What Bleach Taught Me About People ~ by Author Marj Ivancic

Did you know that bleach loses its potency over time? I didn’t. I learned by happenstance when my husband, thinking it was of the color-safe variety, added some to a laundry load of semi-whites. Luckily, the bottle had been in the cupboard for months and was no more dangerous to our stripes and flower patterns than water. 

But the experience was oddly enlightening.

As I reflected on some past relationships, I realized, sometimes, the people in our lives can be a bit like bleach. Harsh, draining, detrimental to the vibrancy of our souls. I used to subscribe to the “cut the toxic out of your life” philosophy. I still do, in some instances. But that old bleach helped me see that not all toxins stay so.

Sometimes, those people are fundamentally decent folks. It’s just their opinions or interests that clash with my own. Or maybe things they say are hurtful or leave me feeling down. Or maybe, for no real fault of their own, they just bring out the worst in me.

Sometimes, that incompatibility is due to where they are in life. Or where I am in life. Timing, as they say, is important to any success. And we humans are the product of not only our past but also our now, so things like new influences or life events can shift that timing out of whack. Or heck, even waking up one morning and realizing you haven’t met any of those childhood goals and you need to get focused and do it. Sometimes, one person is struggling with something they haven’t shared or don’t even realize yet themselves and it’s manifesting itself in their actions and words.

Perhaps in those cases, the relationship just needs a little shelf time to allow the two ingredients—them AND me—to change, to grow and maybe mellow. Or for the circumstances in which we exist to change.

Of course, not all relationships are meant to be. Some don’t deserve a stay of execution in the first place. For those that do, some don’t survive their time up in the cupboard. They dry up, leaving the bottle empty. Others may come down as noxious as ever and still need to be flushed. But sometimes, they emerge different and better. Healthier.

The Evolution of Friendship ~ by Kristine Raymond

I’ve been fortunate to have had several meaningful friendships. Some have been short-lived, with people meant to share a mile or two of my life’s journey. Others are flourishing, infusing joy and inspiration into each step I take.

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Encyclopaedia Brittanica defines friendship as "a state of enduring affection, esteem, intimacy, and trust between two people."  A solid enough definition, yet subject to a myriad of variables.

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Our first taste of friendship comes in early childhood; usually, in the form of playdates - my mom is friends with your mom, and when they get together to chat over coffee, we're left to entertain ourselves...together.  



Sometimes, these pairings lead to lifelong relationships; at others, it's an endurance test, waiting not-so-patiently for Mom to finish her visit so we can go home ("I don't want to come back here!  Susie wouldn't share her toys!"). 

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By the time junior high rolls around, most have found a 'best friend'.  That special someone with whom we share our wildest dreams and secret crushes.  The bond is unbreakable and, if we're lucky, remains through high school, college, and into adulthood.


As we mature, we cross paths with new people - people with the same interests as ours.  We're drawn to them like moths to a flame - these souls who validate our choices and experiences because they're traversing the same path.  As when we were younger, we share our wildest dreams with them (and, maybe, our secret crushes), and we rally in the face of their setbacks because we've experienced a few of our own.  We all have dings and dents, don't we?

Some friendships burn hot then fizzle, like a May-December romance.  Not everyone is meant to be in our life forever.  Others are steady and dependable, staying the course throughout the decades, no matter the challenges we've faced.  


One thing I know for certain - we're never too old to begin a new one.

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Copyright © Depositphotos

Making a cover design fit the book AND the author... ~by Linda Boulanger

For this blog post, once again I went to my author group to see what they might be interested in. The majority of them know me as a cover designer as well, so I wasn’t surprised when Chris asked about that. She wanted to know how I come up with my cover designs for different authors and their books, and how I mesh the story line with the book and also the author’s personality or preferences.

The basics of cover design are pretty much the same each and every time.

The process consists of:

1. Gathering information about the story

2. Searching for images that might work (often the longest part of the process)

3. Designing the cover

One thing that I feel makes me different as a designer is that I am what I consider an inspired designer… meaning I have to be inspired to create the piece, just like I do with writing or any other form of artwork. Some designers have their formula and can sit down … 1, 2, 3 … and they have their cover. It’s still work and can be just as time-consuming. I just can’t do it that way, even if I wish sometimes I could.

My process starts by gathering information about the story. I have a questionnaire that I will send an author, though oftentimes I just ask the questions via email. I like having a more informal working relationship because, to me, it’s the best way I know to really dig down and find out what the author wants to see in his or her book cover. That lack of formality also lets me get to know the author and what he/she wants. It creates a friendly atmosphere so that he/she feels comfortable telling me they don’t like something or that they love something, and when they say they love it, I know they really do and we have a cover that is headed in the right direction.

