Delays have hampered the release of my new poetry book, Was It a Dream?: Navigating Life’s Journey Through Poetry. The reasons vary: publishing issues and the effects of the dog attack.
Dog Attack Causes Delays
Today is three months since that vicious dog attack that has altered my life and caused the delay of the release of this book. First, I hurt too much to work at all on this book. Then my life filled up with doctor’s appointments and just trying to get everything figured out with the wound. During the early weeks of this trauma, my thoughts and concentration suffered with the pain and the horror!
Recently, the nerve damage pain in my foot and ankle and now my leg has overtaken my life. So, the orthopedic doctor prescribed gabapentin for the nerve pain, causing me to feel fuzzy and have trouble thinking clearly. All of this affected the way I handled the specifics of self-publishing which now has caused further delays.
Publishing Issues
I originally planned to release this book in August. At first, I received the book cover on June 26 and gave them a page count for the book but didn’t get back to them until September 5. Then I changed the page count and needed them to adjust it. I also had neglected to get them the book description and my biography. So more delays!
I received the book description on July 16, timely enough. Because of a planned family get-together in Colorado, I neglected to look closely at the book description and forgot I hadn’t. Then on July 21, my life changed with the dog attack.
The cover company, 100covers.com, has been a dream to work with. Patiently, they have let me alter the requirements so far.
As I waited for the paperback cover, I wondered about the delay. On October 12, 2024, I emailed them because I had been waiting to release the paperback but hadn’t received the final cover. Today I got an email from them saying they sent me the covers on October 2, 2024—see the effect of the gabapentin. I couldn’t believe it I missed it, delaying another two weeks.
So, this afternoon, I checked the paperback cover and found two mistakes in the book description and my biography. I just emailed them to see if we can correct the mistakes that are my fault! Yikes!
I’ll let you know. What’s so frustrating for me about this—early in April when this four-book poetry book series became a reality, in my over-performing mindset, I thought about publishing maybe two or three of these books this year. Yes, I realized quickly that was far-fetched, but taking all this time to just publish one goes against my work ethics!
As I lamented to Lin, my husband, today about the delays, he reassured and said, “So, if you don’t release it until November, what difference is it?” His relaxed attitude helps me as I labor over these delays.
Update on Chapbook and Title
Last week, I shared about my chapbook I’m creating and offered some possible titles. Well, after my book coaching session this last week, I threw those titles out because they had nothing to do with the topics of the poems I write about in this chapbook. My book coach reminded me of four ways to title a nonfiction book. One of them was using the title of a poem from the book. I did that with Hair on Fire: A Heartwarming & Humorous Christmas Memoir and my new poetry book I’m getting ready to release, Was It a Dream?: Navigating Life’s Journey Through Poetry.
So, here’s the new title and the cover I created. I need your opinion on the difference choice of fonts.
#1
#2
Please help me out! Make a comment in the Comments section on which number you like or email me at larada@icloud.com but respond!
Finally,
Self-publishing a book has so many moving parts. Add the insanity that the dog attack had on me and my abilities and it equals delays, delays, delays!
Podcasts & My Interviews
Listen to an interview released Wednesday, August 7, 2024 on Hump Days Calls podcast
A dream I had of George Strait inspired me to write a poem many years ago. Finally, I am in the finally stages of publishing it in my first book in a four-book series named Navigating Life’s Journey Through Poetry. The title of this book is Was It a Dream?.
To sample the flavor of this book, here’s the introduction to it, explaining its inception.
“Yes, you’re a poet!” Lin, my husband, responded enthusiastically.
While lounging in our hot tub one beautiful New Mexico evening last year, Lin asked me what word I’d use to describe myself in my writing. I mulled it over in my mind. Did he mean genre? Author? Writer? I don’t even remember what I said, but his answer floored me—”Poet!”
I thought, Four of my seven published books feature my poetry. I’ve written a lot of poems, but I’m not Shakespeare or Milton. I don’t rhyme and have meter in my poetry. Could I be a poet?
Even though it was something so familiar and deep-seated in me that came to light, I had needed someone else to identify it, to identify who I really was—a poet!
After this refreshing discovery, I ran to our storage shed to find all my old poems. I knew exactly where my journals were. I made a beeline to the box, and there they were! After dusting them off, I marveled at the work I hadn’t looked at in years, in decades. That joyous revelation—that I was not just a writer but also a poet—changed my life as an author.
