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.

This is how my mind works.

July 7, 2014 / Gin Getz / 3 Comments

Caught in the middle in a land of extremes. The silence and solitude of winter now so far away. Today it’s about moving, shaking, building, banging, people, pleasing, chatting, listening, hearing a road racing with RVs and ATVs and almost forgetting the soft pale rumble I barely hear behind all this motion and commotion that is the Rio Grande. A certain and steady flow, drawing the line in a crystal clear sparkling swath between a high mountain summer season Mecca and a tranquil hillside of dead and dying trees which is where my heart is lost this time of year. Disconnected.

It’s the end of another day spent cleaning cabins, working on our new one, and sharing it all with the steady stream of visitors which summer brings. I’m going to go running. The dark clouds that have been building all afternoon suddenly seem more serious and a few fat full heavy drops tap loudly on the metal roof like anticipating fingers on a table top as I’m taking off my work boots and putting on my running shoes. No matter. I’m going to run. I’m going to sneak away from the goose, the tourists, the slowly growing cabin and the pending inevitability of figuring out what to cook for dinner over the old wood cook stove fueled by scraps of wood from the construction site, and appeasing appetites fueled from that construction work.

Out there in the rain, under a dark sky and through oddly eerie brown blue spruce stripped of needles, some having recently left their load still pale green in patches beneath their slipping bark and along the trail.

An owl calls. It is that dark.

The dog is in front, beside me, behind me, off in the woods to my left, my right, you never know except then suddenly there he is, as happy and wet and wild as I am and I’m feeling leaping over fallen trees that litter the trail, hair soaking and chest sweating and skinny legs nimbly peddling through wet brush.

I return to the baby cheeps of the goose on the top of the cliff above the river, looking down at me where I’m crossing – calling me home. He the wild thing, and me the domesticated. But for right now, it all feels upside down in the soaked state of summer rains in the high country.

Dear Readers: In case you have not yet had the time, please be sure to put these books on your Summer Reading List: The Color of the Wild and The Last of the Living Blue. And when you have finished reading them, and I shall sincerely hope enjoyed them, please take an extra few moment (really, that’s all it takes!) and post a review on Amazon, Barnes and Nobles, GoodReads, social media… where ever you feel comfortable, for reviews do matter and really do help!

And Reviewers: Those of you who requested and received a review copy. I hope you have read or are reading… and truly hope you enjoy! When you can, please take a moment to post your review. A huge THANK YOU to those who already have.

Growing up.

The new house. Not me. Though sometimes it feels one in the same. Solid roots. Walls. The Real Deal. (My boys may cringe at that one.)

This week brought walls slowly rising. Milling our own rough cut lumber. Framing out the first windows. Looking out. Looking in. Knowing now what that view will be like… Not too bad. Slow birth of a home, coming to life.

Peeling logs. Each a work of art. New life to dead trees.

The culprit revealed as we chip off the bark and grind smooth the knots and corners.

Life among the beetles. A couple years ago, we didn’t know what one looked like. Now we crush them with our hand tools as we wrestle each log in place, flick them from each other’s shirts, shake them from our hair, brush them off the log surface before we draw the line to make the measure that will mark the cut for the next part of the wall to the ever growing home. Did you know they bite? Maybe after working on the mill and peeling logs and sweeping up sawdust, I smell enough like a tree that they give me a go. We watch their random flight paths in the low light of evening as we pack up our tools and call it a day.

What will be the fate of the last living blue?

This is how my mind works. In random bursts. In colors red and gold then stormy steel grey, light and dark, warm and cold, getting colder. Discipline of body, of ritual, of ways to work. But not in peace of mind. You can’t really call me steady, level, even.

I leave you with this to consider.

A Rumi a dear friend shared with me yesterday:

Run from what is comfortable

Forget safety

Live where you fear to live

I have tried prudent living long enough

From now on I’ll be mad.

