Why Trains ~ by Patrick Webb

Have you ever unexpectedly fallen in love with something? That was me with trains. However, there were some moments in my childhood that shaped it.

When I was nine years old, my family visited a local miniature railway, the Old Wakarusa Railroad. I was ecstatic to ride on the tiny train that was only slightly taller than me! The ride around the simple figure eight railway was one of the happiest moments of my childhood. 

Sadly, the Old Wakarusa Railroad was sold in 2008, but one of the engines that used to work there, No. 98, has been preserved at the Riverside & Great Northern Railroad in the Dells, Wisconsin. 

Another influence was a certain cheeky blue tank engine on TV. I’m sure plenty of parents are familiar with Thomas and Friends, whether watching it themselves or with their children.

Thomas the Tank Engine, Image Credit the Thomas Wiki. 

For me, Thomas represented a form of escapism in my childhood from the struggles of daily life. Following the engines on the island of Sodor gave me a way to relax and inspiration for my own writing. My first attempt at telling a story was based on a PBS news challenge, (I naturally chose Thomas for the subject). While four-year-old me couldn’t figure out if “One day” was spelled with “one” or “won,” it sparked my creativity.

The more I learned online about “The Railway Series,” the books which inspired the show, the more inspired I became. The Reverend Wilbert Awdry spent a great deal of time working on the backstory of Sodor to make it seem like a real place. Worldbuilding for a series with talking engines may seem silly, but that’s part of what made Thomas work: Awdry treated it as stories of a real railway, with real engines who just so happen to talk.

As I grew older, my interest in trains shifted towards preservation. If you’ve ever seen or ridden behind a steam locomotive, you likely have the work of preservation to thank for them still being around. 

Restoring steam locomotives can take years or even decades! 

One of the longest restorations in my current memory is of the Flying Scotsman. Built in 1923, Flying Scotsman is the last locomotive of its class in existence. And what a life it’s lived. Flying Scotsman was one of the first steam locomotives bought for preservation in the United Kingdom. It has traveled to North America and Australia, holds two world records (first steam engine to officially reach 100 mph, and the longest nonstop run of a steam locomotive). Flying Scotsman is now owned by the National Railway Museum (UK). It’s arguably one of the most famous steam engines in the world.  

            Flying Scotsman on display after its newest restoration. 

               Image Credit: David Moyle - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, 

It took a decade for Flying Scotsman to get restored, appearing (controversy, depending on who you ask) in its 1960’s appearance before it was preserved. While it’s not her most famous livery of apple green, Flying Scotsman still looks smart. She’s still running today, providing people entertainment and a fun ride into history. Not a bad fate for a nearly 100-year-old engine.

Trains are a more niche interest. Sadly, the community is often seen as a hobby for old men. However, trains are for everyone.

An example is Jennifer Kirk, who reviews model trains and does livestreams on Monday for people to have a community space. You can check out one of her reviews here. 

It’s hard to imagine me without liking trains. Had I never caught the train bug, I wouldn’t be the same person I am. And I’m certainly glad that my interest in trains has survived beyond my childhood.

My hope, once I graduate and the Pandemic ends, is to travel to various museums and excursion railways, to get up close and personal with the iron giants of the past. And you don’t have to know everything about trains to enjoy them. Look up your nearest excursion/heritage railway or museum and consider going for a ride back in history.

 The Jacobite excursion train on a bridge made famous by the Harry Potter films. Image Credit: Unsplash

Patrick Webb is a Writing Major, minoring in Communication. He enjoys reading Comics (mostly superheroes, but also slice of life), Fantasy, and Science Fiction. You can find him on Twitter, @ConductorPat, and follow his blog, tugandtramblogging

I’m Slow, and That’s Okay ~ Marj Ivancic

“Their victories do not equate to your failures.”

That’s a mantra of sorts for me. I came up with it somewhere around age forty when I had a personal epiphany about myself and how I reacted to other people’s “successes.”  I realized I was allowing their accomplishments, big and small, to make me question my own abilities. I was trying to seize myself up against them. This need to compare stems from some deep-rooted confidence issues, I know. And it took me a while to see it. But now that I know that trait is there, I’ve been making a concerted effort to head it off before it can get in my way. And I’ve done a decent job, though I have to admit, it’s been especially difficult since entering the indie author world. 

Or more specifically, the dark realm of social media.

