Friday, August 31, 2007

Golden Moments

Coming Event:
Saturday, September 1, 2007, 11:00 a.m.
Join Lucky the Golden Retriever for R.E.A.D. story time
At The King’s English Bookstore in Salt Lake City

R.E.A.D. dogs are nationally certified therapy dogs from Intermountain Therapy Animals. They also have additional training and licensing as reading companions to promote literacy and help children find new ways of making reading fun. Though they can’t read they are very attentive and non-judgmental listeners when a child is reading a book to them. Currently Intermountain Therapy animals have licensed over 1300 R.E.A.D. teams in 48 states (the Dakotas are the only two where they do not have teams) and Canada, Poland, Japan, Belgium and Israel.
A personal note: today's post is dedicated to the memory of Sally Frances Haws, a Golden Retriever so special she merited a middle name.

Article reprinted by permission of The King’s English. Photo from internet, source unknown

Thursday, August 30, 2007

Writing for No Good Reason

For years, I was a desk drawer writer. I happily scribbled away, tucking the finished or unfinished projects away in a desk drawer. I was writing because it was fun, and I wrote anything I wanted without caring if it was publishable or good. Then my daughter’s mentor got to me and made me start sending my work out.

Things changed that day. The changes were both good and bad. The good is that I began to be more professional, carefully researching the markets and writing what was publishable, finishing and editing each project I started.

The bad is that I began to be more professional, carefully researching the markets and writing what was publishable, finishing and editing each project I started.

After a while I started selling what I wrote and a career was launched, but some of the joy disappeared in the process. I was no longer writing anything I wanted. I soon enough learned there were things I didn’t yet have the talent to write professionally, so even though I loved writing them, I stopped. My limited work schedule didn’t allow for unpublishable writing time. Writing was now a job.

After a time, the spirit instructed me to stop writing for publication, other than my weekly column. My family would be needing my undivided attention for a time, without the stress of a professional writing career. For the next eight years, I was a full-time homeschooling mom, but I wrote once again for fun. I nabbed rare moments to write things that would never sell because I was born about eighty years too late for them to be marketable. I fooled around with a mystery and made the characters intentionally silly beyond sensibility.

Writing was just for fun again.

Now I’m back at work and I’m trying not to lose sight of the real purpose for being a writer. The real purpose is to have fun. It doesn’t pay enough to write for any other reason. So, I want to balance my professional work with the just-for-fun scribbling I love.

Where did I put that silly mystery? I had an idea…

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

The Wild River and Unexpected Pleasures

The Wild River and Unexpected Pleasures
Recently while watching "The River Wild" I reminisced with my son about a trip we took to the Rogue river in Oregon, where the movie was filmed. Though our trip wasn't as exciting as Meryl Streep's (we weren't hijacked by a gun-wielding Kevin Bacon, and we had an expert guide who steered us through some scary rapids, one of which required helmets) I think our children's favorite memory was seeing three large turtles perched on a log as we floated down a perfectly smooth portion of the river. I remember feeling as carefree as Huck Finn. When we came closer to the log, the turtles let go one at a time and dropped into the river: "Plop, plop, plop!" The boys were hysterical with laughter.

The guide told us that every spring all the river guides raft down the river, and memorize every section of it. Each year the river's character changes due to climate, water volume, shifts in the river bottom, and other factors. They don't take a bit of it for granted. Our guide was seasoned and experienced.

When we approached the biggest of the rapids, we pulled over and he talked us through it. Everyone knew where to sit, which way to lean, and how many strokes of the oars to take when instructed. We donned our helmets and put our lives in his capable hands."OK, four strokes and then pull your oars in!" he yelled. One, two, three, four . . . "Oops, Hold on, folks, we're going through backwards!" We held on, went through backwards, and then, when we were on a quiet stretch, we took off our helmets and he told us what had happened."All the way, during the hour before we reached the rapids, I had estimated everyone's strength. I seated you where you needed to be in order to balance the raft. What I didn't estimate was your adrenalin. When we hit the rapids, your oar strokes were stronger than I expected. Three would have been enough. By the fourth, I knew we were turned around, and that's the way we took the rapid."Quite simply, we didn't know what we were capable of accomplishing.

In the writing world, that extra kick of adrenalin, of determination, may be what makes the difference between good and excellent, published and not published.We also had excellent guidance on the river, and that is available to us as writers in many forms: writing groups, workshops, peer, judge and editor feedback, and our own ability to edit and improve as we develop our skills.