Don’t forget the power of anger. Use it wisely. On one hand, it can eat you alive. On the other, it can feed you. Fuel the fire of inevitable change.

Nothing stays the same.

Good News.

June 27, 2014 / Gin Getz / 10 Comments

Wow! We’re live on Amazon!

The Last of the Living Blue is available NOW– in paperback and Kindle. Amazing – three days ahead of schedule!

Okay, Reviewers: Now you can post your reviews! Please, when you can… your help is so appreciated and truly needed.

And speaking of Reviewers:

Sammie has wonderfully offered to extend the opportunity: A free paperback copy of The Last of the Living Blue in exchange for posting a review. If you would like to take her up on this very generous offer, please write her at sammie@norlightspress.com, and be sure to give her your mailing address. Sammie is super – there are no strings attached – this is just a way of spreading the word, sharing, and generating more interest for a book we both believe in. Seriously, reviews do matter. Please take the time to share and post. Most importantly, I hope you read this new book, and I hope you love it.

I’m told you’re not supposed to get too attached to your work. Too late. I am. It is a part of me. It is my gift to you.

This one matters so much to me. This one is for the trees…

Thank you all for your kindness and support, for reading, sharing, listening, inspiring… I am just so happy right now! Thank you!!!

Giveaways!

June 26, 2014June 26, 2014 / Gin Getz / 6 Comments

Hi friends. Here are a couple of neat opportunities for getting a free copy of my next book, the soon to be released The Last of the Living Blue!

First, my publisher, Sammie of NorLights Press, is offering a release day promotion. For the first ten people who contact her directly, she will send a hard copy of the paperback book in exchange for posting a review.

Please write Sammie at sammie@norlightspress.com.

Second, GoodReads is running a Giveaway from now through the first of July. You can sign up by following this link, but remember, you have to be a member of GoodReads to enter.

Reviews are so essential for spreading the word, and we’re pretty certain this book is going to be a great one. So the more copies of the book we can get out there, and reviews coming in, the better for us all.

Less than a week away!

Have you read the first book yet?

(You can order it here on Amazon, or better yet, please support your local bookstores!)

Good luck, and happy reading!

PS. A quick note and afterthought on Reviews.

Reviews matter. They are important numbers our industry (books/publishing) base our success upon. They help other readers find books, choose books. But 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!

After words.

May 28, 2014 / Gin Getz / 23 Comments

Yes, lots happening. It’s Spring. You know. Same for so many of you.

Among a lot of other good things, the final editing of The Last of the Living Blue is underway, and we’re now completing the Afterwards. This may be part of it. And even if we cut it, I would like to share this with you now.

I’m down at the building site where the snow from the latest storm just melted and the clay of the cut open earth sticks to my boots like concrete. The foundation is poured. When the ground dries and cement cures, we’ll be back at it. Next with the logs which have sat dormant for the remainder of winter awaiting their fate. Becoming home.

At my feet is a gosling. A fluffy yellow and grey critter that at only a few days old swims across the creeks I jump. He showed up in the middle of the work site when we were setting forms. With a steep cliff down to the river on three sides, and the gravel road and torn up ground on the forth, how did he end up here, on this high harsh bluff above the Rio with no sign of other geese close by? Forrest heads off to explore the ravines and finds no potential parents, siblings or nest.

You don’t want to interfere. You want to let the wilds be wild. But you can’t just turn your back, walk away, knowing what its fate would be. I think that’s why they make babies so cute. You’re going to do all you can to care for them. Against all logic and principles and belief in non-interference. How do you draw the line at compassion? You don’t. So you have a baby goose in your house and find yourself cutting dandelion greens and walking to feed the horses very, very slowly so the little guy can keep up.

A friend tells me it must be a sign. Neither of us know what he might symbolize but you get the feeling it must be something, for some reason, for you can’t help but wonder why here? Why now? After having him in our lives for several days and becoming rather attached to the little stinker, I’d say the message he brings us probably has something to do with patience, love, slowing down and nurturing. He sleeps between Forrest’s feet at meal time and when I don’t feel like walking so slowly, Bob’s got him on his lap when I head out to take care of chores. I swear your blood pressure drops when he chirps sleepily on your lap.

