Thaw.

March 26, 2015March 26, 2015 / Gin Getz / 5 Comments

Crack open like a fragile white shell

Exposing

churning waters

pumped and swollen in the warm early

spring day

chewed the solid river free

ravage the lingering white surface

like an eager lover

Grey waters, grey sky and a land of ashen hillsides

fading

to patches of brown

a random quilt torn and worn with age

drown out the calls of the newly arrived

bluebird

And the beloved trees stand a silent cold still vigil

Of brown branches and pale needles

fallen

And eternal roots entangled roots

rising

Powerful in their ethereal presence

That can not be erased by tiny beetles

nor chased by a changing climate

entangled with those roots within me

Expanding

the breath of a new season

So… about the goose.

A wildlife success story.

Consider this.

The pursuit of happiness is hardly limited to the human mind. I have looked deep into his warm brown eyes enough to know. He has been lonely, longing, wondering. I hope he is happy now though we may question both the importance we place on the state of happiness and the impermanence of an emotional state. In any case…

Rikki flew the coop. Or rather, the ranch. He’s down at Ute Creek with… geese!

I want to ride down there now to call him, have him fly to me, look deep into my cold grey eyes and remind me that yes, he loves me, he is grateful for my having raised him with love, kindness, care. But these things I already know.

When we returned from Argentina, we watched the poor guy endure big snowstorms and fend off the fox (after nights of trying to wake in time to “eliminate” the fox problem, I actually saw the bushy red fellow run right by that goose, both uninterested in the other, so I suppose they worked their thing out). We watched him do his best to follow his two and four legged family everywhere (you should see how well he now climbs cliffs and hikes through the trees). And still looking out the window from the warmth of my cabin out to the little feathered football in the snow, I felt a sadness and loneliness in him. Yes, in a Canada goose. Go ahead and laugh, but it’s true.

A few evenings ago, we’re out cooking dinner in the fire pit and I hear geese flying by. The first of the season. There’s just this tiny sliver of a moon and they’re following the river. Rikki remained by the fire with us, seemingly unaffected. Then the next day, I hear them mid day. Bob hears them while working down by the new cabin. Rikki was out on pasture grazing with the horses. Decoy, Bob has called him there. That’s the last we’ve seen of him. No feathers. No chance of a predator with my big beast of a barking dog out there with him. In my heart, I understand.

I’m happy but sad at the same time. I’m tempted to go check on him but know I should not. I should let him be. He is where he belongs.

And so am I.

Some things to consider.

My Ted Talk to Self for the Season.

Growing up I wanted to change the world. Didn’t you?

The two of us did. Said we would. Different ways.

Both wanted to change the shape of the box. Or perhaps it was the contents.

You said from within. I said from without.

Inside, outside.

You told me you’d work with the system.

Me, I wanted to free those trapped inside.

Neither of us were wrong or right.

It takes both kinds. All kinds.

But have we changed it yet?

I’m still trying.

Are you?

I told you working within was Old School. The box is bigger now. Different. Everything changes. There should be no boundaries. Autonomy and liberation and expansive ideas. Silly me, you said. Maybe you are right. Maybe not.

Remember when I studied art? I’m remembering how it wasn’t until the 15^th Century that we figured out perspective. We played with it, mastered it, and moved on. Beyond perspective; beyond Realism; beyond painting only that which we can see though the art form is something we look at. From Classic to Impressionism, Abstraction to Minimalism, Modern and post Modern. Where are we now? Evolving, always evolving…

As human beings we are constantly evolving – as a society, as individuals.

Those that don’t get stuck in the mud.

Boring…

Try something new.

Look at those who have changed the world.

Those you admire most.

Are they within the box or without?

Chances are you’ll most admire those standing on the side you do.

How do we change the world?

Change ourselves.

You can.

I can.

Take charge, take responsibility.

Here’s a quick three step program to get you going.

I’ll let you know how it works – I’m on it.

Let me know how it works for you too.

Step one.

Question the box and its contents.

Take a good hard look at what’s in there.

Clarity is powerful stuff.

Don’t accept mediocrity. Is good enough good enough?

Don’t accept the truths you were given unless they feel right, down to your very core.

Don’t accept the way that was if you think there can be better. Is the way it was the way you want it to be?

Don’t demand it in others until you can do it yourself.

Step two.

Figure out where you want it to go.

And since you’re just working on yourself here, where do you want to go?

Who do you want to be? Now.

Not certain? Join the crowd.

Then be willing to step out of it.

Look around. Who do you admire most?

Be that person. Now.

Admiration – yes, even envy – is a call to action.
It’s not a green monster, but a great motivator.

What is it about that person that you want more of?

Rather than hate them for having it, figure out how to have it too.

Don’t take it from them either; that’s bad Karma.

Better yet, create it anew for you.

You can do it, be it, have it.

But you have to work for it.

Step three.

I just read an article that said no matter what you read from Freud, you really can change your personality.

So, see? You can change something within you.

And if you can do that… then…

Well, let’s just start with that.

The article said all it takes is 12 weeks.

First, figure out what you want to change.

Then, figure out how you want it to be.

Then, for twelve weeks:

Actively be it.

Fake it till you make it.

In 12 weeks, it will be yours.

Right, we have to be realistic here. In 12 weeks, I’m not going to be 20 again. (Don’t worry – I really don’t want to be 20 again!) But I could be more, say, social. (Or maybe not.) Yes, I could, but I don’t know it that’s on my list of things to change. Being socially inept isn’t that bad. There are other things I need to work on first.

Choose something that matters most. Something that will make you feel better about yourself.

And if you feel better about yourself, well, don’t you feel better about your world?

So you see… in 12 weeks, you can change the world.

Just a little bit.

It’s a start.

What are we waiting for?

Where we were.

February 23, 2015February 23, 2015 / Gin Getz / 6 Comments

Where we were.

Patagonia, Argentina.

Somewhere out there in the wind.

What were we there for?

Only in retrospect do we clearly see.

When at the time we may be lost in dark depths or blinded by brilliant light

Overwhelmed, overcome

Though sometimes there is foresight to cling to like a torch.

I knew before I went.

To escort.

Along the way, maybe I lost sight. For a little while, at least. It is hard to see when you are in deep. Retrospect and a wild ride and the grounding love of my family and my tribe brought me back to center.

It’s personal.

I’ll put this out there. Read it if you want. I’ll share what I can. I won’t expect you to read it all, though hope you’ll enjoy if you do.

What happened to the personal?

We’re too busy to take the time, make the time, a new set of priorities, an epidemic of cluttered time, personal value and social status placed on how busy we can appear.

We’ve got to the point where by if we put it out there, post it, we assume all will know. Maybe I don’t know. And no, I won’t assume. If you want me to know, write me. Personally. Crazy concept, I know. Old fashioned. You’ll find I usually write back. Likewise, if it matters that much to me, if I need you to know, I’ll write you too. Personally.

For I am learning maybe you’ll read this, maybe you won’t; maybe this is for you, and maybe this is just out there, for the general public, an entertainment service. You decide.

What was I there for?

Escorting.

New life.

Old life.

The eternal powerful process.

Assisting, perhaps only observing

A woman through the greatest transformation of her own life.

Simply escorting.

Mother and child do the work while I hold tight to the burden and honor of bearing witness, and little more.

And then we let go, and leave the new life with that which is seemingly old and wise as ever a woman can be, all knowing and eternal and the most beautiful connection and spirit and energy and light, bonding of the truest love, and time no longer matters or can be told except the here and now of mother and baby in enduring bliss.