For an excruciatingly slow writer, seeing post after post of authors celebrating the release of their umpteenth book is painful. I cannot fathom being able to crank out a full-length novel in under a year, let alone four or more. Yet that is what some are able to do.

Yes, I work full time. Yes, I have family obligations, a house to care for…yadda, yadda, yadda. But those obligations aren’t unique to me. Plenty of other writers have those same time-sucks (and more!) and yet are prolific little literary rabbits.

So, why do the words come so quickly for them but so slowly for me?

Perhaps it means I’m not meant to be a writer. Or maybe, I’m just not a good writer. Because a real writer wouldn’t struggle to bring their story to life, right?

And then I stumbled on this little gem: Your Thinking Rate Is Fixed.

In this blog, the author discusses the concept that the speed with which we think and make decisions is set and cannot be sped up. And while the article is primarily focused on decision-making in the workplace, I think it applies to writing as well, for doesn’t crafting a solid story require thousands of decisions?

Does my character go here or there? How does he/she react? Which action verb best conveys the emotion he/she is feeling? What plot twist will keep the pages turning?

As an author, I think about each and every one of those questions. A lot. I roll them around in my mind. I take them for walks. I sit and stare silently at them, waiting for them to talk to me.  And in truth, I do this with nearly all things in my life. I am also terrible at debates, because I can’t process someone’s points fast enough to come back with a good counterpoint. It’s usually days later when I think of the perfect thing to say. Because by then, I’ve had time to consider the statement or question from all angles, to haul forth other information from my brain’s cache store and apply it.

I certainly don’t blame ALL of my sluggish production on the fact that my thinking rate is set to “tortoise” rather than “hare,” but it does relieve some of the pressure. Because like other things I can’t change about myself, such as my height or the size of my feet, I can let it go. I don’t have to waste any more time and effort trying to combat it. Instead, I can move on to the things I can control, like not comparing myself to anyone other than the person in the mirror.

North Country Wild ~by Jennifer Daniels

Now that all the holidays are over and we are in the start of a new year, I hope this finds you all healthy, safe, and well. 

#North Country Wild is a saying my son came up with for his YouTube and TikTok account. As many of you know I live in Upstate, NY and I am proud of where I come from and I’m immensely proud of my son. I’m going to share with you some of the pictures he has taken this January. 

Two days ago, my husband, son and I were enjoying the afternoon when my son looked out our window and there was a fox in the yard. It happily stood at the edge of the property so my son went out onto the porch to take pictures. When he opened the window, the little fellow decided to chirp at him. It was the cutest thing. It is not unusual for us to have animals roaming around the yard or going up and down the road. Just one of the perks of country life.

He also took several pictures out in the woods after the snow had fallen. And down by the beaver damn. I hope you enjoy our North Country Wild.

To view more of my blog posts, I invite you to visit my member page by clicking HERE

Little Known Holidays~Part 1 ~ by Grace Augustine

 It's the beginning of a new year and a new decade. In honor of that, I am beginning a new series on little known holidays. Enjoy!

Today is NATIONAL ARGYLE DAY! How many of you know what "argyle" is? The word has several meanings.

1. Argyle (occasionally spelled argyll) patterns are made of repeated diamond or lozenge shapes . The word is sometimes used to refer to an individual diamond in the design, but more commonly refers to the overall pattern. Most argyle contains layers of overlapping motifs.

2.  The Argyle Color Scale was created to grade mainly pink diamonds, but it also contains grades for pink-champagne and blue-violet stones.

3.  The word argyle is of Scottish origin. It's from the regional name Argyll, a county of southwestern Scotland, named in Gaelic as Earre Ghàidheal 'coast of the Gaels'. Argyll was the earliest part of Scotland to be settled by Gaelic speakers from Ireland from the 6th century onwards.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Today is also the anniversary of the birthday of ELVIS PRESLEY.

Elvis Presley was the most widely known rockabilly singer in music history. He was born in 1935 in Tupelo, Mississippi. 

Sam Phillips, Sun Records producer who had taken an interest when Elvis recorded his first acetate, was looking for a white man who could bring black music to a broader audience. He brought Elvis in to record Jimmy Sweeney’s ballad “Without You”, but he was unable to do it justice. Phillips asked Presley to sing as many numbers as he knew and was affected enough to invite two musicians to work something up for a session. In a moment of unwinding and messing around, Presley took his guitar and started to play a blues song while jumping and dancing. Bassist, Bill Black and guitarist Winfield “Scotty” Moore, started dancing and playing with him. Phillips, who was starting to leave, stuck his head back in and asked, “What are you doing?”