I get a lot of my inspiration from searching through images. I don’t see an image as a whole, but as bits and pieces. It’s kind of like working a puzzle… my mind is constantly taking these bits and trying them this way and that to see how they fit into the creation of a whole new image. Only each piece also has to fit with the information I have gleaned about the story. I think this is what Chris was asking about. How do I gather the information that I use to pull those tiny pieces of the puzzle out to create something that fits together, fits the story, AND fits the author?

 

The answer goes back to that initial email I send back that is filled with … QUESTIONS. Lots and lots of questions. I ask about the book’s characters: hair color and length, eye color, build… anything you can think of about a character, I want to know. I ask about the genre, and also the overall tone of the book. I also want to know if there are any particular scenes that stand out in an author’s mind that would make a reader feel connected. I ask for the blurb, and on occasion (but not often because I am super busy and not a fast reader), I will actually read the book to get a better feel for what the cover needs to convey.

I don’t usually have to read the book. Talking it out (preferably via email so that I have a written copy to look back through for details) is usually all I need and I often start to get a basic cover idea from that very first email. I’ve even conceived a couple of covers in dreams that have ended up being spot on. I love that and say it’s magic. My favorite thing is when an author tells me it’s like I could see the picture they had in their mind.

So, I guess the answer to how I get my cover designs to fit the book AND the author is that every cover I create is inspired by the information I get from each author. Talking a lot with the author, getting a feel for his/her likes and dislikes, and even their personality, or at the least, the tone of the book so that I can grab those bits and pieces of images to put back together in just the right way, is how I make the covers unique for each and every author I work with.

Next month I will continue with the part of Chris’ question where she wanted to know if I had a favorite cover and why. That, along with who is my favorite author, has to be one of the toughest questions I ever have to answer, but you can find out May 5^th, right here on Originality by Design.

Unconventional Love by Grace Augustine

      

Courtesy of Pexels.com free photos

     Ben and Hildy sat at the park from mid-morning until the sun went down. It wasn’t uncommon to see the couple every Saturday, choosing just the right spot to spread out the blanket. There was always a book, always laughter, always a picnic basket filled to the brim with snacks to share.
     Theirs was a unique relationship. Ben, twenty years’ Hildy’s senior, had lived a hard life…one of prejudice at work, as well as church and many other societal situations. He’d worked hard in the coal mines until age got the better of him. Retirement sent him into a deep depression for which he was hospitalized. That’s where he met Hildy.
     Hildy, a sassy thirty-year-old, loved her work as a therapist on the psych floor of Trinity Hospital. She’d seen many come and go and smiled when she remembered her part in their healing. She’d stopped by Ben’s room the day he was admitted.  Her heart sank when she saw the uncommunicative, handsome older man sitting near the window.
     “Hi, Ben. I’m Hildy. It’s nice meeting you,” she greeted, taking the older man’s hand in hers and smiling brightly.
Her greeting met with no response. 
     “I can see we’re going to have to do something to cheer you up.”
     Ben turned toward Hildy and looked at her compassionate blue eyes. He shrugged his shoulders.
     “What’s the use?” The deep voice questioned. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
     “Oh, now, that is just a lie, sir, and you know it. Before I snap my fingers, you’ll be waltzing out of here. I promise.”
     Hildy continued meeting with Ben daily for the next two weeks. Each day she read excerpts to him from her favorite books. By the end of the second week, she noticed Ben smiling and engaging in conversation with her.
     “I have a surprise for you, Ben. Get your sweater and come with me.”
     Ben followed Hildy from the room. Soon they were walking hand in hand to the gardens at the hospital where they sat on a bench in the noon-day sun.
     Hildy opened her book and read several poems from Edna St. Vincent Milay. Her voice was sweet and positive and soothing. She glanced at Ben and smiled when she saw him smiling, eyes closed, as he took in every word she read.
     Each Saturday, Hildy led them to the same bench. Each Saturday, Ben held one side of the book and Hildy the other. Each took turns reading. Then, one day, it was time for Ben to be released from the hospital.
     “You’re going home today, Ben.”
     Ben sat with his elbows on his knees, hands folded, and head lowered. He wasn’t sure he should say what he was thinking but went ahead anyway.
     “Why did you do what you did, Hildy? Why did you read to me? Why were you kind to me? Not once did the color of my skin matter. Not once did my former profession matter. Not once did you judge me.”
     Hildy patted Ben’s arm then grasped one of his hands in both of hers.
     “Ben, I only see your heart. I see a loving, kind man who needed to be shown his worth.
     A tear fell down Ben’s cheek.
     “Hildy, I don’t want to say goodbye to you.”
     “Who says we have to say goodbye?”
     Every Saturday, for the past five years, Hildy and Ben met at the park at 10 am. They sat on a blanket, they laughed and read books, they shared a meal and their souls with each other. And, when the sun went down, Ben walked Hildy to her car and hugged her tightly.
     “I love you Hildy.”
     “I love you, too, Ben.”