As midwife, the passage is not ours. Though we are there beside her, go there, deep, stand vigil, hold tight, strong, nurturing, bearing witness to the transformation of life, of girl to woman, primal and passionate movement, motion;, the tribal ritual; going down deep into the most intense space a woman can go. And then the instant creation of motherhood, vital love, this is what it’s all about. Everything. To be there, with her, if no more than watching over, and giving the gift of trust that she knows I will do all I can to ensure safe passage, see that she returns from that wild space no man may ever know, with a babe at her breast suckling. All so she can let go, and fully experience this enigmatic process.

As midwife, we serve as escort. The greatest of honors. The careful observer, at best empowering and encouraging and ensuring safe passage. If we can, for how much is beyond man and medicine, things they will never fully know, and the more I know the more I realize I don’t, but what can I do because this is not mine, it is her hers, what she wants, and it is natural, and it will happen, or it won’t, and what can we really do but trust.

This was not only intense (and at times, I reflect back and admit: a bit insane), it was intimate. Being there for another woman turned out to be even more intense that doing it myself. Back twenty something years ago when I birthed, my midwife had not been there before, and didn’t know how deep a woman can go. She was afraid. I scared her. It can be a frightening place, the depths that a woman can dive into. I am not afraid.

Diving deep… And not alone. And then, being certain of the unwavering strength and core belief in women; our collective body, mind and soul; and life and the primal, passionate act of birth. Belief in her, and in myself – strong enough to bring them back.

I can’t explain it better yet. If you’ve been there, you know. If you haven’t, go there. Somehow. Try.

How deep can you go?

Birth brings life so close to

death and we are hanging

on by tendons tied to some

eternal mother

as strong and sweet as a first breath.

Life changing. Life creating. The elemental woman’s Right of Passage. Primal, powerful, passionate, ecstatic. Yes, it can be. It is.

Intense.

Now.

The intensity of a bath. The horse trough in the living room, beside the wood stove. Drinking spring water a degree above freezing. Sweating. Here so far from pavement, anything seeming like solid ground. In quiet laughter, we recall sweating in Buenos Aires. The purity of sweat; cleaning from the inside out. Raising the body temperature; cleansing the pores down deep from the soul. If I sweat, I don’t get sick. If I’m getting sick, I need to sweat. This is good medicine. Simple stuff. Old Man Brinker taught me that.

Sit back and sweat in the water by the wood stove…

It all comes back, rolls over me in a steamy embrace of hot water in a horse trough by the wood stove with my husband. I want a glass of wine, taste the sweet tart cool richness on my lips and in my throat, but know this is the last thing I really need. I’m already dizzy. It is the heat. The relaxation. The utter letting go.

Before.

Several moons ago. (Tonight I saw a sliver of a new moon tipped up like an empty bowl, waiting to be filled, or just having been emptied.)

Tomorrow will be a better day. Today I’m ready to cry. I don’t want to. I want to be strong and make it through this whole huge undertaking without breaking down and being all girlie like, you know? I can take it, tough it out like the guys and make it without a full day off, and I want to dress warm and play hearty and pretend the snow and wet and cold don’t bother me… but today they do. And I’m tired and I’m scared that we won’t get it done and I sort of just wish it was done and we could take a day off and talk about something besides logs.

Overwhelming.

As commitments unfold and plans become and the reality of all this work and time and money and fear of how hard it is on Gunnar and fear of my own unknowns and my dear friend’s birthing and how little I still know yet how much I innately trust… these things solidify, and yet I do not become stronger, but more confused. I don’t not want the adventure – and I don’t want to remain here for fear of trying something else. But I worry that I’m just spitting in the wind and will find the same discontentment there, everywhere… when really what I must be working on is the contentment in myself.

I fear I’m going down into a personal darkness and Now is not the time.

A time in between without boundaries. The fear of the un known. Nightmares of Gunnar, losing him, city streets, hearing him bark, knowing he is trying to find us; and waking fear of Rikki, worry for his coldness, loneliness, missing out on that which could have should have might have been but was missed of natural life for a wild being. Fear of my inability to write, or find a proper publisher, or… what is the purpose of writing if not to share my words?

And then. A new beginning.

Grounded.

It starts in the air. Most of the greatest adventures do. Often at night, flying though the endless black,

And then I was there.

And most days I wondered why.

Because I love and want

to give but sometimes give too much and am left with

Wind.

Cold and harsh and biting,

Stripped naked and whipped, exposed

to the elements, beaten and broken down by

the earth and air and water that feeds me.

Too hot or too cold, and Gunnar’s broken foot

becomes my own shackles so I cannot

run away.

Is that the land I am meant to be attached to?

Or the people.

People. That is what matters most.

You see?

Don’t you?

It was

Intense.

Intense. Yes. This is where we were.

I’m not ready to share the stories, not here, not now.

They are personal and private, though part of it should be shared. I want you to know. I want you to be there with me. You too may never be the same.

In the meanwhile, I am here, home, my wild white mountain and state of solitude and serenity. My husband and dog and goose on the deck and horses and crowing rooster in the morning and blinding white afternoons.

Don’t be afraid to go deep.

You must go where you have not been, and that place must be farther than you thought you could go. It may not be a pretty place. It may be harsh and raw and real. There is where you’ll find what you are seeking – that inner part of your self. The elusive secrets to the self, the soul, life. Only when you are truly lost, giving up and opening to guidance to get you out alive, only then will you understand direction.

If we don’t go deep we remain but on the still surface. Dive into the mud. You will find your way out. And in the meanwhile, you will learn to swim. Open your eyes and drink it in. You will not be alone – that is the biggest surprise. And sometimes, what you will find in those depths are the richest of waters. The waters of life.

Drink in the intensity.

And then, my friend, where will you go?

Not where you were yesterday.

But I may still be there. Or you will be. And no matter how deep we go, me or you, let’s promise each other this. We won’t leave each other too far behind. I’ll look for you, find you, and bring you back. Carry you, drag you, or walk by your side. Don’t forget that.

And if you truly believe that, you can go deep.

Because you know I’ll be there with you.

Or at the least, waiting for you with a big fat grin when you make it back.

Home.

(for Forrest)

Done.

November 14, 2014 / Gin Getz / 13 Comments

Done!

That’s all she wrote. At least, that’s it for this year.

Enough for now. Time for a change.

This morning we wake to a thick cover of snow. Winter has come to the high country. Right on time.

Ten and a half months ago…

We felled our first tree from across the frozen river. Dead standing. Beetle kill. Dragged it across the Rio Grande in the dark depths of winter.

Each one dragged, stockpiled, lifted, stacked, lifted again, milled, peeled, grinded, measured, cut, fit and fine tuned. Each a work of art. A living museum. A tribute to the trees. Our trees. Our home.

Now there’s a house. Built of love. Not much blood, sweat and tears. How about that. Rather, this one’s made from good stuff. Dang, it feels good.

There’s a lot of love built into them there walls.

We did it. Reached the goal of getting the new house closed in by winter.

The metal roof is on. Bring on the snow. It’s coming in plentitude. Fine by me. Now, we’re outa here for a while. Forrest is back at the South Pole. And Bob and I are flying south as well. We’re migrating again.

My goose, however, will be remaining here.

So much good stuff. So many good things. So many good people. All I need is some time to reflect. Time to appreciate it all.

Time. Something we’ve not had enough of. Maybe free time is over rated. Love, gratitude, progress… these things remain plentiful. Well then – how lucky indeed I am.

Passing the reins on here to a couple of good friends willing and able to take on the adventure that winter is here alone on the snowy mountain at 10,000 feet.

Us, well, we’re heading back into summer. We’re done up here, at least for now, ready to take a break, take on a new challenge, head off for a new adventure. We’re ready to welcome a new life… with open arms and a heart so full and still growing bigger… this is indeed a wonderful life!

I held my breath

As around me wind

Roared though

my silence could not hide

me and I found myself

captured enwrapped and

seduced once again by

the elements

lifting heaving and embracing

dancing in the wind

You can take the dog away from one wild mountain, but you better find another to put him in. Some of us belong where the pavement ends. Far beyond.