And let's not forget the extra bonus of the plopping turtles. We should have fun along the journey, and not miss those unexpected moments of pure pleasure.

Monday, August 27, 2007

Confessions of a frustrated blog mechanic

There was a time years ago when our lack of money forced my husband to be an amateur auto mechanic. I can recall those unpleasant afternoons he spent under the hood or beneath the axles of the family junker, not to mention the side-of-the-road breakdowns that required assistance from the extended family to get the sick car home.

Once, a friend came over to help him work on the car. After a couple of hours, his friend leaned back against the shade tree.

"I've exhausted all my knowledge," he said.

It was the ultimate declaration of defeat for the two shade-tree mechanics.

So what does this have to do with blogging?

I've had people tell me they're amazed I know how to build a website. Not amazing at all, I say. I don't build those nice sophisticated ones like real programmers do. I have a WYSIWYG (what you see is what you get) program. Big deal. Maybe they don't look as great as the professional sites, but much like my husband used to work on the cars, I do it myself 'cause I don't have the money to pay a professional.

I know just enough about HTML and coding to get myself in trouble. It's like insisting you can compete in the high dive at the Olympics when you have a fear of heights and the only thing you know how to do in the deep end of the pool is doggie paddle.

Being the kind of person who loves a challenge and relishes the agony associated with defeat, I've been determined to re-do my personal website and start a blog. Me, the same person who is guilty of knocking latterdayauthors off line for about two weeks because I altered some teeny-tiny thing by accident.

My husband told me recently that I am stubborn. I asked him if that was a bad thing.

"Well ... no," he said. But something in his voice made me wonder.

Here's my issue. I can blog anywhere, but I want to blog on a program that I can load onto my web server. I want the blog to be at my domain, with no dangling file name appendages. There is a certain program I want to use, and I want the program to do what I want it to do.

After several loadings, glitches, deletions, and other various and sundry aggravations that have prevented my blog from working right, I found myself in a state of self-mutilating frustration.

In a fit of bloody cyber-rage, I deleted my entire website. On purpose.

Now if you go to my website, there's a cute little construction sign and a message that says my site is coming soon.

I remember the early days of latterdayauthors. I worked for weeks at the computer, spending hours per day trying to teach myself how to build a website. I was able to construct a crude one using Microsoft Publisher. (horrors!) But I got it done. And when I got a better program, I built a better mousetrap.

It was hard, but I learned from my mistakes.

My time is much more limited now, but I have decided that no matter how hard or frustrating this is, I am going to accomplish my goal. I am going to learn how to use this stinkin' blog program. And if, when I finally get it right, the only hair I have left is the hair around my ankles, so be it.

I am not a quitter.

Saturday, August 25, 2007


The other day, over on Six Writers and a Frog, I read a post by Robison Wells wherein he gave a vivid account of his recent trip to Yellowstone. The post unleashed a plethora of memories. Some brought a smile. Others evoked emotions similar to those you experience when you realize once you’re strapped into a scary amusement park ride they won’t let you off if you change your mind.

The memories that made me to smile were of my grandfather, Helmet. The eldest son of a desperately poor farm family, he became a self-made man who forged his life with hard work and determination. His stern German father forbid him to pursue his dream of attending flight school. However, after seeing a photo of an ice-plane in a magazine he purchased at a Rigby, Idaho drugstore, Grandpa decided to build a plane of his own. After scavenging parts for years, he finally came up with enough components to create a Sno-Plane.

Grandpa’s Sno-planes (he built nearly 90 of them) were tri-skied vehicles powered by an airplane engine and propeller. The speeds they were capable of reaching enabled Grandpa to “fly” over snow, and ice. With each subsequent model he constructed, he added improvements that allowed him to go further and faster. He captained Sno-Planes for endless hours across ice-covered Jackson Lake -- even as the ice cracked and parted behind him -- without even flinching. Insurance companies wouldn’t have touched him with a ten-foot pole!

He decided to haul one of his creations to West Yellowstone on a flatbed trailer. From there he traveled by Sno-Plane to Old Faithful Lodge and became the first man ever to enter Yellowstone during the winter via mechanical means. In ensuing years, he frequently toured the park by Sno-Plane. Even had he known the full range of natural dangers inherent to the area, he would not have cared.

