Books · My Books · My Thoughts · poetry · Self-publishing

A Dream About George Strait or Not? – My New Poetry Book!

Dream

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.

“Instructions for living a life:

Pay attention.

Be astonished.

Tell about it.”

~Mary Oliver, “Sometimes”[1]

“A poet?” I questioned.

“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.
  • 4.  Lose control. Let it rip . . .
  • 5.  Don’t think. Don’t get logical.
  • 6.  Go for the jugular[2]
  • 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.

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.


Audiobooks Sale – August 15 – 31 – 25% Off:

This Tumbleweed Landed

This Tumbleweed Landed audiobook cover

Let Me Tell You a Story 

Let Me Tell You a Story audiobook cover

Hair on Fire: A Heartwarming & Humorous Memoir Audiobook

Hair on Fire: A Heartwarming & Humorous Christmas Memoir audiobook cover


Age · Friends · My Thoughts

Grumpy or Serene: It’s My Choice! Another Poem!

Grumpy or serene: it’s your choice! As I’ve aged (I’m 70 now; will be 71 in June), I see there’s two types of older people: grumpy or serene and the choice is yours. And I can guarantee you, I don’t want to be seen as grumpy!

I think of the movie, “Grumpy Old Men” starring Walter Matthau, Jack Lemmon and Ann Margaret. And I laugh! Yet those two old men personify “grumpy” to me.

This last week, I had a funeral to go to and saw how someone’s sense-of-humor cracked me up from the grave! Yes, I heard “Prop me up beside the jukebox if I die” at my friend’s graveside service. His personality lived as we laughed and cried. (See my post from last week.)

Then I had another interaction with a friend a year older than me, filled with anger at me for somethings I did years ago. It broke my heart as I read his list of resentments. Right then, I knew and see the contrast—grumpy not serene!

So, I turned to poetry as usual and this poem came up! Let me know what you think!

I’m seventy, turning seventy-one.

            In younger people’s eyes, that’s old.

I used to think seventy old.

But I look at myself in the mirror,

            I take an emotional temperature,

                        And I’m sixteen

In a seventy-year-old body

That can’t go, go, go,

Like before.

I know that most of my life is behind me.

I packed a lot of living in my seventy years.

Yet I anticipate what’s coming ahead

With joy and expectation!

What will seventy-five be like?

            Eighty?

                        Eighty-five?

                                    Ninety?

I have a choice as I face my elder years:

            Grumpy or serene!

I choose serene!

Some of my friends,

My schoolmates,

Same age or a year older or two,

Have chosen grumpy.

I can’t do it!

I can’t go there!

Yes, life has handed me

Disappointments

Heartache

Despair

But I funneled those negative feelings into

Recovery

            Life

            Love

            People

Today I feed my serenity with

            Writing

            Time with Lin

                        In the hot tub

                        Watching movies

                        Traveling

                        Dancing when we can

            Recovery meetings

            Meditation

            Quiet times with my God

            Time with my brother

                        Watching sports

                        Trips to our ranch

                                    Searching for wildlife

                                    Reminiscing about our childhoods

I want my last days here

            To be filled with

                        Laughter

                        Love

                        Travel

                        Dancing

                        Friends

                        Family

I count on more to come,

            More of the good stuff,

Yes, I know weaved into it will be

            Sadness

            Loss

            Trials

But I vow to you now,

Grumpy or serene won’t be a choice,

Because I choose serene!


here’s some reading material to keep my older readers refreshed and serene and my younger reader prepared for your futures:

Here are several May Sarton books I haven’t read but are on my list:


Hair on Fire won 1st place in the March Nonfiction book cover contest on AllAuthors.com - laughter

Enjoy my interview on the podcast, The Writing Table

Hair on Fire: A Heartwarming & Humorous Christmas Memoir

Hair on Fire: A Heartwarming & Humorous Christmas Memoir available in audiobook format at the following places:

~SHOP TODAY FOR YOUR AUTOGRAPHED COPY! Shop at my Etsy Shop or my Shopify Store


Books · My Books · My Thoughts · Self-publishing

Professional Book Covers? A Change for Me!