And for those of you worried about the goose.. Rikki did not fly south, and we can’t take him (though Gunnar gets to go). After months of wondering what best to do for him, I received this from a fellow goose lover:

“…Rikki is imprinted on you as his mom …He seems happy where’s he’s at. Geese are incredibly hardy. … I definitely feel that he should remain…”

It felt I finally heard the right words. I listen to those feelings.

So, he’ll remain here with the cats, horses, hens and a caretaker who is going to have to see what works best for taking care of a semi-wild Canada goose in the high snowed in mountains through winter.

If you have any advice, please let me know. I want to do the right thing. It’s been an interesting trip just having this bird a part of our lives.

On one hand, I’m exhausted, sore, splintered and sawdust covered. On the other I’m bursting with joy and love and gratitude for all the good stuff and all the good people and new friends and new connections with old ones and love, dang it, so much love. (Yes, I’m feeling sappy. Surely from all those trees…) Especially for my boys, my team. We built this house, this life, together.

And now my trees sit safely stacked into what is now our forever home. Maybe we’ll stay here lots; maybe not so much; but it will always be ours. Always be home. Always be the nest we can return to. Comfort. House. Home.

That’s all she wrote. For this chapter. Onto the next. Less than a year ago, these trees were still standing dead. Now they take the stories they shared of the silence, wild and wind and pass them onto me, my family, a new lifetime, generations lasting less than it took these trees to grow.

Starting new stories of our own.

Together with the trees.

In the last eleven months, we built a house, starting with harvesting the raw materials on up, the three of us (and a few remarkable helpers from time to time, and I must say, at just the right time every time!). I published two books and edited and started pitching a third, and writing a fourth. I moved my family twice. I dove in head first to learn the art and science of midwifery, the miracle of birthing, and the power of the woman. I ran a little business (our guest ranch) and still had time to make sure we ate fresh bread and watched the sunset and listened to each others silly stories and same old jokes. And we smiled. And every morning I woke up excited to see what the day would bring, though a few mornings I was happy to have that day begin a little later.

My hands are sore and swollen; my eyes bloodshot from the sun, wind, sawdust; my muscles longing for a tub I don’t yet have. The only day off I’ve had in months was the horse ride with Ellen in autumn color, and I’ve regretted none of it. Once again I say: if it wasn’t me living like this, I would wish it was.

May not see you for a while. But I’ll be thinking of you. Hoping for the best. Talk to you when we’re back, sometime before the snow melts.

And now, the page is turning. I’m putting this book down for a while and picking up the next. Where will this one bring me? Where am I off to next?

The wind is calling…

I’m going dancing in the wind!

Fall rising.

September 22, 2014September 22, 2014 / Gin Getz / 12 Comments

If nothing else, a slide show for you, sharing progress on the house, fall color, and this beautiful world we live in with you.

Only you know me. There will be more. I’ll get to writing, to words, to sharing, rambling… and then I’ll be here longer than I planned, when really, you know, what I should be doing is getting back to work…

(please click on individual photos to see them larger if you’d like)

On building our home together.

Some days I’m tired. I think we can’t do it. We’ll never get it closed in by serious snow fly. We’re in over our head. What were we thinking and when will it be over. Not another day of getting covered in sawdust and wood chips and beetle shells.

Most days, though I think this. We’re doing it. Ourselves. This incredible, beautiful home on the cheapest budget you can imagine. Yes, I’m actually very proud of that part. I’m a cheapskate at heart, it’s true, but it’s more than that. I’m proud that we harvested the main materials from our own land, used salvaged and surplus when we could, and are doing the work ourselves. The three of us. By us, for us. The only paid labor was help with the foundation, a worthy start to this project. Yes, the borrowed equipment and expert advice and occasional helping hand from good friends is always appreciated, a tremendous help, and at times, just what we need.

It’s an odd work site. Sure, there’s a dog, usually a cat, and always a goose hanging around so watch your step and check under your truck before you drive away. Lots of visitors, which although they bring much distraction, usually bring much encouragement and support and appreciation for what we’re doing too. (And groceries, seriously, which are a blessing as we haven’t taken much time to get to town to stock up!) And I come to realize realize that it is not in spite of these kind and caring visitors and distractions, but because of them at times, that we are inspired, fueled and lightened.

I tell one that this will be the first permanent home Forrest ever had. He’s twenty one. That’s a lot of years of fluctuation. Twelve moves in his first three years; then he lived at a kids camp, then a guest ranch. Finally, his own place. He’ll just have to share it with us. After all, for me, there were ten years before Forrest came into my life that I too had my fair share of stories of being homeless or a vagabond and moving around at least once a year… so I must say, having a solid foundation that we can call ours is a thrill for me too. Interesting to note that these roots do not tie one down, but give one greater to strength to fly. But that too is another story.

Will we make it? Get the roof on, windows in, sealed up by serious snow fly?

Wait and see. We’re only a month away…

(Hey Al – That beautiful bottle of champagne your brought us is already on ice!)

Autumn falls heavy. Shorter days, cooler air, longer shadows, crisper light. Wool sweaters and warm work gloves and hot coffee at lunch break. For this fleeting season our world turns so brief but fiercely to contrasting shades of vibrant gold with earthen browns and grays.

I’m ready to move on. We’ve been camped out since the end of May. Down by the work site in a one room cabin without plumbing or power for a light, and finally I’m ready for running water, an indoor toilet and hot shower, a kitchen sink, an electric light that all you have to do is flick a switch to get results. Sure, I love my candles, oil lamps, outhouse with a view, the sound of rain on the uninsulated tin roof of the Little Cabin, and song of the ever present Rio Grande, but it’s time. Almost. Soon, I start to hope. Maybe I’ll miss standing under the stars and the brilliant swath of the Milky Way to brush my teeth, but I won’t miss having to run out into the rain in the middle of the night to squat in the cold wet grass.

As you walk down the dirt drive to the cabin, the silence of the mountain embraces you, hills rise on all side like a visual symphony glowing in the autumn glory of turning aspen blending with the browning beetle killed trees, rising to the golden grasses of the late season high country above tree line and the sharp contrast before steel grey sky portending another storm.

Suddenly you are there, and you hear it. You have arrived. The Rio Grande. You are swallowed and consumed and it’s not with fear or loathing but clarity and purity and a sense of old wild ways knowing this river has been cutting its path so long before you were there, so long after you leave. And still you are seduced by the song of the river and absorbed by the eternal hum of autumn’s swollen course painted with dirt from higher grounds, blending our world with that of some place I have never been, so many places, down river, eight miles away, a hundred, or down to the Gulf of Mexico.

This is not the angry roar of spring melt out you hear but heavy rich milky waters bringing a melancholy song of primordial longings as the geese fly over head in formation in the early morning, and my meant to be wild one but oh-so-tame Rikki remains firmly planted in my front yard.

Heavy rains in an early fall storm. Finally some time to sit and catch up on correspondence and business and never enough time to write before heading back out there in between storms, grateful it’s only rain. Winter is coming…

Between early mornings and those blessed rain storms, I managed time to reach my personal goal/deadline of finishing a revised copy of my third manuscript. I am pleased. Now onto the next!

Meanwhile, the guest cabins are full, main camp is bustling, some wonderful folks around enjoying the fall color, to be followed by the camaraderie and excitement of hunting season, followed by the late season calm for the select few tourist game enough to give it a go before our world turns white… And then… Oh, don’t ask. Not now. One thing at a time. Today presents plenty. More than enough. Better yet, just right!

As for book business…

I just received the good news that Barnes and Nobles has accepted The Last of the Living Blue. This is a thrill and honor. From what I understand, unlike Amazon who accepts all books (and sells the most too), B&N carefully review all books and watch progress of sales and interest before taking you on. So this is great news for me, and I hope you might help by checking to see if your local B&N might be one of the select stores to carry my books – and if they do not, perhaps with your request, they will!

