In darkness.

March 11, 2014 / Gin Getz / 6 Comments

Rotten snow and dirt on the road below the ranch. The forecast says it’s far from over. The white expanse of pasture before me confirms. Looks like winter, feels like spring. Chicks in a box by the wood stove in our cabin making spring sounds, and the first robin on the open hill above the Rio.

Single digits when I wake and watch the passing of a magenta sky. A pink face on an otherwise white mountain peak outside my cabin window. Chances are it will be fifty degrees warmer by mid afternoon.

The boys are still sleeping – so much for new time. Give them another day or two to adjust. Can’t get much done in the dark anyway. Time carries little meaning here.

With fat parka and heavy boots I head out to feed the horses. They count on my coming to feed by light in the sky. I see them lined up along the fence, ready. Calmer now in the end of winter warming air. They lie in the deep wet snow mid day and sleep with the soothing of the sun. They are ready for solid ground and shedding. They’re ready for attention and a good trim. They’re ready to work, as I am ready to ride, and still we both must wait.

I remember the frogs in March under the willow tree on Barn Hill where it only barely froze and very rarely could Forrest sled down fresh snow in the early mornings before the NorCal mildness would melt it off by noon. I could hear them at night when I stepped out to smoke. Living now at ten thousand feet (and I’d like to say wisdom comes with age, but there are enough young readers out there who will be quick to tell me otherwise) I haven’t smoked in years. (Yes, that’s a good sign when you no longer know how many years without thinking long and hard.) Now I make an effort to go out with the dog every night, crunch over the snow up the little hill behind the cabin and stand at the edge of the trees while the dog waits for me, watches over while I do what appears to be nothing at all. I look up at the stars and listen. So deep, still and silent here.

A land as infinite as the stars, it seems at night.

In darkness.

And as quickly as

it came

it left

and I am left

to wonder, why.

In my dreams I am

underwater trying

to breathe

waking wide eyed

short of breath

and gasping and

then just like that

it is gone.

And I dance under the starry night skies once again.

The thing about marketing.

March 4, 2014 / Gin Getz / 14 Comments

This picture has nothing to do with marketing, but it’s adorable, so I’m sharing. Twenty seven chicks arrive by snowmobile to our ranch yesterday afternoon. All night long, the house sounds like an early summer morning outside, inside. Now, they are somewhat settled and silent and I’m smiling… And all because of him…

About that marketing thing.

OK, so, you got a beautiful book in your hands, and you spent years getting it to this point (at least it took me years)… now what do you do about it? Because remember this: writers do not do all this work just to hold the pretty thing in our hands. We do it to share it. Yes, we must write for ourselves, to please ourselves, because we have something to say. But secretly (or otherwise) we hope someone is going to like what we write and how we write it.

So, that sharing… I think they call this part, technically: Marketing.

When I started not just writing since I’ve been doing that a long while, but getting close to actually publishing which is still brand new for me, I didn’t think this was part of it. The marketing part. Maybe most writers do not. I don’t think selling oneself is something that comes naturally to a writer. We can be a quiet sort. At least, I am. Though I’m surprised how much I can reach out. Maybe not enough. I know there are still some e-mails and hand written letters left without a response. I’m sorry. I hate doing that. Everyone matters. Everyone. If I don’t write back right away, chances are I may forget. Not that the person is not important, only that other things get piled on top and a few get buried below.

For some reason, getting the book out there matters to me. I’m going to guess this is not uncommon for authors. Not for the money, but for the acceptance. I want people to like my writing. That may be stupid, I know… but…

Do I write for me? Yes. Primarily. For I’ve found I won’t compromise. But I also write for others, or rather, hope they will like what I write. Does that make sense? If I had more confidence, and I am not so certain I ever will because I used to say, “Once I’m published, I’ll be more confident…” and I am not.

Right, so I know I need to learn not to let these things matter. But how do you feel so much and not let yourself get down? Feel less? How? And is that really what I want? When that is what my writing is so often about…

So, we market. Try to sell our book. Not for the money, but for the love. We want to be read like we want to be accepted. I can accept that.

The how-to’s of marketing include such obvious aspects as using social media, networking, asking friends for help, cold calling and following up warmly. I’m not going into that here and now for risk of trying to sound like a pro at something I am not. If we ever get a best seller and top the charts and I have something solid on the subject you want to hear, like, “Look what I can do,” great, I’ll give you that lecture then.

I have a very intimate, personal book and style of writing that’s not meant to appease the masses, and as my friend reminds me, I’m not looking to be Danielle Steel. My work is harder to sell on many levels. Not the least of which is this. It is a part of me. Onto the pages, I have bled. How do you sell a part of yourself?

Step back, and treat it like a business. Grow up and get over it. Stop taking it so darned personally.

As my publisher, Sammie, and I were discussing, this grassroots approach to marketing we are taking is based on (1) sincerity, (2) the expectation that one must give more than one will receive in social medias and networks, and (3) keeping it personal. That said, one must learn to draw the line and not give too much of oneself. That is a tricky matter. Balancing our sense of giving, sharing and self preservation. Our tendency can be to give too much, try too hard. And the end of day, you’ll know if you’ve gone too far. Look in the mirror and see if you’re still smiling. (For the record, I was not last night.)

Finding the right outlets in which to share is essential. There are so many out there, so many options, suggestions, ideas, directions… and if you tried them all, you’d spread yourself thin and more often than not, fall through the ice. Or maybe be barking up the wrong tree.

I think it always comes down to this: sincerity. And ultimately it is our words that will share themselves.

All in due time.

This marketing thing has brought me tremendous ups and downs this week. Insecurities and celebrations sharing the same days. A sense of feeling very lost.

This is ridiculous. My poor boys. Heck, poor me!

So the rest of plan is this. I’m calling it quits. I am done with this part for now. I have another few days of contacts I promised myself (and Sammie) I’d reach out to and give it a shot and then I’m going back to what I do best. Writing.

Until I get a second wind. Or new ideas. And try my hand at marketing again.

Oh, and yes. Rough draft of book three? Check. Done!

Writer’s lament.

March 3, 2014 / Gin Getz / 13 Comments

I once read that writing is the loneliest profession. One must love to be alone to choose to write. Or at least learn to tolerate it, or you won’t get much written. I write best in total silence and solitude. Days like to today, when the boys are off on another adventure, snowmobiling together in their Very Big Back Yard this side of the Divide, now is the time to write.

Completing the first draft of my third book.

And tonight I will celebrate!

Tomorrow I will put that manuscript aside to brew and ferment, bubbling and gurgling in the dark corners of my mind while again my focus returns to finish the story I was working on this time last year. A Story of Two Virginias. It has had its time to percolate. Now it is time to pop open the lid, stir it up, and see what we’ve got.

Don’t plan on kicking back, sipping and savoring the aroma.

More like: Right. Time to re-write.

Back to the beginning. The first book. The Color of the Wild…

I finally got it!

Before the storm, or maybe in the middle of it, by snowmobile Bob brings home a box from town, and there inside are a dozen hard copies of my book. My first book. It is beautiful. Wow. Sammie, Dee, Nadene… my friends at Norlights Press… it really is beautiful. Thank you. My first signed copy goes to Forrest. Maybe now he’ll read it.

So, here it is, finally. On my coffee table, a book with my name on it. Forget how many years it took to get here. It’s here. There, alongside a book of poetry from Wendell Berry, and a new copy of Leopold’s A Sand County Almanac, and a well worn copy of John Palmer’s How to Brew. I like it. I could get used to this. I hope I do. Hopefully this is the first of many.

By this morning, I already see dog hair, dried crumbs and spots of red wine on the cover. It’s a part of the house. Old news. Time to move to the next…

But not so fast… I used to think it worked like that. (And believe me, I wish it did!) All I had to do was write. But now I’m learning about this marketing thing.

Wait. Before we go there. First, a few cold hard facts.

My awesome publisher and growing friend, Sammie, has started a blog. You can see it here: http://norlightspressblog.wordpress.com/. Writers – it’s worth watching. The thing I really like about it is this. She is putting a face, a real living, breathing person behind the otherwise overwhelming and austere profession of Publishing. She comes at it from an interesting angle. She’s also a reader AND a writer. Many of us writers look at publishers as a separate species. Sammie shows you otherwise. How the good ones at least (and I consider her now among the best!) think. To think they are no different than you and me!
The Color of the Wild is now available at Barnes & Nobles on-line, and this week, starting at midnight tonight, there will be an autographed copy of The Color of the Wild on the GoodReads Giveaway. We’re working on some wonderful bookstores, too. I’ll keep you posted, and please, keep me posted if you have any ideas and suggestions and I’ll be happy to contact them myself. I like to keep it personal, and I think bookstores do matter.
Which brings me to this. One more thing I’ve learned from Sammie and this marketing adventure. She calls it the “Grass Roots” approach to what had for a lot of years turned into Big Business. Now we’re turning the tables and bringing it back home again. It’s not just Sammie and me. It’s a big part of this whole industry. We’re being human beings. Real people. Writers, readers, publishers, printers, even cover designers and all the rest that go into this exciting process of making books. And when we do that, you know what? It’s nice. It’s easier for me. I can be myself. I can’t pretend to be something else. And I think I’m not alone in this thinking.
And the Grassroots approach does mean this. I need you. For spreading the word. And, yes: Reviews. If I were closer to some of you, I’d be prodding a few of those who agreed to read and review, and might not quite have had time to do either one just yet. I need your help! Reviews matter! And in this grassroots world of marketing that we are entering into, it’s all about people like me and YOU.