“We don’t know!” 

“Well back up… and do it again.” Phillips began taping their session. This was the sound he was looking for.  

To read more history of Elvis click HERE.

Other little known holidays to celebrate today are:

Bubble Bath Day

Male Watcher's Day

Earth's Rotation Day

I Am a Mentor Day

National English Toffee Day (my favorite)

Midwife's Day

National Joy Germ Day

National Winter Skin Relief Day

Show and Tell Day at Work

War on Poverty Day

As you can see, we are a strange people who celebrate strange things. Stay tuned for part 2. Until next time, Sparkle On.

A Bit of Radiance for 2021 ~ by Marj Ivancic

A few years ago, I attended a yoga class in which the instructor read a passage to us that left me with a deep sense of peace and awe. I learned afterwards that it came from a book called, “The Radiance Sutras: 112 Gateways to the Yoga of Wonder and Delight” by Lorin Roche.

This book is a translation of a portion of the Vijnana Bhairava Tantra, which is an ancient teaching of yoga mediation. It is written as a conversation between two lovers, the God Who Is the Consciousness that Permeates Everywhere (also called Shiva or Bhairava) and the Goddess Who Is the Creative Power of the Universe (also called Shakti or Devi). Their exchange is centered on finding the divine in the everyday, in the world around us, and in our own hearts and bodies.

As we roll into a new year, I thought I would share one of the verses because it captures for me how I feel coming out of 2020 and also settles me into a hopeful, radiant mindset for 2021. I hope it might do the same for you.

Yukti Verse 89

“You are stunned, powerless.

You thought you knew

What was going on.

Now you realize you don’t have a clue.

You are stopped in your tracks.

Everything within your skin is shaking.

                                      Enter this shaking.

                                      Get curious.

Look around inside with wonder.

Unmind your mind.

All the walls have fallen down—

Go ahead and dissolve.

The One Who Has Always Been,

Who has seen much worse than this,

Is still here.” 

Happy New Year from Originality by Design

 It's with humble hearts we thank all of you who have stopped by our blog, read the wonderful posts, left comments, and shared.  It is our hope to continue providing quality articles that interest our readers throughout 2021 and beyond. 

May 2021 be filled with renewal, peace, and much hope.

From all of us at Originality by Design,

Grace Augustine, CoAdministrator

Joanne Jaytanie, CoAdministrator

Marj Ivancic, Author

Darlene Kuncytes, Author

Lexa Fisher, Author,

Ruth Ross Saucier, Editor

Jacquolyn McMurray, Author

Jennifer Daniels, Author

And our many, many guests

Ruffle Your Feathers ~ by Grace Augustine

Feather, the component structure of the outer covering and flight surfaces of all modern birds. Unique to birds, feathers apparently evolved from the scales of birds’ reptilian ancestors. The many different types of feathers are variously specialized for insulation, flight, formation of body contours, display, and sensory reception. ( britannica.com )

In today's society, feathers are used for crafts, as adornments on fabric, and as pillow filling, though not so much the latter with the synthetics that are available today.

Native Americans believe that if a feather is on their path it is a gift to them. It is seen as energy from the life form who dropped it. Once the person is given a feather, the person must cherish it and care for it. It is to be displayed in the home, not stuck away in a drawer or closet.

I have a love of feathers, and quite a collection. I have one that is especially sacred to me. When this particular feather fell upon my path, I consulted a couple Native American friends who told me the ritual that needed to be done. It was sacred. I felt the spirit of the animal and could almost hear it.

Each bird species holds special traits that are gifted to the human who comes upon a feather from that bird. Here are some examples:

Crow tail feathers: a symbol of foresight are usually given to young boys.

Hummingbird: Love

Raven: Creativity and knowledge

Falcon: Healing, motion and speed

Eagle: This is the most sacred of all feathers. 

United States law recognizes the unique significance of eagle feathers in Native American culture, religion, and tradition. The eagle is a highly protected creature under U.S. law, but special exceptions are made to allow Native Americans to possess, pass down, gift, and acquire eagle feathers within specific conditions. 