Much gratitude for the wonderful review of The Last of the Living Blue shared on Amazon and Goodreads by acclaimed author Gwendolyn Plano.

Finally, special thanks to friend and fellow horseman and blogger, Julian of White Horse Pilgrim, for actually coming (over the ocean and through one enlightening journey across this country) to visit us and our wild mountain. As you can imagine, the world seemed a little smaller, closer and more comfortable when shared with good friends, good horses, and good food together! Here are some of the photos Julian took of our work and shared. Thank you, my friend!

Full.

September 5, 2014September 6, 2014 / Gin Getz / 3 Comments

The high country fades first.

The grasses on Pole Mountain turn to yellows, reds and browns.

Now the cold, wet autumn approaches.

Wool sweaters and down jackets and I even pulled out the long johns one day last week. My fingers don’t work as well in the damp afternoons and I remain huddled longer and closer cooking over the old wood cook stove.

The aspen leaves tilt and some turn. It’s happening. I’m ready. Though all I have wanted to accomplish this season remains pending. Time enough. To rush, push, get it done, and yet I know what this season does to me. Sets me stirring. Like leaves in the wind or cold silver waters after a fresh rain. To be out there, breathing, feeling, sharp sensed, wild like a deer, uncontained… Running in the woods and riding the high country when staying home, remaining focused, keep grounded, containment becomes closer to impossible… most years. Maybe not this one.

For now I want to be right here, where I am, doing what I’m doing. Today. Tomorrow is something else.

Maybe tomorrow, for today my hands are full.

Simple living isn’t simply living. There’s work to be done. Beyond hauling water and splitting wood, though those things must be done too. Days are full. Between building, books and guest ranch business. Cooking, cleaning, lighting candles, heating water in which to wash. Writing words, peeling logs, gathering eggs, shoeing horses, hanging laundry on the line in between storms, figuring out what to feed the boys, and chasing the goose out of the road as another visitor drives away. Would I want it any other way? Well, sometimes, yes. Indoor plumbing would top my list right about now.

Building. Two more months until snowfly will more than likely shut us down for the season. Not to say there won’t be snow before then. Next week may bring the first of it. I envision us shoveling off the work site, sweeping off our logs, working in heavy boots and thick gloves, watching our breath rise with the rising walls. Soon.

As the mountain releases, so do I. The slow, certain exhale to dormancy. The big sigh of relief. For years I attributed this to making it through another season without losing a client. I mean really losing. As in, loss of life. Injuries, well, that was part of it. You’re in the mountains now. But the pending fear of the big loss was ever present. I lost sleep over it, but never a client. Yes, that was a serious fear for me and a serious consideration in the outfitting business, while my clients would come in complete trust and often ignorance for which I would assume responsibility and risk. Many folks treated a horseback ride in the high country as a walk in the park. For me, it was their life on the back of my horse, which in turn meant their life on my back. I took it seriously. No, I have no intention of ever sharing the crazy stories I could tell of what my clients did, or what we did to them… suffice to say, I took my outfitters oath almost as seriously as a doctor does to her clients. Truth is, I learned from all of them, and loved the opportunity to share my world, my time, my horses, my mountain. And at the end of it, every time, I was glad I was done. Hopefully with great memories, better riders, and a mountain that remained unaffected for all the hours and foot prints, both horse and human, we laid upon her.

Breaking water in the oil change pan outside the cabin that serves as the goose’s pond. Ice most mornings now. I await the honking of the flocks coming down river, congregating on the flats of the reservoir below Ute Creek, hoping some primordial longing to belong will call Rikki. Friends tell me otherwise. Get used to it, they say, you’re stuck with a goose. I still hold hope that nature will prevail. He will want to fly off. I’ll let you know. Yesterday morning was the first time a flock flew over head. He ran to me instead.

Tonight after a dinner at the guest cabins he walks home with me and the wildly barking dog in the light of the moon.

This morning he remains on vigil, looking down at the river. Something in him knows, stirs. The river calls him. Will he follow the primal voice and fly back to where he belongs?

Lessons learned from looking between the horses ears. Because sometimes I see more clearly from there than from between my ears alone.

What next? What today? What lesson do I need to learn? Between my legs or out my kitchen window.

I used to run ‘em in. Made sense when I had twenty, even forty head to get in each day, brush out, pick hooves, saddle and get out on the trail. Now I have seven. Now I can take the time. I am their leader, not their menace.

Sometimes what we’ve been looking for is right there before us. Open your eyes, they remind me.

Between the horses’ ears.

Now back to work.

For those who received a complimentary copy (hard copy or pdf file) of The Last of the Living Blue,… please take a few minutes to write, post and share your review. If you need help learning how and where to post and share, please write me directly at gingetz@gmail.com. And for those who have already shared and posted reviews, and those who have written me personally to tell me your thoughts, thank you. Most sincerely.

As for the kind words some of you have shared, I can’t say I don’t need to read those things. I am finding myself horribly insecure with such matters right now. The first book was more personal than I would have liked (thanks to the poking and prodding of my initial editor), and the second came out too soon for me to be able to start selling myself all over again. I am a bit burned out on the whole process. Though not on writing. I am a writer. I am not a salesman.

Now I find myself turning pages back to and through already written words, back to Ginny’s world, the world we shared and lives that tangled and intertwined in the Patagonia winds. This book too shall come. It begins, the time has come. A new birthing. It stirs, awakens, as it was meant to do.

Time for letting the grapes ripen, the wine sweeten, seasons come and go, everything in its time, no matter that I’m as bad as any one for wanting it all yesterday…

Much appreciation and gratitude to Carrie Browne for posting a lovely review of my books on her blog, The Shady Tree. I also enjoy noting the progress Carrie has made on her poetry, photography and blog layout and design. Her blog is a wonderful place to visit. Enjoy!

A return to the approaching autumn.

This morning, the first elk call of the season heard across the mountain above the crazy calls of returning coyote. Tonight, hard rain on the metal roof. And already I wonder when it will turn to the silence of snow.

A farewell to summer days.

August 23, 2014 / Gin Getz / 3 Comments

A farewell to summer days.

Time

of the turtle

we withdraw where

in silent spaces

Darkening days we learn

to breathe

within or is it

beneath the surface

Return

to the cocoon

From which we emerged

Soothed by the sound of rain

the promise of browning grass

as the high country pales and fades

Washed over

with a wave of returning stillness

consuming

as a cloud enwrapping

the veil of early morning

silhouettes of what will be

maybe it is the

winds and waters which

hold me

when what I thought

embracing me

was something more solid

A poem in progress.

Words evolving as we do with life.

Yeah, I know. I could leave it and settle for “good enough.”

But good enough is not good enough.

If you only live once, live as fully as you can. Be the best person you can be. Do the best work you can do, and share the best of yourself.

A good reminder from Mother Teresa: “People are unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered. Love them anyway. If you do good, people may accuse you of selfish motives. Do good anyway. If you are successful, you may win false friends and true enemies. Succeed anyway. The good you do today may be forgotten tomorrow. Do good anyway. Honesty and transparency make you vulnerable. Be honest and transparent anyway. What you spend years building may be destroyed overnight. Build anyway. People who really want help may attack you if you help them. Help them anyway. Give the world the best you have and you may get hurt. Give the world your best anyway.”

We can’t expect others to be nice, use manners, play fair… All we can do is be the best person we can be.

Learn to trust. Sure, you’ll get burned. Get over it and try again. Practice makes perfect. Not trying gets you no where.

Take the blame if need be – Let someone else be the one to pass it on. Something too heavy for them to carry will only make you stronger.

It’s not just “the new generation.” It’s the old farts, too. And plenty of us finding ourselves in the middle ground.