A Much Kinder Time ~ by Grace Augustine #originalitybydesign

photo: trussevents

When some of you see this, you are instantly transported to the sounds of SOUL TRAIN. The '70's. The best era ever, in my opinion, because that was my growing up years.

We didn't worry about locking our cars or our homes. The worst we dealt with in my tiny Montana town were the men on the street corners on a Sunday morning, sleeping off an all night bender in one of the local establishments.

The '70's brought so many wonderful things to life for those of us who call that era ours. My dream car was a Barracuda.

photos: Pinterest, classiccars.com

Ladies, how could we resist these dapper young men in their wide white belts, cords, and polyester patterned shirts, right?  

photos: Pinterest

And, guys, c'mon...I mean really. Look at this? These were some of the very best fashions the ladies were wearing at the time.

photos: Pinterest, Catie Cordero

In my small town of Cut Bank, Montana, there wasn't much to do. I was one of the lucky ones. The legal drinking age was lowered to 18 and my best friend and I took advantage of that most weekends.  I wasn't...and still am not...a beer drinker. My first drink was a Lime Vodka Collins. I graduated from that to Sloe Gin Fizzes, Tia Maria and gingerale, and settled on my then favorite rum and cola. (I know this makes me sound like a lush, but truly I wasn't. I was of legal age, never was drunk, knew my limit, and today, seldom/if ever drink.)

It wasn't uncommon for us to close down the bars and hit the Big Sky Cafe at 2 am to share a plate of french fries and gravy: still conversing, still laughing, still having a good time.

photo: TripAdvisor

My best friend and I knew one of our favorite bands was playing at one of our favorite weekend spots, so we donned our going-out duds and headed out. The place was packed with stumbling businessmen, Reservation residents, and a lot of rowdy oil men...all imbibing in their favorite beverage. I was enjoying people watching, sipping my drink. My friend, however, wasn't so lucky--two drinks and she was dancing on the table...literally!

The band played many hits from the era. During intermission, these band members came over to our table, sat down, and chatted. They did so during all of their breaks. All of a sudden I heard "Hey, why don't you guys come over for dinner tomorrow night?"  My head whipped around so fast. I'm sure I looked like Linda Blair in the Exorcist!

My friend had just invited six men... to my house... for dinner... before their Saturday night gig. MY HOUSE! Sigh! Well, I took it all in stride. They seemed nice (they could have been ax-murderers) so I thought why not. (Did I mention they could have been ax-murderers?)

I cleaned my apartment, cooked a lovely roast with all the trimmings, even homemade pie for dessert... and on schedule at 5:30 pm, the boys started filing into my apartment. I didn't know their names! (Ax Murderers, I tell ya!) 

I was fortunate these were very wholesome, handsome, talented guys who were polite, funny, and thankful for a hot meal. They took care of their dishes, each thanking me with a kiss on the cheek before leaving, and proceeded to the venue for their final show. (My friend who'd invited them conveniently had to work late!)

I finished cleaning up about the time my friend showed up, so I changed clothes and we headed out the door to go hear this band, whose lead singer's name was Ed. (I never did get the names of the others.) Well, Ed decided at the close of the night, he was teaching me how to shoot pool...which made my friend very jealous. She had a "thing" for Ed, but Ed chose me. He stood behind me steadying the cue stick and showing me how to shoot.  I remember my friend being so upset because his arms were around me not her...when all I was interested in was learning how to shoot pool!   I believe that night was the night for my first real kiss. **blush** (Yes, from Ed.) I've often wondered where the band landed, more importantly where Ed landed.

photo: 70's popphotos 

(this isn't the band, but it could have been since most resembled each other)

I'm not sure if there is a moral to this story... but, back in the 70's in small town Montana, we didn't have to worry about inviting strangers over for dinner. We didn't have to worry about locking our homes and vehicles, or having our mail stolen. It was a simpler time, an enjoyable time, a time where people went out, had face to face conversations, and shared stories and a laugh or two. It was the best era for many things: safety, clothing, friendships... and music. Always the music.