I don’t have time for this, I want to say. Grinding chicken food, picking greens, carrying him about and cleaning up after him. Make time, my friend says. I know. She’s right. So there he is now, tucked into my vest, cheeping softly while I write.

Another May comes, is almost gone. The foundation for our home is laid. Concrete in the earth. A sense of permanence, wanting, needing to belong. These are my roots. Solid, grey, thick footers. Something to hold me down, connect me further with the land. Something to remain long after I am gone, my son and his family, generations thereafter. Long after the scattered seeds of the blue spruce turn into a forest of new growth, and the new some day turns old.

This season has been one of strewn spring snows. The river roars rich and brown and the reservoir is higher than I have ever seen it. It feels healthy. The grass on pasture is already lush enough that the horses hesitate when I call them in for hay. We no longer talk in terms of drought and fire bans and fear of lightning. We think we’re off the hook. It’s over. Long gone. The treed hillsides even look green. Am I seeing things? Sometimes we see what we want to see.

The season begins. Traffic on the road (well, at least a few motors a day), summer homes dusted out, smoke from other chimneys, voices at the trailhead. Even the UPS trucks drives in (and once again, a welcome sight).

I feel lost and need to find myself again. It is hard after a winter of silence and solitude. I try. I want to try harder but then find myself worn thin because I’m so tired of trying and I am left wishing it would all come naturally and it never does.

There is an emptiness and detachment that comes over me as I lose the voice of the trees around this time every year when the air is filled with people things.

I think of the conversation I had with a colleague last week who tells me he finds equal beauty in man and nature, and is fascinated by the precarious balance and blending between the two. A relationship, a dance of life.

Why can’t I see the beauty in this interconnection? Why do I too often see the fault?

Finding balance in this land of extremes.

stellers jay

A walk through the trees to Sweetgrass Meadow and I’m looking for the truth. I’m looking for answers. Is it over?

I stop to rest, sitting on a fallen tree alongside the edge of a small clearing. If you look up to the top of the north facing slope, it’s a hillside of grey and brown blue spruce. Down at the edge of the clearing, many trees are still green.

Here, I am close. In them. With them. Among my beloved blue spruce. I sit silently, look closely.

Behind green needles, I see clear fresh sap dripping from slipping bark like so many tears.

Has it ended? This wrath of beetles that devastated our forest. Has it finished its destruction?

Is the drought over? Is the aquifer refilled? Fire danger a thing of the past? I know the million acres of dead trees won’t return to life, but what about the ones left living? And what about the beetles? After such a mild winter, I wonder.

I want to believe it’s over. The spruce trees around the ranch and at the edge of the opens meadows across river are still green. I have not yet seen a bark beetle. With all this moisture, this beautiful spring, surely everything will be okay, I tell myself.

If I am to have blind faith, I shall find it in the wind and wilds.

sunday morn 2

sunday morn 3

Paring of the soul.