An eagle's feathers are given to another in honor, and the feathers are displayed with dignity and pride. They are handled with great regard. In fact, if an eagle feather is dropped during a dance, a special ceremony is performed before picking it up again, and the owner is careful to never drop it again.

The eagle feather is also used to adorn the sacred pipe because it is a symbol of the Great Spirit who is above all and from whom all strength and power flows. When a feather is held over a person’s head, it is a blessing, wishing bravery and happiness. Like many Native American symbols, some even choose to tattoo feathers on their bodies to help them on their journey or to tell their story. To wave it over everyone present means everyone is wished peace, prosperity, and happiness. (  Nativehope.org )

I have collected feathers for many years. Big ones, medium sized, small, very small, black, brown, white, orange.  In all of those I have been gifted, I have yet to have a cardinal or blue jay gift one to me.

I am always so excited when I see a feather! Every time I go outside, there is one at my feet, on my way to my vehicle, or even inside my car (I don't ask how that gets there)

I can remember driving down the interstate on a summer day with the sunroof open. A red tail hawk flew through the sunroof, perched on my shoulder for not more than 3 seconds and flew back out. (I had the claw marks in my shoulder to prove its presence!) It was an incredible moment.

I pay attention to the birds. Before August 11th when the derecho hit,
there was a grove of trees to the east of my apartment. Owls hooted at night. Hawks and falcons of various sizes flew through to land in the trees. Blue jays, cardinals, juncos, sparrows, robins, wrens, and some I've never seen took up residence in the branches. 

The next time you see a feather, pick it up. Examine it. Hold it and connect with its spirit. You may receive a message meant just for you.

To read my other posts, please click HERE to be redirected to my members page.

All photos are property of Grace Augustine and may not be used without permission.

Marcus Antonius: Dredging Up the Perfect Protagonist ~ by Author Brook Allen

A little over fifteen years ago, I finally found myself in a position to begin my first novel. I knew I wanted to write on Late Republican Rome, doing something biographical. But who to write on? Julius Caesar had been done by big names like Conn Iggulden, and Cleopatra had been done so completely by Margaret George and Colin Falconer. Cicero had just had his day in the sun under the skillful pen of Robert Harris. Who else was there?

The one name that kept coming to me was Marc Antony—Marcus

Antonius.

Antony had an illustrious political and military career, but he wasflawed, too. A lover of women, lots of wine (too much, really!), impetuous, and did I mention he loved women? On the other hand, he was extremely courageous, a loyal friend, a man of his word, and a soldier’s soldier, but he really loved women! In fact, he rarely ever let an opportunity slip to sleep with someone new, and as most people know, his life ended tragically.

So why Antony? How could a no-name author create a debut novel on a man whose life ended in horrible disgrace?

The more I looked his life over, as well as the treatment with which

Rome and the first emperor Augustus tarnished his name, the more I thought, “I can’t believe more authors haven’t jumped at the chance to write this guy’s life-story before”. 

Oh, yeah—everybody has read about his affair with Cleopatra and many readers are familiar with Shakespeare’s take on his “Friends, Romans, countrymen…” monologue. But if I was going to really do this and do it well, I had to read between the lines of ancient sources and determine to the best of my ability, what motivated him and eventually even caused him to turn his back on his own countrymen.

That being said, to this very day, Marc Antony is a polarizing personage in history. To listen to Classicists on Twitter or military strategists, a lot of people might ask, “Why even bother with him?” And yet, Marcus Antonius, as he was known in his day, became the central catalyst of Rome’s transition from Republic to Empire.

I discovered there was MUCH more to Marc Antony’s story than his romance with Cleopatra or Julius Caesar’s funeral. First of all, his grandfather was a national hero, but his own father ruined all of that glory by betraying Rome to a bunch of low-life pirates off the coast of Crete. That is exactly where my story takes off. 

Eleven-year old Marcus must deal with a disgraced family—one that will struggle to see the light of day again until he rises to power. It’s an unforgettable story, and one I’ve lived with for fifteen years, turning the man’s life into The Antonius Trilogy.

My perfect protagonist’s story begins with Antonius: Son of Rome, dealing with Marcus’s tragic loss, through his wasteful early years, until he finally finds himself in the East—snuffing out the remnants of rebellion against Rome’s instated rulers and coming face to face with a major portion of his destiny when he meets a precocious, adolescent Egyptian princess. 