Oh, the disappointment of human beings. My self included.

Notes to self.

This morning, I thought I’d share them with you.

I have been meaning to share with you my friend, Teri’s blog: http://myeverydayphotos.wordpress.com/

Teri is a talented professional photographer from Washington State’s beautiful Methow Valley. What many of you might be most interested in this. Considering the devastation, sadness, fear and almost a sense of personal violation so many of us here in Colorado experienced over the past years (and presumable in years to come as well) while wildfires rages around us (last year’s Papoose Fire/West Fork Complex Fire is described intimately in The Last of the Living Blue), this year it has been the Methow Valley hit hard. Teri’s words and powerful images tell the story better than I shall try to. If you have a moment, please see Teri’s work here.

A Personal Challenge… and a few random thoughts on a rainy day.

August 14, 2014 / Gin Getz / 2 Comments

A Personal Challenge… and a few random thoughts on a rainy day.

This past week brought…

Rain every day.
Completion of the first floor walls.
A bear on our deck.
Our goose in the air. (I did not specify gracefully…)

At the same time, two dear friends are diagnosed with cancer; a third with pregnancy. The first two I truly believe will bravely battle, eloquently conquer and be triumphant while friends and family grow closer in support. The third, well, the lifetime of an up and down roller-coaster ride of frustration, exhaustion, endurance, sleepless nights and the most intense selflessness, beauty, love, compassion and comprehension one may ever experience that becoming a mother entails (adoptive of course included) … it is just beginning!

Thoughts blur and swirl while looking through streaked glass panes at brown waters swelling down the muddy road. Clothes hung indoors alongside cast iron pans by the wood cook stove to dry while the dog lies right beside it. Sticky, heavy boots left just outside the door. White noise of loud rain pounding on the metal roof does not quite my mind.

I am working on personal improvement. Seems like I always am. There’s plenty of room for improvement, and hopefully a long lifetime to keep me busy. Why would I not want to be the best I can be? Why would I not want to better myself and my world? Seriously, who truly believes “good enough” is good enough? I’ve never strived for mediocrity. I want a great life. And no one can make it that way but… me. One can accept the middle ground if that’s their thing. It’s not mine. I encourage you to not sit back and accept it either.

This is not therapy. That’s a topic I tend to stay away from. Today can be scary enough! Looking back, figuring out the reasons why… maybe some day… but today, my hands are full.

We all can blame someone else for our own misery, lack of love, lack of success, (fill in the blank), because surely it’s not MY fault.

Except, sometimes it is. And that sometimes might just be now.

When we start to accept responsibility for ourselves and our actions and our lives, we can begin to make changes.

Life is all about change.

So… with this in mind, I present to you one simple step towards self improvement:

The Thirty Day Internet Limit Trial

For the next thirty days, we have committed to the following:

One ten minute e-mail/internet check before exercises, cooking and breakfast.
One five minute check after cleaning up.
One ten minute check at lunch break.
One ten minute check after work.
A little more time to surf the web, do research, check weather, touch base on social media, whatever… after dinner. (See, we eat so late, this won’t last too long for me, as I’m ready for bed right after we eat!)

Still sounds like a lot, doesn’t it?

I justify this much as we have no phone service, so this is a reasonable compromise which allow us to keep in touch, run our business, do our work, and do all those fun things we’ve learned to love – and can’t seem to live without – on the internet, without it ruling our lives.

See, I swear we got to the point where the computer was always open just in case some important news came in and surfing social media became a brainless break for the boys no better than TV (which Forrest never had, and Bob had to give up when he married me). It became a crutch, and a waste of time at best. At worst, something which made us emotionally distraught (well, that might just be me…).

Maybe it’s worse for many. The folks texting during meals, posting what they eat for all to see, and interrupting face-to-face conversations because they are or the matter is so important they just have to respond now. We’re not that bad, but worse than I’d like to be. Maybe you do worse, and maybe you don’t care. We do, and we’re doing something about it.

Thought I’d share this with you for two reasons. First, because those of you who might just realize you have a problem, you might just want to do something about it, too. Go ahead. Try it. Just for thirty days. See if you survive!

I’m also telling you this too to give you fair warning: you may not get an instant response from me if you write. You probably won’t see much from me on Facebook unless I’m sharing book news or business. I’ll only be blogging once a week – which is about what I’ve managed to reduce my blogging to now a days anyway. (Instead I make my posts looooooonnnnng. Go figure.)

So, today begins the trial. We’ll see how it goes. I’m hoping it may help in two ways – mental peace and more time to do more positive things. As an added bonus, maybe it will also improve communications, team work, and productivity as my husband and son are joining me.

Want to give it a try?

In the meanwhile… life goes on… back on the ranch… back to the mountain.

The rains bring on the change of season, heavy and thick it hangs in the air with clouds lingering on her side like little children clinging for comfort.

Arousing the state of dormancy.

One season begins to bow. Another approaches. Anticipation as the land tires and leaves fade and summer sounds are washed away in the steady rains. Mushrooms flourish in withering land and light. And I wonder what the tree squirrel will eat this winter without a pine cone in sight. Such are the things which trouble me.

She begins her long slow deep exhale

And with her, I breathe in unison.

I need to remember this one, as I have believed it but thought perhaps I was wrong:

Wendell Berry: “I’ve known writers — I think it’s true also of other artists — who thought that you had to put your art before everything. But if you have a marriage and a family and a farm, you’re just going to find that you can’t always put your art first, and moreover that you shouldn’t. There are a number of things more important than your art. It’s wrong to favor it over your family, or over your place, or over your animals.”

Ecobiography.

What a wonderful word. Eco-biography.

Think about it. Hold it in your hand, roll it around in your mouth, savor it.

A story about person and place, and the intimate intertwining of the two.

Author, farmer and activist Kayann Short coined the term. In her review of The Last of Living Blue on her blog, Kayann honored my work with this term. Ecobiography. A phrase I am honored to write about; a new genre I am proud to be a part of.

For more on Kayann, her writings, her farm and the art of the Ecobiography, please be sure to tune in on Friday to Colorado Public Radio (CPR) for Random Acts of Culture.

It’s about slowing down… I enjoyed the opportunity to write a guest post for fellow author/blogger C.M. Mayo (for those who saw this, you’ll note I didn’t get it right the first time, but just one more excuse to keep on writing! I finally got it, and Madam Mayo posted this on her blog last week. I hope you enjoy.

That’s all she wrote this week. Until next time…

And don’t forget to consider giving it a try… Stay away from the darned internet, and see what happens…

Learning to let go.

August 8, 2014 / Gin Getz / 8 Comments

A frost on the deck damp from yesterday’s rain

And a thin film of ice on the undisturbed pan of water

Where he used to bathe

Emptiness on the cliff

Where he used to stand

Watching the river flow

In this morning of uncertainty

I seek to find solace in the poems of Wendell Berry

Who uses words in ways I may never learn how

But always seek to emulate

Who preaches in calm certainty

Yet what I feel but he does not

For he a man and I a mother

And his practicality is replaced by my passion

Who might tell us it is time to let feral ones fly free

And be at peace knowing

We can never own that which is meant to be wild

Yet I find his distance disturbing

While his words more than I may ever obtain

As I dive into my life heart first

And leave behind a pool of broken waters

Shattered mirrors and forgotten dreams
~

Learning to let go.

This is not what I was planning on sharing with you today, but I think you should hear this.

Yeah, it’s about the goose.

When he was little he slept in the cat carrier under the kitchen table. Then the dog crate outside the front door. After two and a half months, you’d think he’d go in by himself at night. He never did. He is still a wild animal, he reminds me every day as he rests in shade under the pickup with the dog. Night before last he fought it. I had to herd him in. We sat at the table by the door at dinner and could hear him shuffling about within the box. Maybe it was the moon, we wondered. We knew he didn’t want to be there. But I didn’t want him out with the coyotes and foxes and tourist’s dogs swarming like little snapping turtles.