May 5, 2014 / Gin Getz / 7 Comments

paring of the soul

in simple season

of waxing moon and warming flesh

mornings hardly frozen

and air loud with crow and Steller’s Jay

and the shrill whistle of Redwing blackbird

and down by the river

standing on the bluff

where our home one day will be

dreaming

of foundation and roots and solid walls

containing confining comforting

and so many years of stories to patina the blued wood

a solitary goose flies low

below us

above the river

he follows the course to who knows

where or why

or what he seeks only to move to

someplace else as the sun takes its turn

lower in the sky

and I wonder what impels him on

when all I do is look for a place to remain

Spring air crossing snow covered Divide whips cold across our pasture freshly open promising moist and green at least for a little while. Out there, bitten by the wind I swear I smell the sweetness of flowers. I am certain. From where does this fragrance come? I picture lands lush and rose bushes and lilacs and hollyhocks and marigold flourishing. Here I find pleasure in dandelions and wild iris and the delicate petals and defiant stalks of the wild rose, each short lived as every season but winter is. Little more can grow though who would I be if I didn’t try so every year I do. Last year the tomato plants I bought with fruit already set produced two fruit and the zucchini plants gifted us with eight tiny fingerlings of the most precious bounty I sliced and sautéed in butter and served alongside fresh bread and was wanting for nothing more that night. Such a treat we had not tasted in so long because they birthed before the frost that turned the big broad leaves to mush.

We prepare the Little Cabin for another season there beside the river. The one-room cabin dragged away from the guest cabins to a part of the mountain without history, herstories, tales or roots, ready for us to grow our own. Our lives pending another move. And from the humble front door of the little log cabin we’ll call home once again, we shall watch mud transform and sprout new life.

Our new home.

News for now…

Just out this weekend, A unique take on an interview and article I had the pleasure to write on the wonderful, charming, handsome, and very talented Texas bit & spur maker Daylan Nixon featured in the newest issue (4.1) of Ranch & Reata magazine.

The interview with Indie House Books posted this weekend was fun. You can still read that here.

A bunch of visitors this weekend, so nice to see those who took the time to visit – but no one willing to pose for a portrait. Thus, these. (I will learn not to give up on the people so easily next time…)

From a conversation on Womanhood…

Deep felt thanks to a friend who opened up with me a conversation on womanhood. No, I should write that with a capital: Womanhood. That’s better.

Who was born intimately understanding their feminine side and comfortable with what they found? The few I thought who did, what did they do with what they had and what more did they find? Those that took time to deny or be denied, dive into the depths and ask questions… they found very interesting answers…

Years ago in art school, I did a piece I called “Breakfast at Tiffany’s.” A large flowery clay most feminine of female body parts decorated in gaudy rhinestones and set into a deep box like a casket with a glass lid. It won first place so at the award ceremony a picture went up in the auditorium on the big projector screen and I swear the whole room started to blush. Few are comfortable with the feminine side.

There are few leaders, women to follow, women willing and able to show us how. If there are many, I’m missing something, for I have found their presence and reaching out/responding rare. I’m obsessed with the concept of mentoring – I don’t feel qualified yet – I’m too young (funny thing to say at 47, some of you will may say), not experienced enough and just don’t feel ripe – I’m still looking for mentors for me. Stop looking. Start being. Most of us don’t have the role models we need. So we must become them. We need to re-group and find our paths, and hold each other’s hands in the process. Encourage, urge, push, and protect when need be. More than just listen. We need someone to talk to us and tell us WE CAN. We can dream, we can write, we can fall in love, we can live through a broken heart and rejection letter and all the crud life brings because in the wave of mud is just one place of crystal clear, and that’s all we need.

There are no right answers, only a wonderful adventure. Womanhood is not a destination, but a process. Enjoy the journey. Dive in, swim, splash, splutter from time to time, and let go and float on top staring up at the billowy clouds. It is exhilarating.

Let it happen, as we become the women we want to be. Emerging… Ever changing…. And so, so beautiful, as the heart of every women can be.

playing with a love poem

because I have spent so many years

in praise of the broken heart

and why would I not when that’s what I had

now that I can have

or cannot separate

a life that more than parallels my own

rather wraps around and breaks borders

in waves of twisting over lapping lines

like arms and legs entwined in bed

until one day we become no more

than rotting bodies in straight lines

side by side in the ground

This is not what I was looking for

I said sort of but no one listened only laughed

as I fell not head over heals

but solidly planted

and now some days it seems so simple

too simple, him, our conversations, being loved

the assumption that he’ll be there

that I can wake early in the morning before light

and ask him and know he would never say no

some things maybe I miss

pain and insecurities and blinding desires

and wondering if he’s The One

there are days I want to be without him

as if I’d be better on my own

think of the things I could do if I didn’t have to

care worry encourage push and pick up the pieces

love?

instead could take care of only me

if only I remember how

and maybe I don’t want to anymore

then I think how lost I would be

how incomplete I would find myself

if you take away half my air

and just as much of my foundation

would I still remember how to breathe?