As I mused over Mary Oliver’s poetic “Instructions for living a life,” I realized that, yes, I have “paid attention” by retelling my life’s journey through poetry for years, yet really didn’t realize it until I put this poetry series together. This first book begins with a solitary poem written in 1986 that starts with a trip to the Mayan ruin in Cobá, Mexico and ends with me in Spokane, Washington doing laundry in a laundromat, “paying attention” to a child’s first steps.
While that first poem focuses on a travel adventure, this whole book will take you on a journey through my life in the 80s and 90s, when I was in my late thirties and early forties, an unsettled time in my life. I reveal a variety of my vulnerable “heart hurts,” like being childless at forty. That was monumental for me, a big piece of my pain.
Looking back at these poems, I am astonished at how deeply vulnerable I am. When I wrote these poems, it was to process my life at that specific moment, not to share my innermost thoughts with the world.
Because of that, there are so many different key elements throughout: the pain, the celebration, the wonder, the astonishment, as Mary Oliver says. So, if you’re looking for a central theme, my collection may upset you because I share a hodgepodge of life events, but it is my story.
My first wedding was September 9, 1973, and at that point in my life, I did not see myself as a writer much less a poet. I wrote nothing—poetry or prose. I was still in pain from some past traumas, so I couldn’t see the trees for the forest.
Because of that, I struggled through that relationship, and we ended up divorcing in 1980. For eight years, I actively struggled with alcoholism. That sounds like a short span of time, but for women, the average length of their drinking years is seven years, so I was right there. During those years, I didn’t write any poetry.
From 1982 to 1986, I attended Colorado State University—forty years ago! After a false start for my freshman year in Occupational Therapy, I switched my major to English with a teaching concentration two weeks into the semester and walked into a class with the professor reading Beowulf in Old English. It felt like a foreign language, but I persevered. I was twenty-eight years old when I went to the university for the first time, so I had forgotten anything I had learned in high school, not that I had a very strong background in literature to begin with.
At the beginning of that first semester, I remember sitting in an English literature class and the professor asked a probing question about sirens. Having no clue what a siren was, I sat with my hand firmly not raised, but because of my good-student-mindset, I almost responded anyway. When a student spouted off the answer sought for, my mouth dropped! My only reference to a siren was a noisy alarm on emergency equipment. Sirens on the rocks, warning sailors. I had no idea, and apparently, I hadn’t studied the passage for the class that day enough.
From then on, I knuckled down and prepared for each class thoroughly, realizing I almost had an embarrassing moment in front of my peers ten years younger than me.
It was in those English and American literature classes that I found a poetry. I stumbled through the poetry sections of my classes, in awe of the meaning the professors gleaned from the words lined up in stanzas.
In my upper-level classes, I eagerly absorbed the Shakespeare and Milton tomes and internalized their influence, unknowingly preparing to embrace my own inner poet years later.
There at the university, I started writing for my education classes and realized through good grades and positive comments made by different professors that I certainly did have the ability to write an educational paper. Though I never thought I’d be publishing not only one, but four poetry books in this series, and more.
In 1986, I graduated in the top four percent of my class with a B.A. in Education, a minor in Spanish, and concentration in Education.
I got sober on December 22, 1988. I’ve often thought that my poetry writing paralleled my recovery, but it was in 1986 that I wrote that first poem about Cobá, which I find so rich. Writing that poem and graduating ignited something in me that year, and that was the first glimmer I had that I was a poet.
I can see now that already I was starting to see myself as a poet and noting life.
Four of my seven published books feature poetry and prose, so it’s not a new genre for me. While teaching middle school language arts and literature, I taught a poetry unit every year, but I didn’t take myself seriously as a poet. I was a middle school teacher, but I only dabbled in poetry.
I also participated as a fellow in the Rio Grande Writing Project, an affiliate of the National Writing Project, a professional development program for teachers. It promoted writing “across the curriculum”—in math, social studies, science, and electives, as well as language arts and literature classes.
During this time, I followed the training of Nancy Atwell’s book, In the Middle, where I learned about “Writing and Reading Workshop,” her successful plan for teaching writing and reading to middle school students. This book changed my classroom. I wrote daily with my students at the beginning of class. I would write a prompt on the board before class so the students knew to sit down, open their writing notebooks, copy the prompt, and respond. Each day, I timed it for seven minutes. When I finished my daily teacher chores, like attendance, I grabbed my writing journal and a chair near a student and wrote. I wanted them to see me as a writer and often I chose poetry to express myself.