At Actium

Antonius: Second in Command follows Marcus as he rises to the heights of power at Caesar’s side, only to taste his first bitter betrayals in loyal friends and supporters. At the end of the second book, Marcus finds himself victorious and at the height of his power. What could possibly go wrong?

Well, this is one excited author, because today (FINALLY!) after multiple trips to Italy and Greece, and one to Egypt… my third and final portion of the trilogy will launch: Antonius: Soldier of Fate. Naturally, I’ve had some pretty spectacular experiences with my “perfect protagonist”. But he was difficult to hunt down. Aside from the damnatio memoriae—the damning of Marcus’s name, which was the postmortem punishment for men and women who disgraced Rome in some way—I had another set of problems in rediscovering this elusive character. 

Two-thousand years’ worth of extant buildings that hid sites from his period, destruction of historical sites, and changes in geographical river-routes, erosion, or the simple withering-away of historical evidence over time has made it incredibly challenging to recreate Marcus’s world.

Nor was his story intact. Just as damnatio memoriae decreed that his monuments be leveled, his statues smashed, and his inscriptions chiseled away, so did the truth behind his story turn to dust. Men who hated him, such as Cicero, smeared his name before Marcus ever died, but writers like Plutarch, Dio Cassius, and Appian of Alexandria (just to name a few) were all ancient sources that aided me. And there were dynamic secondary biographers to, like Eleanor Goltz Huzar and Patricia Southern.

A full-throttle adventure through ancient Rome, her corrupt Senate, the exotic eastern provinces ensues, and at last ending in Egypt. Difficult? Yes! Marcus’s ultimate punishment of damnatio memoriae didn’t make this easy. But this author learned so much and has developed the grit necessary to pursue a protagonist, regardless of how little of him has survived. 

From photographing the shores of Alexandria in a rocking, water-logged row-boat, driving all over Thessaly and locating the river where Marcus and his legions kept Pompey’s army at bay in the Battle of Pharsalus, to communing with the mystical ghosts of Rome’s past inside the shadowed Tabularium at the west end of the Forum Romanum… I feel that I’ve not only had the perfect protagonist, but that he’s become a friend, of sorts.

Author Brook Allen (and Marc Antony)

Award-winning author Brook Allen graduated from Asbury University with a B.A. in Music Education. However, she has always loved writing. A Master’s program at Hollins University with an emphasis in Ancient Roman studies helped prepare her for authoring her present works. Brook teaches full-time as a Music Educator and works in a rural public-school district near Roanoke, Virginia. Her personal interests include travel, cycling, hiking in the woods, reading, and spending downtime with her husband and two amazing Labrador Retrievers. She lives in the heart of southwest Virginia in the scenic Blue Ridge Mountains. You can reach out to Brook via the links below.

WEBSITE

TWITTER

FACEBOOK

GOODREADS

Meet our Members

Ruth Ross Saucier

Ruth lives under the watchful gaze of the Olympic Mountains, somewhere out west of the waters west of Seattle. Today, after 40 years of writing, editing, and wrangling a variety of nonfiction and fiction, she is retired to a life of writing, editing, and investigating any and all curiosities she deems fascinating.

To learn more about Ruth and read her prior blog posts, please click HERE

Life with Mazie~Part 6~by Joanne Jaytanie

There you are! I’ve been looking for you.

I can’t believe summer is over. I've been really busy.

I got my first job.

I’m the office manager for my mom and dad.

Hey, someone needs to keep them focused, and I’m the best dog for the job.

Mom pulled me out of school this summer. She told me Auntie Noel wasn’t teaching because it wasn’t safe. I’m still not sure I believe her. I stayed busy anyway—there’s not enough playtime in the day.

For catch me if you can.

My favorite,

Hide

and Seek.

Mom says I’ll play until I fall asleep. Who’s she kidding. I never doze off.

And after months of begging, I finally got to go back to school. I’ve been practicing every day. Especially right before bed when Mom puts a little piece of cheese on each stair. She also hides cheese pieces on clear container covers in the bedroom and bathroom. It doesn’t matter where she puts them, I always find them!

This is me working with Auntie Noel. She says I’m doing really good at Nose Work. I love it.

And I did even better the second time.

It’s been another busy day, and I need a nap. But don’t you worry. I’ll be recharged and ready to go before you can even miss me!

Click here to visit Joanne's page to read more from Mazie.

Being Independent ~ by Bruno Skibbild

Forgive me for my spelling and grammar. English is not my first language reading is fine, talking better - and singing in English is almost perfect.

I live in Denmark - Danish is my first language. Living in a small country with one of the smallest language's in the World, there is no way around it when I want to get my words and tunes out there.

Being seen - being heard - being listened to.

That is the dream for me as an independent artist - to get out there - speaking about life itself with sorrow and pain, sunshine and rain - telling the stories from everyday life in poetry and music.

I guess it is the Dream for any artist - you can sit home alone and create new stuff - you can enjoy when you succeed inside. But at the end of the day the dream is for someone else to look at your painting, read your poem or listen to your song.

Because suddenly when that happens you are no longer alone with your Art.

The times that we live in right now are difficult for everybody - no one walks free.

Anxiety, stress and fear of the future are a part of all of us - Artists included.

So what does an Artist do when there is no possibility of getting your art out there in real life?

The Artist starts creating even more - writing another book and another - hoping that some day the world will be ready to receive.

Being independent is not about wanting to work on your own - wanting to be alone. It's about wanting to get out there in the world and find people who are the same - and in my view those people are everywhere.

They might not be in the established industry at first - but we shouldn't forget that inside every star is an independent artist.

For me being independent is about being myself - working every day to take that one step further - to get that one more listener - one more reader.

And every time that happens - I feel less and less alone - being independent.

Bruno Skibbild is a singer/songwriter/author who resides in Denmark. You can connect with Bruno by clicking the link below.

TWITTER

Beautiful Blue Beauties--Sapphires ~ by Grace Augustine

photo: Pinterest

The most famous of all sapphires is, of course, the beautiful 2.5c sapphire surrounded with diamonds that graced the hand of Princess Diana. The ring has since been passed on to the Duchess of Cambridge, Kate Middleton, who proudly wears this remembrance of Prince William’s mother.

Sapphire is the birthstone for the month of September. This precious gemstone is a variety of the mineral corundum. As the third hardest precious gemstones, it comes in at a 9 on the Mohs scale.  It’s durability makes this stone one to be worn daily. 

photo: Deposit Photos

Ruby and Sapphire are both forms of corundum, but each forms in different ways. While the ruby forms in marble, the sapphire forms in granitic pegmatites or corundum syenites. Sapphires that are completely untreated are more valuable than those that have. Sapphires are mined in East Africa, Madagascar, Myanmar, Tanzania, Sri Lanka, Australia, and the United States. 

photo: Deposit Photos

One place to mine sapphires in the US is in my home state, Montana. Spokane Bar Sapphire Mine, outside of Helena, and Gem Mountain Sapphire Mine, outside of Philipsburg, have all of the equipment needed. When you visit, you can sift through your own purchased bucket of dirt, hoping to find one of the blue beauties. Please check out their websites.  https://gemmountainmt.com/
https://www.sapphiremine.com/

The sapphire comes in a variety of colors and is mined in many different locations worldwide. Kashmir sapphires set the standard high with intense color and velvety hue. The Padparadscha sapphire is a rare pinkish-orange gem whose name means “lotus flower.”

During the Middle Ages, Greeks would wear the sapphire while visiting the Oracle of Delphi and to find favor with the god Apollo. In Medieval times, the stone was associated with the tranquility and majesty of the heavens. Because many believed it symbolized heaven, clergy wore sapphires. Kings and Queens wore the precious gemstone for protection and to attract wealth. The sapphire was also found in the breastplates of the High Priest of Israel.

photo: Pinterest/Blue Earth

“From antiquity, gemstones have been thought to possess mysterious powers. Sapphire is said to be the wisdom stone, stimulating concentration, enhancing creativity, and promoting purity and depth of thought. It is believed to focus and calm the mind as well as remove unwanted thoughts, depression, and mental tension. It is known as the stone of new love and commitment and is claimed to be useful in encouraging faithfulness and loyalty. Sapphire is thought to bring peace of mind, serenity, and prosperity.” (Fire Mountain Gems)

Clean sapphire stones with warm soapy water and a soft brush. Rinse the stone well after washing it. Ultrasonic treatment and steam cleaning may be used; however, like many gemstones, sapphire should not be boiled.

Refilling the Well ~ Lexa Fisher

Photo by Frederick Tubiermont on Unsplash

Creatives often feel negligent if they aren’t generating new ideas constantly, but there are times when the creative well needs to be refilled. On my staycation last month, I indulged in activities that took me away from my normal routine, though I still made sure I got in my daily writing time. 