On love and healing.

May 2, 2014 / Gin Getz / 31 Comments

On love and healing and crazy connections from opposite hemispheres with similar souls.

Written by the Two Virginias

Healing is different things to different persons, as matters we seek healing from are different for us all.

Life’s lessons learned in healing from hard times. The power of reaching out. Helping others through care and compassion. Oddly enough, we find wonderful capacity of healing when we turn our attentions from own troubles, be they physical, mental or a combination thereof, towards someone else. In helping others, we do in turn help ourselves. But finding the authenticity in our motives is essential. When our caring becomes complete – fully for the pure good of the other person – magical things happen. Depression may be lifted. And we may walk again.

In the past, we both have found the power of healing from horses and creativity.

The healing power of horses is deeply powerful yet beautifully simple. Perhaps it is our compassion for these mighty and gentle creatures, the nurturing we give to them, the essence they impart with us when we do no more than stand beside them and burrow our noses into their warm musky sides, or sit proudly upon their backs and move in wondrous ways. We are stronger, more complete, more humble, more full.

As for creativity, Ginny is a painter, Gin a writer. The expression of any art is an inner release. Paint and the written word can be forms of bleeding forth, purging ourselves, enriching others. From Ginny’s passionate gesture drawings of horses before her to her painting of a radiant spine after hers was broken, to Gin’s writing of the drama and trauma of family feuds and the loss of foals on the family ranch in her recent memoir, The Color of the Wild, an intimate look at life in an untamed land. (2014 NorLights Press). In our art, we both have learned too that healing it is not just in the creation, but in the sharing. Art is meant to be seen, books made to be read.

A combination of the two stories and two women is passionately shared in the upcoming memoir/biography, Dancing in the Wind, a Tale of Two Virginias. “Two wild women, one debilitating disease, and the adventure of writing in the Patagonia winds. This book is based upon the life of a remarkable woman, Virginia Tice Neary Carrithers, and our time together in the wilds of Patagonia. A tangled web of a tale as seductive as the Argentine mountains in which the story takes place. Intended to be biography of a wonderful, wacky woman who has lived with Multiple Sclerosis for nearly forty years, this tale turns into unique take on telling a story, told by a writer who becomes a part of the world in which she set out to write.”

It is this process of healing and sharing that brought us together and now is bringing the book to fruition.

A third essential element of healing is found in the pure giving of oneself for the benefit of another. This is probably the most powerful of all. And probably the most difficult to learn and practice.

Ginny (Virginia Neary Tice Carrithers)

Currently, I am working on healing myself from the effects of Multiple Sclerosis which I have been living with for nearly forty years. At times, like now, I am wheel chair bound but don’t give up on being up and dancing again. Soon!

In the process of working on the healing of my body, I continue to try to heal others through reaching out, listening, offering inspiration. For many years, I worked to organize and inspire fundraisers and awareness events for the National MS Society, then focusing on my family and my art. Now I continue to do what I can to reach others and help them through the healing process in part through my website CreativityHeals.org. The greatest gift I can give now is my story. Hopefully you will find inspiration in that (as well as some entertainment!).

Gin (Virginia Tone Getz)

My troubles have seemed slight in comparison. For years we struggled with dividing lands and trying to find a place to call home. Now I have claimed a mountain in Colorado as home (though have a part of me waiting in Patagonia) and my struggles go far beyond the personal as I watch the wilds outside my window first turn from green to brown with the mass infestation of the Spruce Beetle, and now suffer the devastation of tremendous fires and floods.

Distracted by the destruction of the natural world around, I found myself in a great depression. It’s pretty amazing how debilitating our own minds can be. And then how brilliant. As the illness was created in my own mind, so there would I find the path for healing. At some point, I realized it was time to “get over it.” I returned to working on the manuscript of The Tale of Two Virginias. Part way through, I came to this section of being on the rocks above the wild river with the blinding sun and twisting winds and after months of searching, finding myself finally on the rock that was Ginny’s intimate place of prayer. I felt her presence there at the time and the resulting feeling was… well, I describe it in great detail in the book. Powerful. That’s it in a nutshell. So here I was back in Colorado and just reading that brought me back there, along that river, and in the presence of Ginny. And suddenly, I felt the warmth of the sun and the passion of the wind and the exhilaration of Ginny’s beautiful energy. And I began to heal. Starting with returning to the power of giving what I can of myself, my writing, to help others.

The fourth essential element for healing, and the greatest of all, we must remember, is love. Love for each other, the land, animals, and our personal spiritual beliefs.

I think Ginny had been trying to tell me this all along.

On a personal note.

April 28, 2014 / Gin Getz / 11 Comments

Yes, it’s spring. Exposed dirt. Not to say it’s thawed out. Broken pipes aren’t easy to get to and digging a fresh outhouse pit through a frost line that goes down five feet…

Anyway, that’s what kept me busy and out of trouble when the sun was shining. And now it’s not, and snow falls again.

And today, that which was exposed is covered again in white.

Right. Spring. What should you expect here in the high wild mountains of Colorado?

Enjoy it while you can. Before you know it, they’ll be a little less wild as the summer season unfolds and all the folks that come here to get away start to accumulate along with the miller moths, horse flies and hummingbirds pumped with sugarwater, and I am reminded that maybe the elements will always be easier for me to live with than people.

Arbor day. You plan on planting a few dozen trees because that is what you do. Plant trees.

Going against nature, I am reminded, in this time of dead and dying, and we pick up a shovel anyway and dig a hole and carefully place in a new sapling. You have to try. How could you not if you love the land? Look around and you’ll see the rein of the spruce tree has passed and the aspen have seen better days. Let’s try Cottonwood, I say. They say it’s too high and harsh up here, but it doesn’t take rocket science only a quick look around to get it. Things have already changed. And I’ll bet you it aint over.

So go ahead. Give life. Give it a try. Better than sitting around crying, complaining or pointing fingers. There’s already enough of that.

So plant a tree. Plant a dozen. A few dozen while you’re out there. Maybe they won’t make it. Maybe a few will. But at least you’re out there trying. I was thinking of this as I’m looking across river at a hillside of dead and dying. Sure it will always be beautiful. But there’s more to it than beauty. I’m forever reminded of the shallowness of a pretty face when what I want is a deep connection. With my trees, there is a problem. Do I want to be so superficial and sit there with a stupid smile and say, “Well, gee… at least it’s still pretty.” Turn my back and leave it at that. Or do I want to address the problem, look it in the eye and still love it? Face the facts? Of course, that means finding out what the facts are first. Not always easy, but easier if we try.

A tease of open ground. Slow to come, but spring of the land and soul inevitably arrive.

Now with the world white again, outside work is put on hold. Inside I catch up on correspondence.

The lost art of letter writing. If you write letters are you a writer? In this day and age when even talking on the telephone takes too much time and people just drop a text or twitter a line, I would say yes, indeed. Some of those with whom I correspond clearly are writers (though perhaps unknown and unpublished), thus their correspondence is beautiful to read. Those who shared and with whom I shared – you’ll know who you are, and I hope you know how you’ve inspired me. From the balance of my daily early morning ramblings with a friend a generation and a thousand miles but in both respects feel closer, as in right there, with me, sharing another cup of coffee… to people who I’ve never met and who have come to feel they know me through my writing and I have learned to know them through our letters … to my “extended” family in Argentina… sisters of sorts for me – older and younger – one so grounded in her solid stance of silence and hard work and familiar dirt beneath her nails, to the other with a spirit in the air, a bit ethereal and ever stirring like the wind and just as suddenly she’ll breeze into your life and pick you up and take you on a magic carpet ride. So you hold onto your hat though really, you never even leave the sofa where you’re sitting to write.

And it is in this back and forth of revealing bits and pieces of our lives through words, giving, taking, sharing what we can and maybe a little more than we think we have but then we realize we have so much more – in this we find an unlimited pool of grace and gratitude and compassion within ourselves often left untapped. And through such correspondence do we learn to at the very least brush our hand to the surface and see the reflection is not just me but we. And if we are brave enough, we dive in. (Or even slip in by mistake, but there we are, swimming in the silver pool and realizing the waters hold us up.)

Much of what I share with you is inspired by my conversations with them. I share in turn here at best in hopes of inspiring you, and at the least, as reminders for myself… For that’s what this blog means to me. Two things, really. A way to reach out, share, open my world inside and outside and give of myself what I can – and a piece in progress, an inspiration for myself of work, word and image. I hope this is okay.

On writing and the blues…

Once your first book is out, suddenly you’re an expert. Of course this is not true. I’m just as confused and curious as I always was, and probably always will be. I’ll never be that know-it-all and let-me-tell-you-how-it’s-done type of person. Though there are times I wish I had a little of that in me and believed in myself a little more.

Some things never change?

Anyway, what I read out there from authors who have “succeeded” (this too, of course being a relative term as we all define success differently) is expert advice and opinions. I won’t go there. But I will share a little personal insight, because that’s my way, what I write about any way. Only now too I can share with you a glimpse into the insight of one insecure author whose first book is doing pretty well and is still having a helluva time getting the next ones out. (When does it get easier? DOES it get easier?)

They told me this might happen. Like post partum depression, they said, but without the hormones as an excuse (though we women, you know, can always blame it on the hormones…).

They warned me I might feel deflated, vulnerable and over exposed.

They warned me that when the first book comes out, you start to see who really cares. Readers can be more supportive than family and friends who often are too terribly busy, and busier when you ask. And how beautiful when those dearest to you can prove to be so caring, like my husband who never was a reader before but manages to read most every word I put out there now. Then there are those that suddenly don’t know you anymore, and certainly don’t have time any more. Funny how many just don’t have time. Just the reminder I need when I’m tired and think taking a day off would be the thing, then remember those who are waiting on my response and that matters more to me. And somehow giving more, being the person I want to be, treating others how I wish to be treated, ends up being the best treatment I’ve found for the blues.

They warned me that all those folks that only call you when they need something, and if they don’t need something, well, you’ll hear nothing at all – you won’t hear from them for a while. It might be a little lonely, but as a writer, you need the alone time.

They warned me that things do change. Oh I know, I said, things always change. I just didn’t realize it would be this much.

The good news is that most people are primarily supportive of each others’ strengths (and weaknesses when need be), celebrate one anothers victories and pick each other up when we’ve failed.

We will all do both, won’t we?

In the works… about books.

The summer book tour for The Color of the Wild will begin with a special event at Denver’s Tattered Cover historic LoDo location on June 12, 2014 at 7 pm as part of the Rocky Mountain Land Series.

Hoping to have book two close to ready for you to read by then, book three in the grind of editing, and that novel roaring to life.

In the meanwhile, I need to continue my marking efforts and asking you for help. Okay, here it goes. Please read it, buy it, share it, spread the word and talk about it: The Color of the Wild.

For those who received review copies, another friendly reminder that review copies are shared for reviews. If you haven’t shared a review yet, it’s never too late. GoodReads is good, social media is great, Amazon is super helpful. Write me and ask if you have questions on how. I’m happy to help.

Oh, and on the 2^nd and 3^rd of May, there will be an author interview of yours truly posted on Indie House Books.