By focusing on the writing process, I grounded this writing time in Natalie Goldberg’s book, Writing Down the Bones, and introduced my students to her preferred writing practice, a timed free write. She listed seven things to consider for this time:
1. Keep your hand moving. No matter what, don’t stop . . .
2. Don’t cross out.
3. Don’t worry about spelling, punctuation, or grammar.
7. You are free to write the worst junk in the world (I added, “in the universe!”)
Can you imagine a writing teacher telling her students not to worry about spelling, punctuation, or grammar? My students loved it, and their writing blossomed. Then when the poetry unit came up, I guided them through haikus, free verse, and self-expression. It became a favorite of theirs and mine.
Yet at this time, it was a nominal gesture! I didn’t feel like a writer, much less a poet. That identity came years later.
Then something happened! Poetry became the genre I ran to when life tilted in ways I had no control over, good or bad—my mom’s death, the coronavirus pandemic, life!
Almost forty years after writing my first poem, I gathered all my poems together and realized I had written enough poetry to fill at least four poetry books. After taking Natalie Goldberg’s writing practice class during the pandemic and reading her book, Three Simple Lines: A Writer’s Pilgrimage into the Heart and Homeland of Haiku, I’ve currently moved to haikus to express my life, yet I still write free verse occasionally.
Today I write poetry when I’m happy; I write poetry when I’m sad. I write about what’s important and about what’s trivial.
This collection of poetry, spanning the first fifteen years of my poetry writing, takes a peek into me and my world. From the luscious green jungles of Mexico to the beautiful purple orange sunsets of New Mexico. From losing my dad and my second and third husbands to living a life without my own child.
Today, several famous poets influence me: contemporaries Mary Oliver and Billy Collins, classics William Shakespeare and Emily Dickinson, and Native Americans Joy Harjo and Louise Erdrich.
Some of those influences are evident in my poems. Magical realism from my Spanish literature classes seeped into my poem on Cobá, for instance. George Strait, my country and western hero, shows up in the title poem (“Was it a Dream?”), doing what I love to do besides write—dance! His advice became my motto for life.
But it was when I found Mary Oliver’s “Instructions for living a life” in her poem, “Sometimes” that I realized I had followed her directions in my poetry to the tee. She was an influence without my even knowing!
So please, step into my world of poetry and walk through my journey with me in this first book as I look at personal growth, reflection, and the twists and turns life can make.
Larada Horner-Miller, Was It A Dream?: Navigating My Life Through Poetry, (Horner Publishing Company, 2024): ix-xv.
Finally,
So many of my books sat for years on a shelf, in a folder on my computer, unpublished. I wrote them then put the notebooks away. As life unfolded, I faced joys and sorrows and wrote poetry. That’s how I navigated my life—with words. With Lin’s prompting, I knew I had to publish this book and this series. Let me know what you think.
[1] Mary Oliver, Devotions, (Penguin Press, 2017), 105.
[2] Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down the Bones (Shambhala Publications, Inc., 1986), 8.
Listen to an interview released Wednesday, August 7, 2024 on Hump Days Calls podcast
June 30—hard to believe, but now we face the end of Audiobook Appreciation Month. Did you leap? Did you download an audiobook or two and try it out? Listening on a drive somewhere? Or on a walk around the neighborhood or in the park?
I’ve featured my three audiobooks this month and my adventure in this area of publication. Hopefully you have had plenty opportunity to look them up and download one or two or three!
I ended up featuring my newest audiobook, This Tumbleweed Landed, and my first one, Let Me Tell You a Story on Father’s Day this month, so I’m going to end with my Christmas audiobook. Hair on Fire: A Heartwarming & Humorous Christmas Memoir.
June 30, 2024 Made Me Think of My First Audiobook Recording Experience
Interestingly, in 2015 after I self-published my first book, This Tumbleweed Landed, in 2104, my cousin called and asked me if I had plans to do an audiobook of this book. She wanted to share it with my aunt and thought hearing the book in my voice would be delightful.
So, I began researching. I bought an e-book, Audiobooks for Indies: Unlock the Audio Potential of Your Book by Simon Whistler. Looking back at his book now, he suggested a Blue Yeti for a microphone, but I bought a Blue Snowball. I ignored his other suggestions which looking back now at this book after my training with Derek Doepker, I missed a lot.
On February 8, 2015, when I was at my home in Branson, Colorado, I went into the bedroom and recorded one part. I thought I still had that recording and was going to share it with you and compare it with the one I did recently. But the folder is empty—I deleted it! I must have done that when I decided to record it a few months ago.