Abandoned railroad track 

As I put the staycation days to good use, my first stop was visiting the actual town and surrounding area that my next story is based on. A hike along an old mining trail showed how rough life was back in the early 1900s. This old railroad track was abandoned shortly after it was built because winter snows repeatedly washed it out.

The heroine in my next story will be using a metal detector to uncover history. My love of tangible history led me to this hobby and it seems my husband was equally as intrigued when much to my delight he bought a metal detector. We visited and detected on beaches and parks I had never been to. 

Before we went in search of treasure, we found great pleasure in a new YouTube channel on metal detecting. As with any hobby, there is a lot to learn. We invested in a quality detector that will serve us for years. Lesson one: metal detectors are LOUD, so I was glad we purchased a model with wireless headphones.

There is quite an acquired skill to metal detecting with the many beeps and tones that one hears. Different pitches cue you into what type of metal you may be hovering over. One spot we dug had two coins nestled together, known as a "spill".

We also found a disturbing number of rusted nails on beaches, likely from burning wooden pallets for bonfires. It's hard to think of going barefoot along a beach again.

Over our week off we developed blisters from digging into cement-like, arid soil to uncover coins, cheap jewelry, but mostly beer bottle tops. 

 

It's said, write what you know, and now I know a lot more about metal detecting. Swinging the three-pound metal detector over the ground got tiring on my shoulder in about half an hour, so I gave my heroine a job that will give her better upper body strength.

The total find for our staycation week? $1.28 in change, lots of time together exploring in the fresh air, and plenty of story ideas sparked by expanded new experiences. 

Photo by frank mckenna on Unsplash

Meet our Members

Author Jacquolyn McMurray

When she’s not writing, Jackie enjoys spending time with her family, reading, sewing, and solving crossword puzzles.  In a past life, she was an elementary school teacher.

To view Jacquolyn's blog posts or listen to interviews, please click HERE

The Eyes Have It ~ by Author Katie Mettner

You always hear people say that, right? "The eyes are the windows to the soul." But what does that really mean? In our day-to-day life, do we even notice other people's eyes? As a romance writer, I try to take notice more often than not. I'm easily distracted, though, so sometimes, I miss those visual cues people give me because I'm focused on something else.

 Photo by Solen Feyissa on Unsplash

Then this summer happened. I had to make several trips to The Mayo Clinic for the treatment of my gastroparesis (paralyzed stomach). When I walked into Mayo, I was greeted with their always present, "Hey, it's good to see you. We're glad you're here. How can we help you?" "Midwestern manners," as I call them, or "Minnesota Nice," are never more prevalent than in a place that welcomes patients from all over the world. It had been a few years since I'd been there, and this time, everyone was wearing masks. I answered their questions, got my sticker badge, and strolled through the lower level of the Gonda Building on my way to my appointment. I used to smile at everyone as we passed in the walkways, but I couldn't this time, so I made sure to make eye contact. When I got on the elevator, I saw my chance. Now was the perfect time to test out the theory that the eyes indeed are the windows to the soul.

As I went through my appointments, I didn't have a choice but to focus on my providers' eyes: blue ones, brown ones, green ones, hazel ones (yes, hazel!). There was even one person with heterochromia iridium, a rare condition where the individual has two different colored eyes. Would I have noticed all of those different colors if I could see their whole face? Would I have been as engaged with them, and listened as closely, if I could see their entire face? I know I wouldn't have been because that was how it had always been. It's funny what we don't think about until our perspective changes.

When I sat in the waiting rooms, walked through the hallways, or

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rode in the elevators, I saw sad eyes, glad eyes, sick eyes, tired eyes, and mad eyes. Each new day I was there added to the research for my experiment. I went into the cafeteria to Starbucks one morning and made sure to hold eye contact with the barista. She held it back. She engaged me with her eyes when I asked her if venti was the biggest size they had or if gallon jug size was an option. The din of the large cafeteria made it challenging to hear her, but when her eyes crinkled at the corners, I knew she was laughing. I smiled, hoping she'd see the laughter in my eyes, too, paid her, and sat down at the table with my husband. His eyes told me he was tired. He was stressed. He was ready to go home. I handed him his coffee, held his eyes, and reminded him that I loved him and that I was grateful for his presence with me there.