Goodreads Book Giveaway

The Color of the Wild

by Gin Getz

Giveaway ends March 07, 2014.

See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.

Enter to win

Phew. Enough for today. I need to get back to work. Writing. You probably need to get back to work too (don’t tell your boss you’ve been here reading…).

In search of a living blue.

February 20, 2014February 20, 2014 / Gin Getz / 2 Comments

Allow me share this with you first, a minute of Book Business since that’s what seems to be consuming the majority of my time right now. And then come with me, back to the mountain…

The Color of the Wild is almost a week old. I still haven’t seen a hard copy. I understand it’s beautiful, and have the publisher, Sammie and her team at Norlights Press, to thank for that.

Again, sincere thanks for all the reviewers. Please keep them coming. They also mean so much to me.

Starting today, GoodReads is having a Giveaway for The Color of the Wild. For those active on GoodReads, you know it’s a great chance to get a free copy. The promotion lasts today through the 23^rd. If you’re a member of GoodReads, give it a try, even if you already have a copy. You could always share one copy if you win another. If you’re not a member, and you love books, it’s a pretty neat sight – I’m new to it, just learning, and definitely enjoying.

A special note to Bookstores, Book Clubs and Libraries. Thanks to those who have expressed interest and inquired. For all of you, and any others interested in carrying The Color of the Wild, please contact Sammie, the publisher, directly at publisher@norlightspress.com ; or give her a call at 1-812-675-8054 .

Everything you read tells you the Amazon numbers are the Big Ones. But the numbers only matter so much to me. What I’d like to see is people reading what I wrote to share, and old fashioned as I may be, I still think a lot of those readers are finding their books at the local library and corner bookstore. As it’s been three months since I left the mountain, I confess, I’m grateful for Amazon.

So, please keep the book in mind when browsing your local shelves, and ask for it if you don’t see it. If y’all hadn’t noticed, I’m not a big name yet. (Gin Who?) So they might not know about it otherwise.

Now, let’s put the Book Business aside and get back to the mountain…

Muddy horses for the first time in months. It’s early for mud season.

Big brown circles of fresh, wet dirt beneath the trees. Odors I have not savored in months. Earth. Rich and raw.

The air is alive with song stronger than the coming of the spring winds. Redwing blackbirds, chickadees, juncos, grosbeaks. The Woodpeckers this winter here have been as plentiful as flies on a bloated carcass Yeah, yeah, I know, that’s an exaggeration .

Lovely birds, but I know what their presence means.

Where there are woodpeckers there are bugs. The more woodpeckers, the more bugs. This winter has been good for both. Not so good for the trees. You can see it coming. Or rather, now you know it’s here. Hidden beneath the bark.

The thermometer reads 47 F (over 8 C) and I don’t know what to wear. It’s warm. It’s snowing.

I strap on snowshoes and hope the snow is too warm to stick.

A walk in the woods. Or rather, a snowshoe. The temperatures are unprecedentedly high and have been all winter up here but for the most part, our world remains white. The blanket it getting thin. The only patches of dirt are on the south side of the cabin and exposed steep slopes. The only dirt I step on still is three, maybe four steps with my snowshoes grating on rock and mud.

Thunder. I’m sure I heard it. A quarter mile later, I hear it again. Ten thousand feet elevation, mid February, it’s almost fifty and still it snows.

In search of a living blue.

I’m on this photo safari looking for a live Blue Spruce for the cover of the next book. I’m inspired. A wild woman on a crazy mission.

At first glance, you’d think there they’re all over the place. A whole bunch of trees with blue green needles. Right. Now take a closer look. You don’t see these things from the airplanes flying over assessing damage nor from your truck window rolled up to the cold.

Yellowing of the needles on the lower branches.

Slipping bark.

New growth of mistletoe.

Pin holes and dripping sap.

Needles on the snow.