Now, time to get back to what I do best. Better than marketing. Writing. Have a good week, all.

Suddenly Spring.

April 24, 2014April 24, 2014 / Gin Getz / 8 Comments

~
Suddenly it’s spring and you’re busy and no matter that the days are longer, there still aren’t enough hours in every day, or energy in the body to do all you want to, need to, should do…

Tired, a little sore, and somewhat sunburned, and yet it feels good. Just a little longer out there, one more thing, and do you really have to go in just yet? Paper work begins to pile.. Bare hands, wool cap stuffed in the pocket of your unzipped jacket. Only to pull that cap out five minutes later as the next snowstorm blows on through. Yeah, welcome to Colorado. Chapped lips, eyes parched from the wind, mud and snow banks, and geese in potholes on pasture. It’s Spring

Outdoors work is great, but sometimes I need to go beyond, to see and feel her in silence. Out there, alone together. Be a part of this progression of the season.

Walking with the dog for the first time on semi-solid ground out there in a passing storm miles from my house which is miles and miles from any other around here now. And suddenly the roar of what sounds like a jet engine across river. Rotten snow descends the mountain in a violent rush.
I’m glad I’m here, not there.
~

~
A raw wound
You’re left bleeding
by the side of
the road that leads out of town

To a place you’ve never been
and you remember
Anything’s better
than here

an open mouth of
Fish underwater Breathing
through muddy waters Gushing
down brown slopes

Did you think
it would be harder?
Did you know maybe you are

right where you belong

Moon rises later now. I walk the dog with flashlight in blackness as clouds cover even the tiny sparkles up above that usually light our way. With melted snow, even the ground is dark. Finding significance in the insignificance when I look up at the stars. Or is it the release of significance that brings us peace?

A pair of miller moths gently bang against my window as I sit at the table back in by the light. It’s mid April. Funny the things we are seeing.

In the early morning hours, moonlight floods the cabin. In the quiet and still, here on the sofa with the wood stove hissing and crackling behind me and the sky turning a dusty blue, I could sleep. I could close my eyes and let go and listen to the familiar sounds and be comfortable and warm and drift off. I know I should be writing…

Wake up! It’s spring. Plenty to do. Get up, get out, get to work…

The guys are still asleep. Life with family. My life is not just about me. It’s We. My decisions affect us all. And although I may not have the freedoms I once had, I have so much more. I’ll pass on what I had and am grateful for what I have. Yes, and still want so much more. Thank god it’s only “mid life” I’m in.
~

~
Continuing work on The Art of the Portrait. Because there is beauty within every one. Looking through a focused lens helps us filter what may be otherwise blurred by our own tangled minds.

These things are not found in the fast and easy nor with instant gratification. A metaphor for society.
~

~
I leave you with this. The Art of the Selfie?
Go ahead. Laugh. No one should take themselves too seriously. When really, what I’m working on is the Art of the Portrait. Since I don’t have a lot of willing victims around here, I have to run in front of my own camera from time to time. Okay, keep in mind a few things here. First, I’m almost fifty. Second, I don’t wear a stitch of make up or dye my hair. Third, I spend a lot of time outdoors… Yes, yes, I know. Excuses, excuses. But what we’re looking for the light, the composition, the essence if you will. Capturing a mood. Not a pretty face.
Is it self gratification or seeking understanding? A reflection within. A sense of who and where we are in the bigger picture. Only more often than not, we rush it and compromise results and are too quick to move on to what’s next. What is your place? What is mine? Ever changing. How do we define our place of in between? It is our nature to need to know.
At “almost fifty” I am not the wild young woman I once was. I don’t care to go back there. It was fun, I survived, now I’m done. Yet still so far the wise old crone so quick to offer advice or silent in her seemingly eternal wisdom.

Who’s next?
~

Share this post

Share this post

Share this post

Share this post

Share this post

Share this post

Share this post

Share this post

Share this post

Share this post