Growing up, I loved to hear Grandpa’s stories of adventure. Yellowstone had been his playground. I wanted it to be mine as well. When I visited the park with family I scoffed when adults said children were boiled down to nothing when they fell into geysers. Not even their bones, I was told, remained to bear record of their demise. I smiled politely but ignored my mother when she droned on about bears eating people alive.

“Don’t you dare roll down that window!” she’d screech as I deftly slipped a vanilla cookie out to bears that long ago stood by the roadside waiting for kids to defy their parents. Bear, schmer!

That was before I had children of my own. That was before I read Lee Whittlesey’s book, Death in Yellowstone: Accidents and Foolhardiness in the First National Park.
Lee’s parents must have been like mine, constantly bombarding his childhood visits to Yellowstone with gruesome images passed down from generation to generation. Yes, because something obviously snapped inside Lee to convince him he needed to uncover all the deaths that ever occurred in the park and jot them down in grizzly (no pun intended) detail.

The first night after I purchased the book, I sat huddled on the floor of our trailer with a flashlight reading account after account of unspeakable horror. My parents and aunts and uncles, it seemed, had been correct. Yellowstone was a downright terrifying place! I fell into a fitful sleep fully expecting my family to be sucked into the fiery bowels of the earth by sunrise.

The next day, the park just wasn’t the same. There were “bars” in them thar hills of the man-eating variety that could slice you in half with just one swipe of their horrible clawed paw -- the book said so. There were other animals that went crazy and gored you when you simply tried to take of a photo of them grazing with their offspring. And there were cliffs where unsuspecting tourists fell to their deaths without warning, geysers that shot scalding water at you, and hot pots laying wait to drown you in sulfuric mud.

Much to the annoyance of my family, mom turned into a raving maniac.

“DON'T let go of my hand! Stay RIGHT next to your father! DON’T lean against the railing. STAY in the MIDDLE of the boardwalk. Is that a BEAR behind that tree? We’re all going to DIEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

This after we’d already been camping in the park without incident for over a week.

When we got home, and I gave the book away -- permanently -- so the nightmarish scenes it described wouldn’t haunt me, I put things into perspective. We still make one or two trips a year to Yellowstone and the surrounding areas. I love the beauty of the park. I love to retrace Grandpa’s route to Old Faithful in the winter on snowmobile, imagining all he must have seen and felt.

You may or may not be wondering what became of my grandfather. Did he succumb to some terrible demise in Yellowstone? No. His adventures took him all across America, over to Hawaii, and up to Alaska where he sold Sno-Planes to the Eskimos. He died, late last December, at the ripe old age of 96, of a broken heart after my grandmother passed away on Christmas Day.

Yes, there are many dangers in the park and numerous folks have died there. Caution and common sense need rule when one visits. But there are also many dangers right in my own neighborhood. Just this week two of my neighbors were seen waving (then throwing) shovels at each other with the distinct intent to do harm. There are also a couple of moms who think our little lane should be driven like the Indy 500. We’ve had drug dealers and criminals on the lam in the pasture behind our house, vicious dogs and skunks even the dogcatcher is too afraid to apprehend, and neighborhood kids who I fear will be in prison by the time they’re ten.

Like Grandpa, I’ll take Yellowstone.

Robison, as Bob Hope would say, thanks for the memories…

Friday, August 24, 2007

Blessing the Lives of Others

For me, blessing the lives of others is the main reason talents exist. True, our work from those talents also can expand ourselves personally. But to paraphrase a quote from my husband's patriarchal blessing: "Remember, talents are given to bless the lives of others."

That phrase has shaped me probably more than most quotations. It has adjusted the way I view life and others. Thus, when I see another individual living to do the same, it encourages me. I want to highlight them and emulate them. Anne Bradshaw is just such a person.

Anne Bradshaw, who lived in England until she moved to America ten years ago, has written countless articles and short stories for magazines, and has two published books, Terracotta Summer, and Chamomile Winter, prior to her latest work out September 2007, Please, No Zits! & Other Short Stories for LDS Youth.

Anne and her husband, Bob, have four children and more than a few grandchildren. When not writing, she reads any good book she can find, drools over fresh fruit and healthy food (especially warm peaches straight off the tree), and speed walks early mornings.

But most importantly, for many years before moving to America, Anne traveled the British Isles interviewing LDS youth for the New Era magazine. "I met some of the finest young people," she says. "Teens are exciting and amazing to be around."

When I heard that she was sponsoring a contest to highlight amazing teens, I had to know more. She graciously obliged. I include her interview here for not only your enjoyment, but in the hopes that her good works will inspire those of your own. And who knows - perhaps you know the teen that will win this contest!