The sad part—that’s the only time I used that microphone. I stepped away from creating audiobooks—it seemed too much, too hard! I couldn’t do it! It just wasn’t the right time.
Fast forward to 2021 when I bought Derek’s training, “Audiobooks Made Easy,” and started recording my first audiobook! I released my first one in early 2022, my second before Christmas 2023 and my third in early 2024. I’m so glad June 30 came and I looked back on this adventure! My message to you authors out there—don’t give up!
Here’s the audiobook posts this month in case you missed them:
With us facing July tomorrow, enjoy Christmas in July! Here’s some samples from my Christmas audiobook, Hair on Fire: A Heartwarming & Humorous Christmas Memoir. Enjoy!
Listen—that’s the joy of audiobooks. Sit back, grab a cool drink and find a shady place to sit this afternoon for a fun-filled experience of a watermelon fight!
Listen To A Section Of My New Audiobook
Listen to a section, “The Sting of the Rind” in of my new audiobook, This Tumbleweed Landed, which will be available in the next couple weeks at many distributors.
Yes, what an experience that was for me! I had sticky, gooey watermelon juice all over, then a ride in the back of a truck with loose hay dancing around down a dirty country road—a formula for a mess!
Listening Not Your Thing—Read!
The Sting of the Rind
“My goodness! What happened to you? Hay?” exclaimed my grandmother as she circled us.
“We had a watermelon seed and rind fight at the picnic; we rode in the back of a truck—with hay,” I said, softly fighting back tears. My brother quietly ducked in the door behind me.
What a week! My dad had gotten bucked off his horse on Thursday preparing for fall shipping of calves and was in the hospital with a broken hip. My brother and I were staying with my grandparents. I desperately wanted to go to the 4-H picnic tonight at the Winfords’—the social event of the fall for this country community. My uncle and aunt agreed to take us along with their six children.
The problem at the picnic arose around my dad. He was our club square dance caller, and we were to have a barn dance. He didn’t make it, but the watermelons did.
When we arrived, everyone asked about Dad—how he was, how bad he was hurt, whether he needed help.
The warm October evening invited all outside once plates were filled with the delicious food that our potluck offered.
Sitting under the table seemed to be hundreds of watermelons; ladies chuckled. Being busy shipping time, everyone had brought watermelon for dessert.
Questions arose about what to do for the evening. We had brought Dad’s records—we could dance, but the records stayed in the case. It wouldn’t be the same without Dad.
It was time! Dessert—juicy, red watermelon cut in quarter pieces—waited in stacks. No forks or spoons—we just ate with bare hands, juice dripping down to our elbows. A second piece, a third, and more!
One timely seed spit at an innocent passing victim caused a full-fledged war, escalating into rind-throwing. All of us—high school to elementary—ran, threw, hid, and got hit.
Have you ever been hit with a watermelon rind? It stings like a bee bite.
Where were the adult chaperones? They stood well out of our range, enjoying our freedom to create an enjoyable activity and relieved they didn’t have to entertain us.
This battle went on, and I managed pretty well, being hit enough to be thoroughly sticky. Everyone I looked at had plastered hair, faces, and clothes.
On the trip home we rode in the back of my uncle’s truck. The truck bed was covered with loose hay, and as soon as my uncle started up the ten-mile dirt road, hay danced around like it was a spirit.
As we sped down the lane, the dirt from the road swirled back into our faces and pelted us with grit.
When we arrived at my grandparents’ door, my brother and I looked tarred and feathered—only this time with sweet-smelling watermelon juice, pungent hay, and a light layer of dirt.
I stood tentatively in front of my grandmother, wondering if we were in trouble.
“You two need a bath” was her only response as she settled in her favorite chair.
A sparkle lit her eyes, and she giggled to herself. “Good, clean fun,” she said, maybe remembering a similar incident from her own childhood.
Larada Horner-Miller, This Tumbleweed Landed, (Horner Publishing Company, 2014), 129-131.
To this day, watermelon remains my favorite summertime treat. It cools me down and the sweet flavor gives me a pickup for sure, and I always chuckle with this memory in mind.
To listen or to read, that is the question! Because this is Audiobook Appreciation Month and I just finished and uploaded my book, This Tumbleweed Landed. I’ve become a fan of audiobooks. How about you?
If so, you can purchase and listen to my books at the following places:
