

That’s just who I am.

Love,
Morgan