C.S.: How did you come up with the idea of a contest?

ANNE: I have a new book for the youth coming out this September, and because I try to help young people through my writing, one thought led to another as I wondered how to promote the book. This contest seemed like a win-win situation for everyone involved-and especially for the young people because they are so often portrayed in the wrong light. The contest will highlight our younger generation and the wonderful things many of them are doing.

C.S.: Who is the contest for?

ANNE: While the contest spotlights young people age between 12 and 25, it also gives those who submit entries a chance to share their talents as writers. Not that you need to be a writer to send something. Far from it. I hope to receive information from anyone who knows how to type and send an email, regardless of how it's written. The main thing is to help our young people feel of worth by entering them.

C.S.: What are the prizes?

ANNE: I wish there could be prizes for all the entries, because really each young person is a winner in my eyes. But that's not possible this time around. Maybe next year. Prizes have been generously donated by several people. The young person who wins overall receives a signed copy of my new book, "Please, No Zits!", and two fabulous gifts from Zdocs (

The owner, Philip Davis, says, "ZDocs is honored to participate in the Spotlight the Youth Contest. As ZDocs specializes in helping authors self-publish, the prize we want to offer is 50 soft cover books. The content of the book can be whatever the winner wishes; the winning story, a simple memoir of the winner's experience, or some other book-type idea. Not only will the books make a nice keepsake, but the winner will also learn some of the steps necessary to publish a book. Depending on the number of pages, we will either perfect bind the books or saddle-stitch them. The winner can include as many color pages as he or she would like."

Zdocs is adding a bonus prize. If the winning person wishes, he or she can sell some copies of the book on Razorpages ( for free, and get a first hand peek into the book selling process.

The person sending in the winning entry receives gift wrapped items--Liquid Facial Wash, and Facial Moisturizer--from the all natural line of beauty products, Scentiments ( He or she also receives a copy of Annette Lyon's latest novel, Spires of Stone.

The young person featured with the next highest number of comments, receives a copy of Chick Lit author Stephanie Fower's latest romantic comedy out in September, Meet Your Match, together with a copy of Marcia Argueta Mickelson's novel, Star Shining Brightly.

The sender of this second entry receives a copy of Heather B. Moore's first book in the Out of Jerusalem series--Of Goodly Parents.

C.S.: Wow, those are some amazing prizes. Has it been difficult to spread the word and get entries?

ANNE: I'm counting on the relay system that email and the Internet offers. If every person who hears about the contest passes on the information to friends and family, then pretty soon it will spread around the globe. I'm impressed with results so far. It amazes me how one little idea can grow into something far greater than it started off.

Blogging is another excellent way of sharing information. There's a huge, worldwide spider's web of blogs connecting people with similar interests out there. I'm showing up on contest blogs and many others.

I'm excited about the potential for good this whole competition creates. We hear too much bad news these days. I feel it's time for some positive input.

C.S.: When is the closing date and where do our readers send entries?

ANNE: The last date for receiving contest entries is midday (US MST) Friday, August 31st. Posting of top entries will follow, giving blog readers a chance to comment on their favorites.

The winning entries will be the ones with the highest number of comments by midday (US MST) on Thursday, September 13th.

Entries can be emailed to Anne Bradshaw ( and should have Youth Contest in the subject line so they don't get lost in spam control. All entries will be acknowledged before they are read, so if an acknowledgement isn't received for some reason please resend.

C.S.: OK, so once each entry arrives, who will judge the contest?

ANNE: I know it will be difficult to choose, but I'll pick out a variety of entries that represent teens best. These get posted on a blog, and then judging will be up to the world at large - not me! (Some editing may be required.)

C.S.: When will winners be announced?

ANNE: Winning entries will be announced during the morning of Friday, September 14th - at my blog.

C.S.: How will winners receive their prizes?

ANNE: All prizes get mailed Friday, September 14th. Zdocs will contact the person receiving their awards and make plans personally. Some books may be mailed separately from individual authors. I'll collect the remainder and mail them, together with the Scentiment products to various winners.

C.S.: This is exciting. So what precisely should an entry be about?

ANNE: Really, anything a young person is doing that someone feels is good and wholesome is worth sending in. Simply describe his/her involvement and the reasons behind whatever is being done. Use the old reporter questions and answer as many as possible, i.e. what, why, when, where, how. It doesn't need to be very long or even fancy. Heartfelt writing is what we're looking for.