Then came time for surgery. I was having a feeding tube placed, so life was a little intense that day. We got up early at the hotel since we had to be at the hospital at 8. We put on our masks and headed out the door. We were surprised to be greeted in the hallway by our housekeeper, who was preparing her cart already. Maria smiled at us. I could tell because her eyes crinkled up and brightened with excitement to see another soul so early in the day. She wished me good luck, and her eyes told me it wasn't "lip service." I knew when we returned later in the afternoon that our room would be freshened up, even though we told her it was fine. (She had stopped in with new towels, cleaned the bathroom, and left extra pillows, which I ended up needing!)

The hospital was bustling, and again, we were greeted at the door. They directed us to our floor and got us an elevator with helpful hands and bright eyes. They might just be getting started with their day, but they were happy to be there. Their eyes told me they were doing something that was second nature to them, but they were there to help because we are all in this together.

When they called me back to surgical prep, I was taken back by a bubbly nurse who didn't stop moving long enough for me to see her eyes! Once I was in bed, a new nurse came in. He was one of the nurses who does nothing but feeding tube placements with the docs. His eyes were bluish green. We talked. We laughed. He told me terrible dad jokes. He noticed my tattoos when he was placing the I.V., and he asked me why I got them. He held my eyes and listened to my story. Then he showed me his tattoos and told me the funny story behind the one he got for his dad. He was another check mark in the column that the eyes are the windows to the soul. 

He rolled me down to the OR, and everyone there was seriously

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bustling about the room. There were several teams of providers spread around, preparing the equipment and getting 'geared' up. The two anesthesiologists were working around me, and one was making constant eye contact with me as they progressed through their checklist. He was telling me everything they were doing (that was my 19th surgery, I probably could have told them what they were doing LOL!), but I appreciated that he was focused on me. His big brown eyes were bright, but they were assessing. They weren't bored or distracted. They were present in the moment that we were all in. He assured me they were going to take great care of me (like I had any doubt). The room quieted, and they did their patient identification rounds, then one of them asked what side I was supposed to be lying on for the surgeon. They didn't know, so while they waited for someone to tell them, that same anesthesiologist leaned over and said, "So, what do you like to do for fun?"

My eyes glanced around the room at everyone who was forced to stand around in neutral while they waited. Their eyes all said the same thing. FRUSTRATION. I've never been one not to work a room, so I said, "I kill people for fun."

Silence. Eyes widen. 

"Usually, I force two people to fall in love first, but sometimes, yeah, I kill people. If it matters, though, they're always the bad guys! Why? Well, I'm a writer."

The anesthesiologist leaned over me. "I walked right into that one, didn't I?"

I laugh. He laughs. The room erupts with laughter and questions about what I've written and where to find the books. I answer their questions, but I watch their eyes. Relief. Amusement. Joy. Distraction from the stress of the day. Camaraderie. 

When I woke up from surgery, and they brought my husband back to see me after an extended recovery time, I was pretty out of it. I knew I had a million messages from people wondering what was going on (the surgery ran late, and then took longer than expected), and as a communicator, I wanted someone to answer them. My husband sat down beside me. I could only see his eyes, and his were worried but relieved. 

In my drugged haze, I told him he should let his mom and my mom know that I was okay. “Post on Facebook,” I said, “that will save time.” (LOL). He grabbed my hand and said, "Just take a minute. It's okay to take a minute and wake up before you worry about anyone else." 

I paused and worked hard to focus my crossing eyeballs on him. I know those eyes well. I've stared into them for twenty years. It wasn't hard to see the relief and the fatigue in them, but more than anything, I saw his love. 

I walked away from that experiment better for it. The theory that the eyes are the windows to the soul had been, in my opinion, proven to be true. When you look closely enough, you'll see a lot of different things in peoples' eyes. What I saw the most this summer in the eyes of every shape and color, was love. Love for humanity. Love for each other. Love to hope and love to heal.

Love wins, and as a romance writer, I'll always take love.

Author Katie Mettner

Katie Mettner writes small-town romantic tales filled with epic love stories and happily-ever-afters. She proudly wears the title of, 'the only person to lose her leg after falling down the bunny hill,' and loves decorating her prosthetic with the latest fashion trends. She lives in Northern Wisconsin with her own happily-ever-after and three mini-me's. Katie has a massive addiction to coffee and Twitter, and a lessening aversion to Pinterest -- now that she's quit trying to make the things she pins,

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