My four books - professional

Professional book covers? Yes, I changed to professional book covers for three of my last four books, even though I thoroughly enjoyed designing my first four book covers. I still controlled the photos use. See the change.

A Time to Grow Up: A Daughter’s Grief Memoir

A Time to Grow Up: A Daughter's Grief Memoir - professional

I hired a professional book designer from fiverr.com to do the cover. A friend of mine took the picture outside of Branson, my hometown, making sure the mesa behind Branson was captured. I love how a landmark, Saddlerock, appears on the back cover and shows over my left hand.

After he designed the cover, this friend suggested putting Mom and Dad in the clouds. The designer had finished the cover, so I added it, and yes, it looks amateurish. I should have paid him to blend the added graphic into the clouds.

This one may need to be redone!

THE ONE EXCEPTION: Just Another Square Dance Caller: Authorized Biography of Marshall Flippo

Just Another Square Dance Caller: Authorized Biography of Marshall Flippo hardback cover - Professional

I did not hire a professional book cover designer because I knew what I wanted to do with the cover. I had selected the iconic picture of Flippo calling with a live band during the 50s and added the dance floor background. On the back I added snippets of his favorite places to call.

Coronavirus Reflections: Bitter or Better?

Coronavirus Reflections: Bitter or Better? cover - professional

As before, I knew my husband, Lin, and I would take the picture. We did two photo shoots in his garden. The first one we struggled with using a stand mirror to get some sort of a reflection, but it didn’t work. So, for the second shoot, Lin suggested I concentrate on a reflective look on my face. We took 100s of pictures and ended up with the one we used.

Also, I selected a picture for the back of the cover that had a bird bath in Lin’s garden with a bird sitting on the edge. Why for a book about the coronavirus?

During the pandemic, we found Spring Watch, Autumn Watch and Winter Watch. We learned that many people around the world became avid gardeners during the forced stay at home. I thought the garden on the cover and the back highlighted this amazing discovery.

I selected the teal background that looked like barn wood to me and you know my country background.

Then I hired 100Covers.com to do the cover, and what a wonderful company to work with! They accommodated my desire to use my two photos and the teal wood background and designed the cover you see.

Hair on Fire: A Heartwarming & Humorous Christmas Memoir

Hair on Fire: A Heartwarming & Humorous Christmas Memoir cover - professional

After such a great experience with Coronavirus Reflections: Bitter or Better?, I returned to 100Covers.com. I went out to a professional photograph site that they work with, and found the Christmas angel but she had a phone in her hands. They aptly replaced the phone with a candle which played a vital part in the poem about my hair and fire.

They provided two options because I had emphasized the poetry in the book to start with, but after talking to my book coach group, I realized there was poetry and prose in the book, so I didn’t want to focus on only the poetry.

In the end, I love the professional book cover they produced.  At holiday fairs last year, many people remarked about how attractive the cover is, and I agree!

Finally, my journey in self-publishing and book cover design has been an adventure. I have eight covers stockpiled with 100cover.com when they had great sales to redo three of my older book covers and for my five books in the queue.

My final decision: professional book covers make a difference!

If you’re an author, do you hire a professional book cover designer or design your own?


Hair on Fire: A Heartwarming & Humorous Christmas Memoir meme - professional

Hair on Fire: A Heartwarming & Humorous Christmas Memoir available in audiobook format at the following places:

~SHOP TODAY FOR YOUR AUTOGRAPHED COPY! Shop at my Etsy Shop or my Shopify Store

My Thoughts · Nature · poetry

Nature Speaks Through Poetry

Nature speaks through poetry—a tree, a butterfly, and a blackbird! Sometimes gently, other times it screams at me, in a loud attention-getting voice I have to listen to! Notice me, it says! Here’s a poem I wrote about that topic. Enjoy!