Maybe the youth is serving quietly at home where there's illness, or some other unusual situation. Or perhaps the young person suffers from a disease or other handicap and remains cheerful most of the time, comforting others instead of complaining. Or a youth might have a talent of any description, and be developing it as much as possible. The positive things young people do every day are limitless. I saw a program on TV about a young woman who raised her younger siblings because of a bad situation at home. My hat goes off to her and anyone like her who shoulders responsibility.

If people want to send in pictures with the entry, feel free to do so. Pictures can speak to us in ways words cannot.

C.S.: How are you dealing with possible safety issues?

ANNE: For the duration of the contest, any entries posted in blogs will only show first names. Addresses won't be given. If finalists want full names displayed, that's fine, but only at their request. No addresses will be given at any time, except privately to me so prizes can be mailed.

C.S.: Thank you, Anne, for sharing with us your drive and desire to inspire others, especially the most fragile (at times) of those amongst us - our teens. I also applaud the individuals and businesses who are supporting teens by supporting this Spotlight the Youth Contest.

Now for our readers, if you feel you know a teen that deserves recognition, please visit Anne's blog for more information. Remember, the deadline is in 7 days! Jot down your thoughts and send them off now!

Thursday, August 23, 2007

Janet's musings: "Hands and Faces, Earth and Sky . . ."

. . . . is the second line of a song by Andrew Lloyd Webber, from "Aspects of Love:"

Love, love changes everything,
Hands and faces, earth and sky . . .
Love, love changes everything,
How you live and how you die . . .

It's a lovely song, a signature piece of singer Michael Ball.

So why am I blogging about hands and faces and Sir Andrew's lyrics today? Because, in proofing my novel, I came across an interesting passage. My character, Hugh, doesn't want to go out and drink with the other hands on the ranch. His boss understands and asks him to stay behind on Friday nights, to do extra chores (with extra pay, too), thus allowing Hugh to "save face with the other hands." AAAAAAAh! Thank goodness I caught my terrible, unintended pun. I hope there aren't any more we've overlooked!

Happy Mother's Day

Mother's Day is nine months away which means I qualify for the early-bird brownie points offered by a Washington think tank underwritten by Hallmark. It's a very long paper trail, but after some serious investigation I made the connection between Hallmark and the "Sell More Gretting Cards" lobby. I did remember, without any help from the think tank, Hallmark or the Greeting Card Lobby, that Mother's Day falls in May. And to make sure that last sentence didn't end up as the mother of all errors in the comments section of this blog and to avoid having to explain my calendar impaired sieve-of-a-mind, I looked it up. Isn't the Internet a useful tool? So many facts, so few insecurities. I usually wait until I trip over the five gallon buckets of roses booby trapping the aisles at Wall Mart on the eve of Mother's Day before my Neanderthal gift-giving flight or fight reflex kicks in and I crowbar open my wallet to get a little something for my angel mother.

* An asterisk is a weak word choice for a disclaimer, but then few of you knew that this little guy (*) was a word. You may be surprised to find out that crowbar was reported in last month's edition of the New World Dictionary online version to be both a noun and a verb which means that if I were editing something you wrote, you'd never get away with sneaking the ly adverb crowbarly into your manuscript. I'll buy a Cafe Rio enchilada style burrito with mild green sauce (very yummy), wrapped in one of those humongously (darn, another ly adverb) deliciously (darn) made from scratch wheat tortillas to the first writer who sneaks the locution "he said crowbarly" into your next submission without getting caught by your editor.

Mother's Day falls on Sunday May 11th next year, but for my mother it marks a full year and a half anniversary of a journey I never thought I'd observe. I'm not a busy body. Fiction writing has forced me from my comfortable modus operandi "mind your own business" world view (something I learned from my mother along with wearing clean socks, taking off muddy shoes outside, washing behind the ears and eating everything on the plate) into something of a people watcher. Writing about others requires studying the object of the pros, but in those childhood years before writing forced me from so much self absorption, I was the focal point, the man in front of camera, the ring master, the magician plying his disappearing trade. And when the house lights came up and I appeared from behind the olive green drapes stage right to find the theatre empty, there was always mom, sitting on the edge of the sofa, observing every nuance of the living room performance. I distinctly remember her peering through the chain link fence of the high school athletic field. Tickets were an extravagance, but there was no fence that could keep her from supporting her children.

