Winding Down

OK, here goes.  Other than IWSG, I’ve been lacking in blog post topics for a long stretch.  Today is no different, so you are getting this.  A journal entry of sorts, I guess.

As I type (Sunday), I’ve got beans boiling on the stove to add to a turkey chili for dinner. The tree behind me is on, and the smell of the evergreen-scented candle I’m burning delivers a piney bouquet.  I’ve got the house to myself.  Our daughter is still down at school and my husband is over doing projects at his mother’s, although I’m hoping he’ll return in time for us to attend the annual lighting of this tree, before we sit down to a warming meal.  

Hubby and I got out before 8:00 am to shop, returning home by mid-morning, successful in most of our endeavors.  We’ve given ourselves a strict budget this year.  Not because we have to, but because we don’t really need anything.  We made a decision to take things easy, and that call is helping to keep stress at bay while adding to the joy of the season.

Last weekend, our daughter came home with a friend, and she, her friend and I partook in an annual holiday activity, the Festival on the Common put on by the local churches.  As has become our family tradition, while our daughter and I visit the common, God love him, the man I'm married to, aka Mr. Christmas, stays home and decorates.   

This year, the festival was smaller and more restrained than in other years, yet we enjoyed our annual bowl of clam chowder at the Congregational Church, followed by a concert put on by local instrumentalists at First Parish.  I'm not sure our daughter’s friend had experienced anything quite like our little festival—jumble sales, a meat raffle, silent auctions, book sales and the like, but seemed to take it in stride and rated the whole thing “charming.”  We returned home to lights and wreathes and nutcrackers all over.  Let’s just say we’re a three-Christmas-tree kind of family and I’m not sure whether our daughter’s friend was impressed or horrified overwhelmed. 

We start our festivities this coming weekend as we celebrate the season with my side of the family.  As a result, I’m not sure I'll get a blog post in again before the holidays. In case I don’t, please know, I wish you all a wonderful Christmas.

Who? Me? IWSG July

It's IWSG Day.  The goal of this blog hop is to share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds. The brainchild of Alex Cavanaugh, our brilliant ninja leader, please visit his co-hosts this month: Yolanda Renee, Tyrean Martinson, Madeline Mora-Summonte, LK Hill, Rachna Chhrabia, and JA Scott.

 To find other contributors, go here.

This month we have a theme question: What is the best thing anyone has said about your writing?

I write freelance for a publishing company that produces various local lifestyle magazines.  They gave me a start about six years ago, offering me the opportunity to write about food-related subjects in free blog posts for one of their online publications.  Once I proved myself, they began giving me feature articles in their magazines, and often, my picture appears on the contributors’ page.  Honestly, people who read my blog probably know more about the articles I write than the people in my day-to- day life. I mean, if people ask, I tell them what I’ve written lately, but they don't ask much, and I don’t run around announcing every piece. It is enough for me that the editors pass my name along to each other and every couple of months or so, I receive an email asking me to write a feature story.  The topics are fun, and they pay. I get a lot of enjoyment out of the whole business.

So, last week, my husband and I stopped at the library together. While we don’t know the names of the librarians, they're familiar faces, and as I checked out my books one of the them said to me, “You're the writer, right?”

Eyes widening, I nodded.  “I am.”

She gave me a big grin.  “I carry a subscription to South Shore Living, and I always look forward to seeing your articles.” She said.  “And I read The Globe.  I saw your recent story there too!”

Walking out of the library, honestly, I giggled.  “Did you hear that?” I asked my husband.

“I did,” he said.  “Look at you. You have a fan.”

Then, this past Friday, something added to the fun.  My husband and I went out for an early supper at a modest waterfront restaurant we get to occasionally.  After we finished, I waited on the sidewalk outside while he visited the facilities.  Even though I'd just seen it, I perused the menu stapled on a glass covered bulletin board before beginning to read a wooden-framed notice beneath it.  It was a review, it started off witty, and I gathered myself ready for a fun read.  One paragraph into it, the thing started to sound...familiar?  I checked the byline and started laughing.  Five years later, I'm kind of tickled with myself.  The thing was good and yep, I wrote it.

The best thing anyone has said about my writing?  The compliment some invisible employee bestowed when he or she framed my review and placed it on a bulletin board facing a well-traveled sidewalk on a busy road.

Kind of feels like I have a little "street cred."