And a pile of chipped bark around the base of the big ones.

You get good at it. Seeing through the last of the green to the tell-tale signs behind. You get used to the yellowing color, like a child sick with fever. And the slipping bark. As if the very core of the tree has given all it could to rid itself of the beetle and pushed its own life out in the process. The bark looks loose. I don’t know how to describe it. Like a snake skin preparing to slough off.

You get used to seeing the signs and learn to find them fast.

I try to find a live spruce tree. I’m not so sure I see one.

I hope you’re still with me. I wanted to share this with you.

Calm now, in the soothing comfort of remaining snow and silence. The time of solitude remains with us, allowing us healing, the mountain and me. I rest, she recovers, my pain and fear are comforted. Life goes on. We adapt, adjust. Find the beauty in the beetle kill, in the burn.

I want to walk in the burn.

I have not left the mountain since sometime in the middle of November. I still do not care to leave her, but want to go down to her darker places, below the Dam, in the still long blue shadows and grainy snow that has not and will not set up, and post hole through and be out there, in there, with her.

I think I can handle it now.

The burned face of my beloved.

Yesterday.

February 17, 2014 / Gin Getz / 9 Comments

Yesterday.

The river begins to open.

The release of the season starts.

Our frozen white highway over which we dragged nearly ninety logs bares elusive glimpses into the dark face of the Rio.

She laughs loudly now beneath our feet.

Her waters rise, ice thins, snow loses its strength. And we stand upon her remaining hard surface and what else can we do but hope she’ll hold?

We light the last of the slash piles upon the ice and listen. Open water beneath the flame. Floating fire.

Our tools are gathered, brought back to this side of the river. If the warm weather continues with daytime temperatures climbing steady into the 40s and 50s every afternoon as they have been, the Rio will no longer be passable. At least, not on her surface and I’m not big on swimming up here.

The timing is just right. Our work across river is done.

We’ve harvested what we need to build our home and shop. Should we need more for the barn, well, it’s safe to say there will be a new round of dead trees to harvest next year.

So now, the work on this side begins.

This is progress. We are pleased. Still there is a little bit of sadness too, for we have loved our time together by the river, silent as she had been, knowing she is there with us in the long blue shadows and heavy hoar frost and steaming breath and laughter and bloody noses and fat lips which were our only injuries and many a hot dog roasted over our slash piles over what in summer would be the middle of the river and our intimate involvement with our dying trees.

An update on the birth of the book.

Thanks to so many for so much. For your support, encouragement and kindness.

For those who have been waiting, it is my understanding that the Kindle version will be available on Amazon later today.

For all those that did write and leave reviews, I can not thank you enough.

To so many, I send such sincere thanks, love and gratitude.

So, yeah… everything is going great… you’d think I’d be just floating on cloud nine with the wonderful reception and reviews that the launch of the book brought us.

But I’m not.

They warn you to expect bad review. It’s going to happen. Not everyone is going to like what you write. Some folks in particular will really not like it because they don’t like you, or they don’t like the fact that you did it and they did not or whatever goes through someone’s mind to justify saying mean things.

But what about no response at all? Brings back memories of all those years sending out my manuscript. I was lucky to get the rejection letter.

So yes, to hear from those who enjoy my writing… that means a lot.

You know what they say is true: If you dare to put yourself out there, you better be prepared to be burned. Even if what burns is hearing nothing at all.

That’s the downside. And it’s down. It’s the pits, and it hurts. Some folks manage to bounce it all off their hard shell. Not me. It gets me. I’m softer than I care to admit.

Don’t be so sensitive, some say. Be stronger. Care less.

If I followed that advice, my writing would not be what it is, would it?

And for better or worse, I would not be either.

Those who have been through this before, the big first book deal, compare the process to giving birth, with a longer gestation, (in my case, would you believe, five years in the making?) and a little less physical pain. That’s not too far off, having been through childbirth too. Hey, Mom and Dad, you were there when I did that. Remember all my screaming and cussing? Guess what – I did the same over these past five years and then some “birthing” my first book. My one hope is that each subsequent book will be a little easier. Dang, I hope so.

Some even say if you knew back then how hard it would be, I bet you wouldn’t have done it.

But for those of us who do write, I think we can’t not write. I am incomplete with out. Be it my gift or the part of my private self I can share.

It’s not just words. It’s a part of me.

And at these times of introspection, we’re forced to ask ourselves this questions:

Who do I write for?

Family?

No.

My brothers both forgot. The lack of support (even acknowledgement) from most of my husband’s family on this accomplishment should not have surprised me but still did.