Along the Way, Nature Screams at Me!

May 1995

Along the way, nature screams at me—

look and see me here—

A butterfly, orange and black

dancing in a circle

sucking sweet nectar and life.

A red rock half buried

but screaming at me to see

its bright color,

its lasting character.

A woodpecker pecking hard

at life.

A pine cone, dry and brittle

once the hope of new life.

A stick, simple

dry and cracked

wanting to be noticed–

to be touched and admired.

A bone—life given up

dry and bleached.

A coyote, killed its prey,

cleaned it of meat and                                                   

sustenance.

#

Artifacts, pieces of life

things here in the woods

no value

trash to some people,

but to me–

life as it is–

colorful, dry and lifeless at

times, yet teeming with life.

#

Tall trees bow to the earth,

the weight of their existence

dragging them down,

the pain,

the misery,

closer and closer to the earth,

mother earth

who nurtures and gives life.

A silent stance of prayer

of renewal, commitment

yet deadly–pulling

the life out of them–

pulling, dragging, relentlessly

and death

a cycle of life

strength and overkill

too much though

much like life.

The light through the trees,

shines bright,

but it’s the shadows that call me.

The long profile of trees melt into one

and shadows take over–

dim, dark, cool,

blackening the view.

Like feet the roots of a tree grow down–

supporting and balancing its

tall counterpart.

Sounds abound

the quiet, gentle breeze whispers

come see, come hear, come listen.

#

A pesky fly bothers me–

at my elbow, my thigh,

my wrist, my ear,

my hair

buzzing, circling,

demanding then gone.

The sun peeks through the top of the tree

Just a minute ago shining full force

on me.

Now only a hint–like a light slowly

going out.

A mosquito bite on my hip itches,

demanding attention and care.

Bird racket echoes in the quiet–

someone’s not happy.

She’s demanding her way.

Her children are late in coming home,

and she wants her male partner to form

a search crew. He refuses to listen, so

she continues to screech.

Wind, swaying the tops of the trees,

in a gentle rhythm to and fro–

a soft hand moving through them.

The sound is gentle yet strong.

A power moves them

but only the tops.

Pine cone, rock, bone, tree

connected to life and earth.

All a product of–

laying there ready to be seen.

#

Energized with power and strength.

Self-confident and knowing who you are–

but what about  the trees

no question,

no doubt.

Strength connected to your creator.

The busy insane life I left

melts into peace and serenity.

I want to be a tree,

standing firm in a forest,

serenaded by the birds, bees, insects,

the rocks and leaves.

The serenade of the forest–

a tune that ears can’t hear–

easily.

Yes, you can hear the birds

the dirt,

the grass,

the leaves.

#

A sweet melody of love,

dependence,

self-worth

assurance.

A jazz beat, a samba, a slow luxurious waltz.

All these sounds unite in nature

and play if you’re listening,

not with your ears,

with your heart!

The smells touch me–fresh and clean and green.

Not artificial, contrived,

but powerful,

new

exciting!

Life-giving

alive

renewed

a sharp contrast.

Deep meaning–

This is peace–

this is serenity!

Void of structure

calm

letting my heart listen,

receive the message

and  alter my negative energy!

I feel it–

I’m being altered

right now.

The lump in my throat is gone,

that anxious twitch in my stomach

that dry, cotton mouth

the urge to run and do something–

gone!!

Nature heals,

but I have to be here,

sitting outside

away from cities,

demands,

chores!!

And I have to leave that behind!

Then nature heals!!


Nature screams at me sometimes igniting my soul. I must listen. And poetry comes out!


News, News, News!

Just Another Square Dance Caller meme - nature
Grab a cup of coffee and enjoy Flippo!

~FREE TO YOU! A Fifty minute audio recording of “Highlights of My Conversations with Flippo.” Learn how he started calling, how he recorded “The Auctioneer,” and a bonus: which caller did he sleep with? Click here for easy access!