A GIFT FOR YOU!

These ebooks – FREE – until March 10, 2018!

Click on the title below, to be taken to the book you want to read.

Dark Fire – Nothing is going to stop Lisa from visiting her beloved Jupiter, the horse she was forced to sell, neither her unsympathetic father nor the cruel nephew of Jupiter’s new owner. Then a crime is committed that shakes Lisa to her core, and the police suspect Jupiter.

Desert Song – When Sophie unwittingly puts her foster parents most valuable mare, Aria, in danger, she is afraid she will be sent away. So she keeps her mistake secret, hiding Aria in a remote canyon. But little does Sofie know that a terrible evil is drawing near.

Condor Mountain – Elena’s dad is trapped with his horse in the Andes mountains. Above them, the condors are circling, ready to strike. Elena is the only one who can get to her father and his horse in time, but she doesn’t believe they’re in danger – and she certainly doesn’t trust the strange girl who says she’ll help, the girl who rides the wild mare that no one has ever ben able to tame.

Swift Current – Ali realizes that all the accidents happening on the ranch aren’t really accidents. Someone is setting traps, trying to scare her. Then the intruder targets her horses. She can’t understand why anyone would want to hurt three innocent horses, but one thing’s for certain – she needs to figure it out before something terrible happens! Then the horses go missing. Is she already too late?

Gold Fever – On their annual horseback wilderness camping trip, Karlie and her dad run into a bit of unexpected trouble that quickly turns terrifying. Karlie’s dad is attacked by a murderer, then as he and Karlie escape, they are separated. Karlie knows she must find him and take him to a hospital. But she’s not the only one looking for him. The murderer is looking too, for her dad and for her.

Slave Child – Giselle is heartbroken when Madame says she is selling her old pony, Domi, for slaughter. The thought of gentle Domi being killed is too much. But things are worse than Giselle knows. Back at home, a restavec trader is waiting. Giselle’s aunt has just sold the orphans that were forced upon her – Giselle and her little brother. How can Giselle save Domi when she can’t even save herself?

Abandoned – A stranger is stalking Lauren, so her dad sends her to stay with his sister. What Lauren finds at her aunt’s house is both terrible beyond belief and more amazing than she can imagine! A time travel story!

Winter of the Crystal Dances – Evy can telepathically understand horses, a “gift” that enables her to rescue a mustang filly from certain death. Now can she let the filly she loves return to the wild?

Spring of the Poacher’s Moon – Evy and her horses rescue an orphaned moose calf, not realizing that the poachers who killed his mother will do anything to keep their activities a secret!

Summer of Wild Hearts – Evy is overjoyed that she is allowed to go to the rodeo, just like a normal kid. As she tries to help an abused mare, her filly, Twilight, is miles away and in danger.

Autumn in Snake Canyon – Tumpoo, the moose calf, is causing a world of trouble, but that’s not Evy’s big problem. She’s just discovered that her mom’s art dealer is stealing from them. How can she prove his crime?

Winter of Sinking Waters – Evy is looking forward to a fun weekend with her best friends, both horse and human, when they are rudely interrupted by a hungry bear who decides one of the cows will make a good meal.

Whether you download 1 or download 12, please ENJOY!

Ten Inspirations

What inspires me today?

1. Thinking of the awesome people in my life.

2. Getting emails from my readers.

3. Reading inspirational quotes as I look for a quote for this post.

4. Creating my own inspirational quote. 😉

5. Letting inspiration flow through me while planning a new story.

6. Getting feedback from a first draft that will make my story better.

7. Walking with my old dog in the rain.

8. Daydreaming of my next travel adventure.

9. Anticipating the class I am starting tomorrow.

10. Getting a blog post up.

 

Where Did All The Losers Go?

Confession: I personally identified with the label “loser” for the vast majority of my life. It started when I was young, and didn’t relent even after I had success as a writer. Even with millions of copies of my novels printed, translated into other languages, and published by different publishers, I still considered myself to personally be a loser: my writing was successful, not me. It’s crazy the ways we can manipulate our thinking to stay in our current identity, or the way I do, anyway. I guess I can’t speak for anyone else, though honestly, I think most of us do the same.

So now that I’ve confessed that I had an extremely large negative ego, I am also going to confess that at my extreme core, I didn’t believe I was a loser. I felt connected, valuable, and even cherished. Unfortunately, I didn’t believe that inner voice as much as I believed what I picked up from others, and then adopted as my self-image. Not their bad… or mine for that matter. Though it was my choice to believe outside influences or not, I didn’t have the maturity or confidence back then to choose differently.

It’s been a long road from that mindset, with many hard experiences and difficult realizations that have changed me irrevocably. To write them all would be a book or two. However, I do want to share an inspiration about loserishness that I received a couple of months ago like a bolt from the blue.

There are no losers. They do not exist. Therefore, I can’t be one, and neither can anyone else.

Since that realization, I’ve been thinking about it, trying to understand and discover the why of it, and this is what I’ve come up with:

First, my definition of loser: Losers are found at the bottom of the “heap” and are those who display the opposite of a trait, characteristic, or image of value. The winners are at the top, and they personify the desired quality. Most people are somewhere in the middle. I think that’s a pretty common definition.

But what is the “heap”?

Rich/poor? Wise/foolish? Famous/obscure? Intelligent/slow? Kind/cruel? Is it based on political leaning, race, gender, sexual orientation?

The possible combinations are in the hundreds at the very least. And here is why losers don’t exist: no one is at the top of all the heaps, no one is at the bottom of everyone.

You may be thinking (as I did) that some heaps are more important than others. That brings up more questions… Who can arrange the heaps according to importance? Who has the wisdom and smarts and knowledge to judge the ranking of every trait and characteristic with complete accuracy?

Not me. Not anyone I know. What’s more, even if an all-knowing intelligence accurately labelled the most important heaps for us, few would accept the labels. The reason? We choose labels that reflect our own world view and experience. Each of us decides which are the most important heaps to us.

And this is hugely revealing – not revealing of those we position within our important heaps, but revealing of ourselves. The heaps we chose as our most important say more about us than about the people we categorize.

So, to sum up: Losers don’t truly exist, because we are all at the bottom, we are all at the top, we are all in the middle, of literally hundreds, if not thousands, of heaps, and the only judge of which heaps are important, is our own limited world view and experience. Even further, if we pay attention to who we label winners or losers, we have a clear window into the value system closest to our hearts.

Of course, you’ve probably noticed there’s another way to see this. Instead of saying losers don’t exist, you can insist that they do – and then we’re all losers. Either way, the result is the same: everyone is in the same boat.

If I could go back in time and tell myself something, it would be this: “Lighten up. Yeah, you suck, but you also rule, just like everyone else.” And going forward from here? It seems a whole new world.

The Boy in Santa Marta

Beach in Santa Marta

The last couple of days, I’ve been thinking about a boy I met just over a year ago. We didn’t exchange anything like words, but there was another sort of exchange, one that is hard to describe. But I’ll try…

I’m sitting on the seawall of a Caribbean beach; not a fancy resort beach, but a public beach in the heart of the Santa Marta. It’s a gorgeous, glorious morning despite being as hot as hades, and I’m just feeling relieved it isn’t as blasting hot as yesterday – yet.

I’m alone because Brad is swimming. Various people wander by, and then this boy comes up and sits on the sand about ten feet away from me. He looks around 16 years old, and he’s truly dressed in rags. He’s as skinny and sick looking as some of the homeless dogs we’ve seen around, and almost as thin as the dead dog we passed on the street the day before, it’s ribs like hoops rising above its sinking body.

I am nervous. People who are desperate, do desperate things. People who are in pain, hurt others. I have a daypack that carries things this boy can sell to buy food, or drugs, or whatever he desires. All he has to do is grab it and run. No way can I stop him.

And then he looks right at me with the most haunted eyes I’ve ever seen. They simply defy description. A passage from Graham Greene’s book, The Quiet American, explains better than I can:

Suffering is not increased by numbers. One body can contain all the suffering the world can feel.

I simply can’t imagine the things this boy has gone through, the horrors he’s lived. I feel like my heart will break for him. I wish I had money to give him, but I’m not carrying any.

He motions to me, and I realize he’s asking for a drink from my water bottle. I toss it to him, and he gulps down about half of it, then carefully replaces the lid and goes to toss it back to me. I shake my head and motion that he finish it. He gives me a smile in thanks, then downs the rest. A minute later, he gets up, nods and smiles goodbye to me, and continues down the beach.

What I still don’t understand completely is why this encounter struck me so hard. Giving a homeless boy a bottle of water? It seems like nothing, and I’ve given to a lot of homeless people. Why does this time stand out?

I think it’s because of the exchange between us.

My gift to him was water and kindness and truly “seeing” him, and I believe he recognized and appreciated that.

His gift to me was a profound example of extreme courage, and a simply bizarre strength and resilience that left me in awe. So many of us in his situation would dissociate and go numb, or become bitter and hard. There was no numbness in his eyes. No bitterness. He was just quietly, openly bearing the pain in his life.

Even now, that encounter makes me cry. I hope and pray that his life is better now. I hope and pray that if it hasn’t gotten better, that he is strong enough to bear it. I know I’ll always be grateful for our encounter, and I’ll always remember him. True courage is a hard thing to forget.

Shackles On, Shackles Off

I’m not just quitting writing posts of value; I’m also quitting with the original stuff. 🙂 I was so impressed by an exercise from “Steering by Starlight”, by Martha Beck, that I just had to share. Fair warning: you may want to read this exercise in her book as well, since I’m explaining my understanding of it, which may be wildly different from what she intended. There is a ton of other valuable stuff in her book too.

The exercise:

First, please meet “Shackles On”.

Think of a time you were doing something you disliked, even if it turned out well, even if you were praised for it and only you knew something wasn’t right. If it turned out dismally, even better! Now imagine it thoroughly. Remember what you were thinking, how you felt, some key scenes. Yuck, I know! But it’ll pay off in the end.

When you’re good and into it, stop and check into your body. What are you physically feeling? Tense in your jaw? Sick to your stomach? Shallow breathing? Pinpoint your individual physical reactions and remember them. Mine are a constricted throat, tightness in my chest, and sometimes a queasy feeling in my solar plexis. Shackles definitely on!

Next, “Shackles Off”.

Think of a time you were doing something you love, something that made you feel free and joyful and powerful in your life. Again, really get into it, roll around in the joy a bit, even laugh out loud. I did! And once again, tune into your body. How do you physically feel? What sensations is your body giving you? Pinpoint and remember them. Mine is an open, glowy feeling that’s impossible to describe without using nebulous, vague words like “open” and “glowy”.

Before I go further, I should explain that this exercise is based on the premise that when we are living a life that is worthy of our highest best self, we feel internally free. Shackles cannot exist in the zone, when we’re going with the flow, when we’re riding the wave.

Therefore, it seems kind of valuable to me to be able to recognize what will make me feel free before I actually do it – because, let’s face it, I can’t trust my brain. (I can just hear my husband laughing as he agrees!) But from what I see, pretty much all of us are heavily manipulated by ingrained cultural and personal beliefs, as well as by our hidden desires and fears. With all that against us, we don’t stand a chance of making a truly nonbiased logical decision. And then there’s the experiential evidence. Logic has led me down some truly miserable paths by lying to me about what I should do and be. Am I the only one this happens to? I think not.

Now, back to the exercise:

First, select your question. Should I quit my job and travel the world? Should I run a rescue home for runaway pigs? Should I work to become an astronaut and go to Mars? Or in my recent case: should I write screenplays or novels? (Because a few months ago, it sunk into my thick skull that I didn’t have the time or energy to turn both into viable careers.)

Second, imagine you have succeeded in your goal. Really get into it.

You’re wandering through an outdoor market in Greece, rustic bread and a small pot of honey in your bag, the sun warming your shoulders, the tang of apricots and rosemary in the air…

You’re feeding healthy, homemade treats to your dozens of grateful pigs, who gaze adoringly at you as they gently lift the treats from your palm…

You’re listening to your astronaut buddies sing “She’s a Jolly Good Fellow” in celebration of you proving there is life on Mars, as you sip rehydrated champaign and play with a bald, green near-kitten with ruby eyes…

Now, how do you feel physically? Are the shackles on or off?