Thank goodness for good friends and new readers. And a few wonderful surprises along the way, including some close family and distant friends.

Who do I write for?

Not for myself, for although that is the advice of some successful writers, it is not what I care to do.

I guess I write for you. For the few still here with me reading whilst the rest have run off to other things, pressing issues, important matters, and something shiny and new.

Today!

February 14, 2014 / Gin Getz / 21 Comments

Today is the big day.

The book, The Color of the Wild, is released and available.

It can be found on Amazon.com in paperback and through the Publisher. The e-book and Kindle version will be available shortly following. The book will also be available soon through Barnes & Nobles and Smashwords as well.

I would also like to ask for your help.

Please start by reading the book! I sincerely hope you will enjoy.

If you do, please share the news with your family and friends. Spread the word, through your e-mail lists, acquaintances, co-workers, social networks, book clubs, reading groups, the local paper or someone you know from a glossy magazine, old friends, friends of friends, the woman next door… You get the idea.

If you can, please leave reviews, especially with Amazon and Goodreads. This is how the word spreads beyond my little circle. And that’s what writing is for. To share. (So even if you don’t like it and leave a bad review, it still helps me, believe it or not. Though of course, I’m hoping you’ll like it!)

The success of this first book is up to people like you and efforts like this. I thank you all for your support.

Since starting High Mountain Muse at the end of 2008 and then moving onto this site a few years ago, I was surprised to learn one of the best parts of writing is sharing and reaching out. I have had the honor of getting to know some wonderful people. Some of you I know and have known for years though we have never met. You’ve become a part of our family, are on a first name basis around here. Like Amy in BC, Maggie in New Hampshire, Don in Vegas, Ann from Greenville. Some of you I have had the pleasure to meet because of writing, like Al from Garland, and Julian from across the ocean who we’ll have the pleasure of meeting here soon. And some of you I only got to know better, like Karen in Keller and Pia in Poland.

I don’t know why I’m sharing this now, except somehow I know it matters. Because at the end of the day, that’s what writing is all about. I read recently a renowned author state, “You must write for yourself and be-damned with the rest.” Well, maybe I’ll never be renowned, but I write for my readers. I write for you.

Maybe I’m caught up playing the heart strings today. Why not? It’s Valentine’s Day!

Thank you once again for your support and your help, your understanding and your encouragement.

An extra special thanks to the publishers of this book – Sammie & Dee and Nadene of Norlights Press. You guys are awesome!

With the warmest of wishes,

And best wishes for a Happy Valentine’s Day to all!

Gin

Just another day.

February 11, 2014February 11, 2014 / Gin Getz / 6 Comments

Logging continues. Now it’s the three of us and the dog. Sure he helps. Supervising. He lies in the deep snow of the river bed, head up, alert, and every time you look over at him, he’s looking over at you. When that gets old, he’s off barking something we never see. It must be working, all that howling, because nothing got us yet.

It’s forty degrees and snowing and we’re standing on top of the Rio Grande roasting hot dogs on long willow branches over the burning pile of slash. You can hear the river louder now, a little angry and thus a little frightening. A few places you see the black void broken through the solid white. The great unknown. You wonder how deep it is, how thick the ice upon which you stand.

More snow. Heavy, wet snow. Coming in waves. Too warm even to stick to my snowshoes.

And in the middle of it all, the red-wing blackbird arrives. A week early. Always seems like they choose stormy weather to herald their arrival, and I feel justified in leaving out seeds each morning on the picnic table outside our kitchen window so, selfishly, I can see them. There is comfort in attracting what little life remains on the mountain around us.

If the silent land

Would learn to scream

Then would we finally

Listen?

Balancing.

February 8, 2014February 8, 2014 / Gin Getz / 2 Comments

I never wanted the same old thing. I was not ready for this winter to turn out like all the others. It did not.

After a dozen years and ten winters here, there are expectations. I fear such thing. Comfort can allow complacency. I would rather remain stirring in the winds.

The enticement and exhilaration of change.

It can be additive. We crave the new, that which is just out of reach, as does the horse pressing on the barbed wire to get hold of the grass on the other side.

Or so I thought. Yet I have comfort in this familiar view, the same steaming coffee cup in my hands, the same warm body to wrap my legs around at night, the sound of my dog’s heavy sigh close by as he rolls over contentedly in the early morning when I rouse. The sound of my son’s steady breathing as he sleeps in the other room with the open door and I tip toe about the cabin building the fire, getting the percolator on the stove, sitting down to write with a cat curled on either side of me.