And then last night he flew off in the moonlight.

It started at dusk when he usually comes to the front door and we lead him to his box. Instead, he remained off the porch, fussing, chattering, and would not come close to me. I stepped closer to him and away he flew, off his cliff and down over the Rio Grande in the pale grey evening light. Fine, I thought as I returned to the cabin, lit candles and the wood cook stove and started dinner for my boys. A few minutes later, guilt took over. A sense of responsibility confused me. I raised him since he was but a day or so old. Can I just turn my back as he flies off and say, “Have at it! Good luck!” Perhaps I should, but I cannot. I returned to his cliff and called out. I looked down river and did not see him. I turned, rejected, back to the house, and there he was behind me.

He lay down on his cliff and it became clear to me. He was ready to fly. He was ready to be a big goose now. He didn’t really need his mother, and he certainly didn’t need his box.

Okay, fine, stay there, I thought. I smiled and let him be.

Darkness but for the growing moon came and we were at the table having dinner. He was back on the porch. I stepped out with him and squatted beside him and he stood there with long neck extended staring out at the big moon, the glowing river. I asked him if he wanted in his box, and he continued to stare. I returned inside, and then once again, we heard him fidgeting and moments later, the squawking of him flying off.

I heard him this morning as I woke at first light, the time when it’s usually just he and me and the ravens on the cliff that no longer fly off from fear of us and have more than me been the ones to teach Rikki to fly. But really, it was silent. No ravens. No happy little chatter. No honking as he spread his wings. No Rikki.

Surely he will be back, I told myself as the sky became brighter and the ground flooded with fresh sunshine forming little ripples of steam where the frost had just been. Surely he will follow the Rio as a goose does, see his cliff, the bridge, the construction site. Hear the crows, the dog bark, the power tools and mill under which he’s spent so many hours with the white noise of motors drumming in his ears.

Won’t he?

How wild he showed me he is. I try to respect and appreciate his choices. I let him. I did not hold him back. I hope not at the expense of his life.

Ten minutes ago, here at the table in the Little Cabin looking through the old weathered windows that look like its raining even when it’s dry, there flies Rikki.

He has flown home.

Marketing Madness

July 17, 2014July 17, 2014 / Gin Getz / 16 Comments

Truth is, I’ve had little time for marketing since the release of my second book, The Last of the Living Blue. Probably all for the better. For my sanity, if not for sales.

“The books will sell themselves,” some say. I’m not so certain. I’ve always been a big believer in the direct correlation between hard work and success. But I’m also learning this. I’m not a salesman, don’t make a good one, and don’t care to be one. I’m a writer, and a rather quiet, solitary sort. I’m a writer because I love to write – not because of some calling to sell myself and my work. However, I do write for others to read… Thus, the dilemma.

So, if sales are up to me (and it appears they are) well, looks like I’m not going to be retiring from my day job any time soon. I never thought cleaning cabins or digging ditch would be my calling either, but by now I know I’m damn good at both, so might as well…

Food for thought.

Live a life worth writing about.

Find your inspiration in your world.

There is always a story around me to share.

Take the time to listen. To see and feel… and write.

The one rule I’ve always believed in for writing: write regularly, and write well.

So, life goes on.

House building, the summer social scene (yes, would you believe, even way the heck up here – this time of year, at least?), back to work on Ginny’s book, and waiting out the monsoon storms before placing another log on the wall of the new cabin. Horse work is on the back burner this year, and ditch work put off until the monsoons settle down. And still there’s no shortage of work. Only a shortage of daylight and personal energy.

Simple living. I once read a quote by Dave Ramsey that went something like this: “Live like no one else now so you can live like no one else later.” I think it’s safe to say I know no one else who lives like us. Not in this country at least. Years ago, we decided it made more sense to move out and camp for the summer, rent out our big house. Then we sold that, and moved out for good. Now, we’re down at the Little Cabin. If you stop by, it might look romantic. A tiny one room log cabin over the Rio Grande. Candle light, cozy, a cute outhouse nearby complete with crescent moon cut out on the door we leave open only when we’re in there. The view down river is too good to miss.

Then there’s the reality of sponge baths and doing dishes in a bucket on the picnic table. Three of us in a whole house smaller than most of your bedrooms and some of your bathrooms. Peeing out in the rain. Digging through a box under the bed for a change of clothes (it’s easier to just wear the same old thing – heck, clean clothes are going to get dirty sooner or later). Hauling water. An abundance of dirt and bugs. A step above camping. At least we have solid walls. Not quite a solid foundation. The northeast corner is taking a dive and the over easy eggs in the cast iron pan on the wood cook stove I fry up in the morning always make a left hand turn.

Yes, we’re building bigger. (There’s a lot to be said for a toilet and kitchen sink…) And we’re building it ourselves. And that, my friend, might be yet another book!

That said, I thought I’d share this on my blog for all fellow writers and anyone else who’s interested. This stems from a conversation with a friend/fellow author who asked me to share my secrets for selling books. I had to laugh. I have no secrets, and don’t sell a lot of books! However… I have made a few observations, and for him and anyone else interested, here is what I’ve learned in these past six months in which I’ve had two books published. (Seriously, has it just been six months? Okay, Gin, you can take a deep breath, and relax… before you get back to work!)

I’ve put a lot of thought into this, and have only touched the tip of the iceberg of this topic. Still, it’s a lot to take in, so please take your time. Skim it over now, maybe come back and read in depth when you have the time. Then please, share with me (and other readers/writers) your thoughts on this after you’ve had time to read and think it over.

Marketing Madness

Reading, writing, publishing, marketing. The wide world of books. It’s all a changing game. What worked once is no longer certain. What worked yesterday may not work today, and if it works today, please don’t count on it to tomorrow. And no one has the answers.

So, what do we do? Follow each passing fancy? Or stick with what you believe in. Be true to yourself. Honor your work. And keep on writing.

I use the term “Marketing Madness” because I swear it is enough to drive you mad – or make you mad – if you let it. Or you can turn your back and walk away, but that’s probably not the best answer either. Because the bottom line is this: you wrote a good book, and people will want to read it. So, marketing, in its simplest sense, is letting people know about your book (or whatever product you are trying to market). It’s reaching people, which really is what writing is all about anyway. Only different…

The Rules.

In this changing day and age of publishing, we writers by default must learn about marketing, yet the marketing stage is hardly set. There’s no clear road to follow. We are all forming it as we go along. There are no set rules, and we’re forging new ways all the time. Learning from others – sharing what has worked, what has not – helps tremendously. If nothing else than by opening up ideas we may have not yet considered. And giving each other the well needed pat on the back, simple encouragement to keep on going. Just the same, remembering that what worked for one may not work for another, and/or the game may have changed yet again by the time you try it.

I personally find this marketing thing difficult and frustrating. I feel I am selling myself when all I want to do is write. Yes, I know, terribly idealistic. So, we learn, we grow, we try, and we know there is no fairy godmother that’s going to wave her magic wand and suddenly we’ll have everything we ever dreamed of, sales like Steven King, be all we want to be, find ourselves as an overnight success and talking about our latest book with Oprah on TV.

The Big Secret?

I hate to break the news. So far, I found there isn’t one. It’s about hard work, like it or not. And it’s up to each of us. No one will do it for you. Someone may point you in the right direction, but chances are, they won’t even hold your hand or carry you there. If you’re lucky (and you know I think luck is made up of hard work… and a good dose of, ah, guts) they’ll give you a helping hand if you’ve fallen down.

It’s up to each of us to get our name out there, our books sold, and establish a market presence. And we find out, it’s not that painful after all. Especially if it means people are reading our books, which is why we’ve done all this work anyway.