Should you go for that goal? Will it bring you true joy?

Your body is telling you the answer. Listen.

Character Love

Today I’m writing on my script, and I’m simply in love with it. There’s nothing quite like creating something from absolutely nothing, pulling entire beings from the ether, and bringing them into the world in a blaze of expression and beauty.

My characters have a tough time. They are often in despair. They don’t believe they can face another challenge or climb another metaphorical mountain or survive another second without going completely batty.

But I see something different. I see that they are achingly beautiful and magical and perfect. I wish that they could see themselves the way I see them, and they would understand that they could conquer anything. At the very, very least, they’d feel better about themselves.

And it makes me wonder, is that what we’re like, as humans? Are each of us just simply amazingly beautiful, and we just don’t know it?

Are we THE POINT, and yet have no understanding of that?

Here we are, just taking everything so seriously, trying to accomplish, to acquire, to overcome, to rise above – and I sometimes think that maybe the point isn’t the overcoming or accomplishing or any of that stuff. Maybe the point is growing in our beauty, becoming brighter and more profound. Becoming more aware and alive and vibrant. Becoming more us.

I’m incredibly grateful to witness my own characters’ journeys, these poor beings who I put through such tortures in my stories, knowing that when they come out the other side of their particular fire, they’re going to glow like the sun. And they are going to see that in themselves; they’re going to see how they’ve changed and why.

We should all be so fortunate.

Apologies and Get Out While You Can

It seems that even before I started blogging, there was copious advice out there on how to get people to read your posts. As years went on and the internet chatter got louder, there were more and more experts out there who could guide you in acquiring readers. Now, I receive numerous emails per week giving me advice on how to increase my readership. I even get them in comments through my blog, and ironically, I’ll probably receive some (that I’ll erase) even on this post.

For years, I’ve told myself that to “make it” as a writer, I needed to write lots of content that was important to my readers. I made up blogging schedules that I never kept for long, tried to dream up content that people might like, and basically put on the shackles of what I was “supposed to do.” I also felt like a failure when I didn’t keep the schedule or create enough content of value.

In other words, I did a crappy job and I felt terrible about it. But I’ve discovered a new way to blogging happiness. I’m firing myself.

From now on, I’m going to write what I like, when I like to write it. My posts don’t have to be worthy of my readers;  they just have to be worthy of me – and my standards aren’t nearly as high.

So, fair warning, future posts are not going to be well studied, or wise, or inspiring. In fact, they’re probably going to be random and weird. That’s not a promise either though. Boring and mundane is just as likely.

So if you know you can’t take it and you’re not my mom or my best friend, unsubscribe now. I will not blame you! And no, this isn’t a Lemony Snickett ploy to intrigue you. One of my biggest “gifts” is overwhelming, almost uncomfortable sincerity. Sorry.

And yet I’m not really sorry.

However, I am sorry for not being sorry. So there you have it – a sincere apology.

Blessings!

The Indominable Power of Quiet Acts of Courage

I interviewed a woman last week, and WOW, was her story amazing. She is a lifetime volunteer, always giving, sometimes receiving, and so incredibly humble that she had a hard time reading the article that I wrote about her. One story she told really struck me:

She has volunteered for most of her life and continues to do so, but a compassionate act (to me, a form of volunteering) brought her to live on the island. She was part of the military, stationed in Ontario, when she heard of a single mother asking for help. The single mother, also in the armed forces, was about to be deployed to the west coast, and was desperately asking for a volunteer: would anyone trade postings with her so she could stay with her child and existing support system? The woman I interviewed volunteered to go in her stead, even though she was sacrificing her own home, her own connections and support system. Even though she had to leave a new relationship, a relationship that couldn’t overcome the distance between them.

This was told to me in her quiet voice like it was nothing, and it would have been easy to have taken the story in the way she presented it, like it was no big deal.

But it was a very big deal. That one act of compassion irreversibly changed the lives of at least three people in a massive way, and possibly four if you take the budding relationship into account.

In a world where the audacious gets the story, where the louder and more obnoxious the acts or words are, the more attention they get, I want to put her story forward.

Quiet acts of courage can change the world. None of us are powerless.