No matter how bungling the effort compared to the works of abler hands, no matter how novice the talent when laid alongside the masters, no matter the failures or faltering strength or loss of nerve I, with my brothers and sisters, were never abandoned to the forgotten masses because mother managed to do what God does. It has been a long time since she held me on her knee and ogled a smile from my lips, but she still watches from the wings, offers wiser council than sometimes I'm willing to admit, and she marvels, and oh how she can marvel, at our very existence, making her children the object of her work and her glory.

In a world that rewards so generously the merits of a life dedicated to professions and corporations, achievements and renown, I was reminded again this week of the nobleness of motherhood. Mother has walked alone for nearly a year now and I watch from the wings her struggle with loneliness that I can only imagine. She stops by the grave nearly everyday. Tells dad all the detailed doings of the family while adding that she knows he already knows what she's telling him, but she couldn't help but share it with him at the end of another day on earth--alone. She also tells Dad to spook away the grounds keeper and keep him from carting off the flowers she leaves behind until they've seen the best of their days.

Bills frustrate her. Extended warranties confuse her. She's not fluent in the language of oil changes, tire pressures or indoor plumbing. And the house work of two, now done by one, is a burden of the heart as much as for the shoulders. It is in these soul-searching sacred moments where the wine of ancient prophecy finds fulfillment in new bottles and turns the hearts of the children toward their father's and the hearts of the father's towards their children.

Happy Mother's Day Norma Anne.

Tuesday, August 21, 2007


People are always saying to me, "Oh, I could write a book if I had time." The assumption, I guess, is that I have no life and so it's easy for me.

When I started writing, it seemed like I had no time. My husband traveled for business three out of every four weeks. I had three young children. My day was packed, but I wanted to start writing seriously. I finally realized you can't put something into a day until you take something out, so I decided to start getting up at 4 AM, the time my husband got up to commute to LA when he was home, and two hours before children started rising. I was a night owl in those days, so this was a real sacrifice. I also stopped watching television, although that didn't add too much time. The hours from 4-6 AM were my time and no one was allowed to bother me. If my children woke up early, they knew they had to (gasp) watch television or something else that wouldn't require my help.

Now I have about 7 hours alone, and I'm still working to find time with all my responsibilities, including three callings. But the rules haven't changed--to put something into my day, something else has to come out. I find the only way to write a book or anything else is just to write. Choose a time, even if it's only fifteen minutes a day. I do a lot of pre-writing while I'm alone in the car. I drive my son to and from work, and I have a half hour each way to plan. I also have time to pre-write while I clean house. If I were a better housekeeper, this would give me more time.

When I sit down to write, I have to work fast, so I need the basics in my head. I've learned the more I write, the faster I get, so practice really does make perfect, or at least speed.

"If I had time" isn't usually a good excuse. You have time...but is writing more important to you than something else on your schedule?

Monday, August 20, 2007

Welcome to the World of Writing

We welcome you as you join us at's new blog. This is a new adventure for us and one we are most excited about.

Herein you will find professional writing advice, tips, and personal insights into the lives of authors working in the field of writing. We come from a wide background - journalists, novelists, poets, non-fiction and memoir writers, even playwrights.

Nearly every day you'll find a post from one of us sharing tidbits of information that we hope will provide comfort and encouragement along the writer's path - whether you are a seasoned author or one just beginning.

So be sure to check back often to see what we've been writing here to help you - a member of our beloved family.

More than anything, we love the Lord and seek to bless His children by that which we write.

All our best,

C.S. Bezas and the Board

Sunday, August 19, 2007

Welcome to our blog!

Hello everyone!

For a few years now, many of you have been frequent visitors to our website,, and our writers forum. I think I can safely speak on behalf of the other latterdayauthors when I say thank you for being a part of our supportive writing community.

Today is a new day for We have said farewell to the old ezine format and have embarked upon one more timely and exciting -- the blog!

Starting Monday, August 20, 2007, we hope you will check back frequently to read our posts.

Now, if you will allow me an indulgence ...

I became acquainted with the other nine writers in the list to your right in 2003. We met online and our friendship (though virtual) has somehow persisted despite the fact that we all live in different geographic areas.

I am grateful to know David Woolley, Bill Gardner, Kelly Martinez, Terrie Bittner, C. S. Bezas, Lori Nawyn, Janie Van Komen, Janet Jensen and Kenya Transtrum. I am a better writer and person for knowing them. I have been especially blessed to meet some of them in person, and I will always treasure those memories.

Thanks, friends! I'll see you on the blog!