Does it ever stop? Not from what I hear. So… we have to get used to it. Find our own style. Like with finding our own voice in writing, perhaps we have to find our own way to succeed in marketing.

Sharing Ideas.

I would love to share more and learn more on this topic which isn’t always the most fun to address, but matters to all of us authors trying to get established in this crazy, changing world. We all can learn and even enjoy with the support and encouragement of each other.

I enjoy bouncing ideas back and forth and learning from others. Yes, these are interesting times and I realize there are no set rules – we’re in a very changing game here, and want to learn all I can, but be smart about my choices. I do not want to ever devalue my work and be a 99cent seller. I would like readers to read my work because it’s good, not because it’s cheap. Likewise, I have not heard one positive confirmation that paying for publicity or marketing works wonders. Let me know if you’ve heard otherwise. Save your money, and get to work.

If I’m good, sales will come in due time – but not by sitting on my hands. Hard work does not frighten me, and I don’t believe in fairy tales.

The truth: Be true!

I’m thinking there are other things we can do beside compromise our integrity. Get the word out our way – sincerely, honestly, and ourselves. Slowly, but surely. Blogging, giveaways, personal appearances, personalize anything/everything, like correspondence, and writing everyone back. Treat our readers with respect, and trust they will in turn respect our work.

I’m not finding sure fire answers. I guess there are none. Yet I shall always believe one can build success on a combination of sincerity, belief in your work, and working hard.

So far, here is what I’ve learned in these past six months about marketing in a nutshell.

What’s worked for me:

– Blogging. It’s me. It’s real. It’s sincere. I’ve been told what I do is not “proper blogging.” My posts are too long, too personal, too rambling. Yes, that’s me. Don’t like it? Don’t read it. Though after six years at it, I’ve not only established a decent following of over a thousand people who care and I in turn have learned to care for, I have met many a real people because of blogging. Friends. Fellow writers, readers. People I converse with on a first name basis, and know the name of their wife, kids, dogs, and the town they grew up in. This is good stuff.

– Facebook. But minimally and with caution. It’s shallow. It caters to those who would rather “like” the latest picture of my pup than read real news, though so many of us turn to it to find some happy medium of keeping up to date and not losing touch with friends and family. I have no interest is posting selfies and telling you what I ate for dinner, but I will share my latest book and building news and blog posts. I found this summer I don’t have (or take) the time to look at the feeds, so I’m probably failing at the FB game now. I no longer look into what other folks have put up. I’m sorry. If you really want me to know, write me. I respond if I’m written to personally but otherwise, the random checking into other people’s lives has lost its interest for me when I barely have time for a bath.

– Reviews. Do your darndest to get folks to read and review. Ask people. Be personal. Don’t send out a mass mailer, but a personal note. Give them your book. You’re not asking a favor – you’re sharing a gift. Though… getting them to POST those reviews, well, that’s not always easy. Everyone is busy. Respect that. Then bug them to get it done!

– Endorsements. Take a chance – ask! I am wonderfully surprised by the person who could have hit “delete” but instead said “sure” versus the colleague I swore would have been interested but now can’t find a minute to write me back (Note to self: Be the person you want to work with! Treat EVERYONE with respect, and respond in kind.)

– Giving away pdf copies. It doesn’t cost you anything, but you get people to read it. If it’s good, and it better be or you don’t want your name on it, they’ll like it, and they’ll spread the word. Slowly but surely. Trust this one. The more readers, the better. Give it away! Maybe you lost one sale, but chances are, you’ll get a whole lot more because of it.

– Book signing. Once again, anything personal. I’m proud of my book. I want to share it. I’m shy and thought this would be torture, but it’s not. Readers are good people. Share your time and enthusiasm with them.

– Going beyond local and finding your niche. My local following… isn’t. More of my readers are from far and wide. I’m proud of this. Look far and wide. Not everyone works best from their front door. Find which way works best for you.

What didn’t work:

– Anything close to home. I’m not a social person or part of the nearby community, so this should not come as surprise to me that they didn’t care that one of their “locals” was being published. I thought suddenly they’d care. They didn’t.

– GoodReads. Their giveaways and support for authors. Not yet, at least, though I’m not done trying. So far what I found is that they attract quantity, not quality. And they are attracting a younger market than my readers. I know my readers and most would rather curl up with a book than sit at the computer surfing social media. Though, some of them do that too…

– Writing groups? I don’t have time…

– Twitter and other social media. Once again, I’d rather be sincere and be me. It’s not my style, my audience or my way of reaching out.

Getting Readers.

Of course this is the bottom line. And it’s not as easy as one would think.

You write to be read. So, you write a great story, but really – who has time to read now a days? Seriously – like remember the old summer reading list? Now we’re all too tied up and life’s too complicated and sitting down with a good book seems a million miles away most days.

And if there are readers out there, which I still believe there are, how do you reach them? Well, that’s what this is all about, this marketing madness thing.

And that’s where reviews come into play.

Getting Reviews.

This is a big one, and tops the list for “to do” because it really does matter. Though I honestly haven’t figured out why yet. I’ll let you know if/when I do. For now, I just know this. It’s a numbers game, maybe, but it’s not a bad or evil one, I don’t feel compromised, I just try to encourage readers to share (and post) their reviews.

Try anyway. Keep trying. Give away. The more you give, the more you get. That’s nothing new – we should all know that already.

How do you go about getting reviews? Start by asking. Personally. And then, you got it, follow up. It’s a bit of a dilemma. People promise. They mean well. But at the end of the day, where the heck are the reviews and the reviewers? Seriously, getting people to post reviews can be like getting water from a rock. (Once again, note to self: treat others how you wish to be treated! I’ve learned to post positive reviews for writers who could use them, and deserve them!)

There are places you can actually pay people to review your book. Let me know if that works for you. I haven’t done this and have no intention of trying. Maybe I’m a cheap skate, but I believe my writing is good enough that I don’t need to pay someone to read it. I think the point is, I want someone to WANT to read my books. And I want the right people to read my books, not some random person who is just doing it for the money. It might be the slower way of doing things, but once again, for me, it’s the sincere route, and the way I’ve chosen. I’m not going there. Not unless you convince me otherwise.

Reviews matter. They are important numbers our industry (books/publishing) bases our success upon. They help other readers find books, choose books. They need not be elaborate or fancy. Some are. That’s great. Some aren’t. And that’s great too. Not everyone wants to read a long one (or write a long one). Although those long one do help the curious book explorer understand their selection well, those short and to the point ones matter too. One of my favorites, from reviewer Lisa: “Damn good read.” That works for me!

Social Media

Of course I need to elaborate on this. It’s a huge topic, but I’d like to put it in its place and keep it small and manageable. I personally think that’s all it is worthy of. I am, after all, not a social butterfly. The following is based on a conversation with fellow writer, Kayann Short.

Social Media is hot right now. It’s new, news, ever changing… and flaky. You can play the game and go for the latest greatest, which may be something new and shiny next week, so stay on your toes. But if you do choose to play this game, ask yourself this… Is it you? Are you being sincere? Are you willing to give as much as you get? (Remember that 80/20 rule for those of us who use these things not just for entertainment, but for business: give 80 percent of the time and be lucky to get responses back the other 20.) Does it have substance? Are the people hooked on social media your readers, your target market? I wonder.

On the other hand, would the impact and importance of community involvement, writers groups (personal networking, etc) as well as writers and readers working together (as in book events, signings, etc), be more valuable than randomly reaching the masses impersonally with spam and twitter?

Is social media the modern way and the way of the future for writers? I don’t think so. I think it’s fickle. And I don’t want to be.

I’m not saying I’m ruling it all out. I’m open minded, just hesitant. I’m trying to learn the new rules, but I see too much fly by night, flitter, twitter, missing a backbone, spineless, give it a try, let it go, and try something new… The latest, greatest, bubble gum burst lasts about as long as that flavor… That’s my hard, harsh take on social media so far.

