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Kayaking the South Llano River


I wrote a piece for Texas Hill but am not able to reblog it, so here is a link.  This river is one of my favorites, always a good choice.

On Being Human and a Writer Plus Shareworthy Reading and Writing Links

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Beautifully said.

Live to Write - Write to Live

multiple identitiesBeing human is complicated. And, being a human who writes adds a whole other layer of complexity to your existence.

Unlike animals who live simple lives that inhabit a single identity, we humans must constantly shapeshift between myriad roles, sometimes changing who we are multiple times over the course of a single day. In any given twenty-four hour span, I am mother, lover, daughter, sister, neighbor, mentor, and friend. I am a professional freelance content creator, an aspiring fiction writer, and a nascent entrepreneur. I am a caretaker, housekeeper, and accountant, a cook, laundress, and student.

We slip in and out of these skins in a matter of seconds, like chameleons adapting to the colors, textures, and shadows of a rapidly changing environment. With each transition, we must rebalance ourselves around a new set of expectations and priorities. We change our behavior and make choices based on new criteria, which…

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Outrageous Titles

THC Turkey Drawing
Legendary but Misrepresented Bird Bench Presses 400 Pounds!

I’ve been working on getting lots of views for my posts on Texas Hill  My latest gambit is outrageous titles.  I think the content of the post is interesting (thankfully, the preferred post is only 300-600 words) but would sound boring with the usual kind of title, like a newspaper would use, for example.  Click on the link and see what you think.

River Dog and a River With Too Many Ells

12-08 023

Via TexasHillCountry.Com


Shameless Self Promotion

Recently I’ve been writing blog posts for Texas Hill Country.   I will eventually get paid!  While a little cash is nice, my goal is publicity – shameless self promotion – to sell books through Amazon, Kindle, and Nook.  I sell some books at the Artisans gallery during First Friday Art Walk (they keep a supply of printed copies), but that’s the hard way to get readers.  However, I love hanging out with the artists while waiting for a prospect to walk by.

The content on my blog posts is original and the photos are mine; nothing is reposted or gleaned from another source.  I am looking for ideas for stories  – if you have any, send them my way.  I am collaborating with some of my writing friends on some of these posts – you might notice a style shift in the middle of an article – which is fun, too.  At some point they will be credited, when we figure out what we’re doing, and when it looks to be worth our time.  Future story ideas include the amazing Pioneer Memorial Library and Gillespie County brothels (in this case, the knowledge of brothels is gleaned from a friend, not personal experience!).  If you have a story idea, send it my way.

I posted a video on Facebook during the flooding last week; the video was picked up by my editor at Texas Hill Country and reposted on their page, and has over 72,000 views. Converting views to book sales?  That’s harder than writing the book in the first place.  One way to help the author of a book you liked is to write a review on Amazon – if that’s you, click on the Amazon link above and write a sentence or two.


On one of our 2 week camping trips in Greece, about 1965, we were in the Peloponnese, the southern peninsula of Greece, all 7 of us in the red and white VW, with a car-top carrier the whole length of the roof filled with sleeping bags and the tent and suitcases.  The food and stove and kitchen stuff was in the “way-back” over top of the engine.  This was before tourism was Greece’s #1 business, and most places we camped were just a beach or field or olive grove someone in the village pointed to and said it would be OK, or perhaps, olly kala.

This particular place was a natural harbor or cove or bay with a sandy beach running along one side and turning into rocks and steep cliffs on the other side of the cove.  There was no breakwater or pier that I remember, just the fishing boats pulled up onto the beach in front of the village.  We pitched our tent on the sand a couple of hundred yards away.  Behind the camp, perhaps a couple of hundred feet up the slope, was a low hill, also of sand, with the tall circular stone wall of a castle.  We went through an opening in the wall to the interior, where there was a keep, or stone tower, albeit with no roof or interior, just another tall stone wall.

We spent several days there, most of the time swimming and snorkeling in the cove and finding interesting metal things on the bottom and playing in the castle.  There was a restaurant on the beach in the village – a concrete slab with a canvas roof and no sides but light bulbs hanging on wires around the edge.  One end was the kitchen, and I’m sure everything was fried.  Most of our camping meals were fresh local bread and fruit, or something canned from the commissary, but occasionally we ate in a restaurant.   One day I walked to the restaurant with Dad and he ordered fish from a cabinet of fresh caught fish and we came back later, probably 5:30, well before their usual opening time, and had supper.

I’ve been looking for that place on Google Earth and in photos on the internet without success.  However, my older sister Adele says she has a postcard from there and can find it.  My brother David confirms my memories, but it doesn’t seem to exist.  The photo is from my recent visit to the island of Patmos.

What would be cool is if the village is still just like it was 50 years ago, with wooden fishing boats and nets drying on the beach and the little restaurant and a tiny village, and crystal clear water in the bay, and the sand, and the castle, and maybe even a canvas tent up the beach with a red and white VW parked beside it.

Weekend Edition – Of Writing and Riding, Stories and Horses

I don’t have a conscious memory of my first time on a pony, but I do have a photo. In the blue-tinted picture, I am three-and-a-half years old and sitting astride a shaggy, black steed named Cricke…

Source: Weekend Edition – Of Writing and Riding, Stories and Horses


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