I don’t want to cling to the familiar, but desire a balance between that which I can hold onto, with that which will not stop from shifting through my fingers.

Without this balance, would we not be floating with our feet firmly planted in the clouds, or in fear of lifting off from the ground and trying to fly?

History in the making, we are all seeing it in our changing world. It is frightening but fascinating. I don’t want to miss it. I don’t know if there is a thing I can do but help open a few eyes and remind people of the simple beauty of the wilds. These dying woods are more than just a resource. They are a part of our collective soul.

A little bit about the book…

Getting ready for the big day. Ups and downs. Talk about expectations!

Maybe it won’t be anything special. But of course it will, because every day is, no matter what they say, and that one is Valentine’s Day.

I was just a writer. I had time to write. Once you’re published, you become an author, and suddenly, your time is taken up marketing and you don’t have near the time you used to have to write. What’s with that?

When all I want to do is share my words, what I see, a story. I don’t want to be selling you something. Like myself. I ask you this, how do we share our words without selling out? Make the most without making a mess?

That said, I’m grateful for so many who have shared so much helpful information on just how we to go about promoting our books – if not to sell ourselves, than back to the main focus – sharing our words. This site, Joanna Penn’s The Creative Penn, tops my list at the moment. Worth checking out if you’re looking for some good marketing suggestions and how-tos.

Finally, a quick question/request. Are any of you active members of Goodreads? I’ve just signed up and am trying to learn the ropes. I’m also looking to see if any of you might willing and able to read and post a review on Goodreads to get the conversation going there. Please let me know if you can help out or have some ideas and suggestions.

Field of snow.

February 3, 2014February 3, 2014 / Gin Getz / 6 Comments

Haven’t paid much mind to a sports game in about twenty years. I think after last night, it may be another twenty before I do so again. Here in Colorado, I thought it would be the thing to do. I’m sticking with snowshoes and horses. Me, my dog, the wind and wilds. No teams, no scores, no bets and big bummers.

I just don’t get it. We call it a sport but sit on the sofa to watch. And at the end, one team wins, one team loses. Like politics and religion. I’ll stay away from them all.

I send a text message to the boys in Denver. Tell them they’re better off watching the Weather Channel. Plenty of good news there. Another storm on the way. And another. And another. That’s how we like it.

Why I live here. Reason #873. A random number. As long as it is high, for the reasons are many.

Seventeen below yesterday morning. Thirty-seven above by the afternoon. Not a cloud in the blue bird blue sky. This morning, another storm rolls in, enwraps. Such comfort in this covering.

Winter is ours. The sour summer squalls, and I don’t mean the weather, we’ll outlast, out live and best of all, outshine.

I’m in no rush for it to warm up, melt out. Open ground and exposed earth are a long ways away. The grass I grow in the front window for the dog and cats gets mowed weekly with hand scissors and is presented to the horses as a treat. We’ll be just fine.

For now, cover them with ice, silence them with snow, as we breathe alone in this still white vast peace.

This is my world.

Simplicity in a shiver. Standing out there with your head tipped back as the snow falls on your lashes and lips and melts on your cheeks and the steam of your breath stings your nose and the dog has the right idea as he flops down and rolls.

How easy it is to forget when summer is so fleeting, the fires the drought the flood. These changing times and changing guard. Now the mountain regains control. I can’t help but laugh as I watch them flutter away crumpled and useless as last years leaves.

And us? We are left with the open page, pure white and fresh and free as the field of snow before me.

Thank you!!!!

January 31, 2014February 3, 2014 / Gin Getz / 9 Comments

A big warm hug and a huge hearty THANK YOU to the 25 brave and generous souls, the “volunteer victims” that agreed to read and review The Color of the Wild. Thank you so much, each and every one of you. I sincerely hope you enjoy, and I am truly honored to have your help.

After hearing from readers, writers, friends, friends of friends from such varied backgrounds, interests and all over the world, I am convinced of two things. First, there are some great people out there, and I am mighty lucky to know a few! Second, people do read. Books are not dead. Changing, maybe. But reading, and readers, are plentiful. Competition may be fierce, there might be a ka-zillion books in print, but there are also a ka-zillion enthusiastic readers. In whatever form one chooses, e-books or paper, people are still reading and love their books. I am glad to see this. Not just selfishly for me, but for our society. I can’t imagine missing out on the pleasure of reading. Long live the written word and the art of sharing a good story.

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Goodreads Book Giveaway

by Gin Getz

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