Personal Appearances

This is my style. Keep it personal. Be real, be me. Book signings, community events, anything personal. Get to know your readers, and the bookstores.

I was petrified of doing this at first. But it’s not as painful as I thought it would be. In fact, it’s really FUN. And an incredible opportunity to share, meet, learn.

Learn from your readers.

Learn what touches people.

Learn who your readers are!

Keep it personal – that’s my rule of thumb. I hope I’m always open to hear from my readers. There’s a lot to learn if you’re willing to listen. And you might even meet some great folks along the way. Icing on the cake, but what would a cake be without it?

Writer’s Leagues, Groups, Conventions

Support groups?

Writers Anonymous!

No, really, there are some amazing groups, organizations, leagues… Join! Participate! Share! There’s something to learn from everyone if you’re willing to listen. Find your niche, and find like minds or at least, like markets. Share ideas. Listen to what others are going through, and share what you’ve learned. I’m new to all this and learning all the time but am learning it’s fun – you’re dealing with other writers. And they’re in the same boat you are in, paddling madly to get to the other side and still looking at the same side of the river bank.

Help each other out, and maybe the tide will be more likely to turn.

What’s next?

Do you want to find and follow the next trend, or learn what works best for you and develop your own style? I’m big on being sincere, true to myself, true to my readers. All I can do is hope that in the long run, this approach will pay off.

I don’t want to be silly thinking my books will sell themselves, nor turn into a door-to-door salesman when what I am is a writer. We each must find what works best for each of us, I suppose, but certainly be willing to work. Ultimately, I want to be sincere. I still have to look in the proverbial mirror at the end of the day, and I want to like the person I see staring back at me.

What works for you? What ideas and suggestions do you have? Any advice you’d like to share? What are your thoughts on Marketing Madness?

Please take a moment to leave a comment so we all can learn from each other. Or if you prefer, you can always write me personally at gingetz at gmail dot com.

How to be Happy.

July 9, 2014July 9, 2014 / Gin Getz / 8 Comments

Fellow author and blogger, C.M. Mayo, asked me to write a guest post for her blog, Madam Mayo. I skimmed over her requested requirements, thought to myself, I could never come up with something like that. What do I know? And then the answer came to me, and I couldn’t stop writing!

I am no expert at anything. But I am learning a lot, and I’m always game for trying. What I can’t share are some guaranteed fool proof tried and true methods that I know for certainty and feel the need to teach you, the reader, because I have it all figured out and maybe you don’t. I don’t either. So all I can do is share with you what I’m learning. And maybe we can learn it together. And maybe, just maybe, that’s the point. That’s what it’s all about.

Well, after finishing writing this piece, I took a closer look at the requirements and sample posts, and realized I got it all wrong. I mean, totally. And I couldn’t for the life of me think of anything else to write about since I was so excited by this. Besides, I don’t think she wants to get political or stir waters, and since my second book addresses climate change from a personal perspective, and climate change is still by some considered a political issue, not a reality, I don’t think she’d want my list of Five Ways to Save the Trees or anything like that. So, I’m sharing this.

The five essential habits of positive people (or how to be happy in five easy steps)

Imagine if there were a few secret ingredients to a happy life. You know, inside information, words of wisdom shared by the happiest people. The tricks of the trade for the happy. What works for those people who smile a lot, seem comfortable with who they are, love their work, like the people around them, are nice to be around and nice to those around them. And imagine if we could learn from these people. Because who among us does not wish to be happier?

Say there are a few specific “rules” we can follow to find ourselves happier, what would they be? They would have to be inspirational, happy, humorous, fun, not preachy, not perfect, things to try for with room to grow and plenty of forgiveness, because we’re human and we always have to try.

It would be about choice. We can choose happier habits. Ultimately, we can choose our thoughts, rather than have our thoughts (and emotions) choose our direction. Not to negate these things – It’s just that most of us need to learn to live with them, keep them in line. Not let our emotions rule us and run our lives.

We can start by following the example of people we admire. People who are trying, against odds, to make the world a better place and find a better place within themselves. I’m not talking about the happy go lucky folks for whom life’s been just fine and they get through just fine – but never do anything great. I want to be all I can, try it all, experience life to the fullest. That means ups and downs. Good times and bad times. Make mistakes.

If we don’t fall on our face, we haven’t tried to run. Life’s too short to walk through. So, every once in a while, run! Flat out. And maybe you’ll fall. Get back up, dust yourself off, and when your wounds have healed (if you really must wait that long) try again. “Only those who have had, can lose.” You can go through life playing it safe. Make it through to the finish line. Slow, steady. Nothing fancy, no fan fare, no bells and whistles or even a lot of cheers along the way. Or you can dance your way through life and sometimes stumble. If you don’t try to dance, you don’t have to worry about making the wrong moves. Oh come on. Give it a try. Dance!

Sure, you can’t be happy all the time. That would be ridiculous. But you can be happier more often. It’s up to you.

Start your day on a positive note. Here’s one we learned from Zig Ziglar. Before you even get out of bed, clap your hands and say something wonderful about yourself, your world, and the day you’ve got ahead of you. Then this one from Louise Hay. Tell yourself you love yourself. Look in a mirror if you have one and say it to yourself that way. I don’t, and I live in a small one-room cabin. If I woke up clapping my hands and talking in the mirror, I think my boys would really worry. At the very least, I’d wake them up, and those who know me know this: don’t disturb my mornings. So, I keep it quiet, let them sleep, and try to say these things in my head.
Patience. Learn to slow down. Let go. Boy this is a hard one for me. For so many in society where we’re often judged on how busy we pretend to be, but how jam packed we fill our days, placing self value on number of hours worked (though do we stop and think how much we actually accomplish?). The more we can justify being busy, the better people we think we are. Or so we are told. Things are changing. That worked great to develop the modern world, create fast food and Wal-marts, capitalism and consumerism. But it didn’t bring us closer to happiness. Try meditation, walking, yoga, breathing. Watch a snowflake fall on your hand and melt. Sit and wait in the early dark to see the moon clear the horizon (or nearest building). Listen to the wind or the water or the waves. Find a tree and hear the leaves rustle. “Learn to let go. That is the key to happiness.” – Jack Kornfield, Buddha’s Little Instruction Book.
Life’s short – eat dessert first. All these excuse for why not. Think of all the reason why instead. Just do it. Learn to do something new every day. Never say never. Don’t let yourself (or someone you love) say “I can’t.” Go ahead, give it a try. Now. What are you waiting for? Don’t bother telling me. I don’t want to hear. I want to hear what you want to do, and what you’re doing to get there. Rather, I want to show me. Do it. Come on, dream!
Give. Practice – and expand on – compassion. Do random acts of kindness. Do something for someone without strings attached every single day. It doesn’t have to cost money. It doesn’t have to take much time. Just share the gifts you already have. You have a lot. As a writer, I like to share my words. A cook shares food, a photographer images, a mother comfort – these are the gifts we share, not just to make a living or get the job done or for self importance, acceptance, acknowledgement or reward. Simply to give what we can. Share your gifts. What gifts can you share? We all have something special. Creativity, prayer, song. Think beyond the box. Or look deep inside. There’s lots there. Open it up and share it. I bet there’s plenty to go around.
Have fun, smile, dance. I don’t have TV. Last month I finally saw the Ellen Show for the first time while staying at my sister’s house. Apparently she dances every day. Right on. Then there is Ginny, the woman who’s life my next book is based upon. Dancing in the Wind… There she is, even in her wheelchair. Dancing. If she can, I can too. Do it. Dance. It feels really good. And if you dance like no one’s looking, you can’t help but find yourself be smiling like you mean it. And yes, chances are, you’ll feel happy.